The sun seemed to shine as if through a window. It was hazy. A dull yellow. Beneath its gentle rays rested one thousand tiny lilacs. They stretched to the pale sun, trying to soak up the little light it gave off that morning. We sat in the middle of the blanket of purple.
"Look, mommy. The lilacs are blooming! Aren't they beautiful?" I looked up at her face. She was radiant― her smile perfectly white. Her delicate hands were folded neatly in front of her sash.
"Yes, baby. I see them." She knelt down by me, fixing her skirts as she settled in the grass. I felt my mother's arm wrap around me. Her skin was a soft, milky white.
"Daye, do you know why the gods made flowers? Oh, it's such a wonderful story . . ." Her blue eyes became distant.
"No." I looked at the bed of flowers in front of me. Their color mesmerized my young mind.
I reached out to stroke one of the lilac's velvet petals. My hands were scarcely bigger than the flower's bloom . . .
Suddenly, I felt a sharp sting of heat on my fingers. I gasped, pulling my hand away in an instant. A small fire began to engulf the lavender petals from where my fingers had been holding it. I spun around to my mother, tears filling my eyes. But she was no longer behind me.
"Mommy!" I shouted. My soft voice cracked. Tiny ashes floated before my eyes. I smelled smoke.
She appeared in front of me. Her milky skin was ashen, and her face was burning. The fire spread throughout her body. Pieces of her skin vanished; turned into the smoke that choked me. Black-orange mixed with flawless cream . . .
"Daye! Daye, save me!" Tears streamed down my cheeks. I ran to her burning corpse, but she was too far away. I could not reach her.
"Mommy!"
I sat up with a gasp. Sweat covered my face and soaked through my cotton shirt. The shadows surrounding me wrapped around my face, fitting perfectly with its form, like I wore a mask of the night. I could see my breath in front of me. A chill crept up my spine. I shivered.
Those dreams had been coming to me ever since the fire. It actually wasn't that long ago. A week or so, perhaps. I didn't like to think about it. Even though I hadn't been there, I could still hear my mother's screams as the fire ripped her apart.
She and my unborn brother had died in that fire.
Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. He had never gotten a chance to live; to breathe . . . I began to shake. The memory of his feet kicking the inside of my mother's stomach, so full of life and play, so vivid, still was too real. To think that that life was ended so quickly sickens me. I know he would have been great . . .
But my baby brother would not get a chance.
I rubbed my eyes as they adjusted to the dark. It was the middle of the night, but I could not sleep. I had been like this ever since the fire. Not once since then had I smiled, laughed, or even spoken. People understood thus far, but I was sure that after a few more days of my being mute will make them worry. Then frustrated. But I didn't care.
My mother had been in the Prime Building for a meeting that day. She was part of a corporation whose only goal was to improve the government. She had tested into the job after her schooling was over―when she was of twenty-five years old. By that time she had already married my father and was pregnant with me. I only knew my mother as a SSA (Social Security Agency) member. I remembered how some people would look down at me for that reason. I never saw why. My mother always told me that they were just working for the good of the people. So why did people want the SSA members killed?
I was about ten when I actually found out the full depth of the corporation that my mother had been assigned to. After that, I began to notice the sadness in her eyes when she was asked about work. About the documents they were writing and the money that the government was sending them. I knew that she was not in approval of the decisions that they were making. But she could not speak out. She needed the money to support us, since my father had died only three months after my brother was conceived.
She was trapped.
The SSA was tearing apart our government, our way of life, bit by bit.
When the fire was reported and put on the news, I saw some people rejoice. Even though most would not accept it, it was clear the Prime Building was bombed. The SSA was there to put into effect the Freedom Proclamation. When they signed this, thousands of people would be thrown onto the streets, lose their jobs, be put into public service, and lose their freedom. The Public Service Program is not something one wants to find themselves thrown into. The conditions and pay are awful.
All I remember that day is the feeling of my own heart slowly breaking. My tears running down my pale face. The same face as my mother. Maybe even as my brother . . .
Everyone had been killed that was a member of the SSA at the meeting that day.
I was an orphan at fifteen.
I listened to the crickets outside my window as I waited for the dream to slide over. To leave my mind long enough for my consciousness to slip into the cool abyss that has replaced sleep for me.
I heard the burned wood and charred metal crack beneath my feet as I walked through the debris of the Prime Building. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. So far, they hadn't reported any bodies. Most people said that they were burned to ashes like the rest of the building. That there was no point in looking for them.
The Fire Protection Program had already cleaned up most of the remains of the building. They were already humiliated that a fire on that scale had taken place under their noses and killed so many people. It was their job to protect people from fires and bombings as well as prevent such horrible occurrences.
The breeze hit my face gently, as if it wanted to comfort me.
There were Patrol Men all around me, making calls, talking in hushed tones, and investigating the scene. They ignored my presence. They knew why I was there.
I barely processed what I was looking at: black, destruction, tears and puffy eyes, and occasionally a bit of paper or a charred file. I bent down and started drawing random lines subconsciously into the ashes. The wind suddenly picked up its pace. My light brown locks swept around my face, hitting my pale cheeks and poking my red eyes. I didn't realize that I was kneeling in what remained of an elevator shaft. If I would have thought to look up at the metal hardly hanging on above me, I might have come to my senses enough to move. But I was too caught up in my emotions and the patterns being drawn in the ashes.
In the back of my mind, on the verge of my consciousness, I heard a snap. I felt the metal slam into the back of my head. Then all I saw was familiar black. Ashes.
I noticed that there was no longer any wind when I woke up. The air was still―waiting. Waiting for what?
Cars flew past me in the streets. The sun beat down on me, causing a few beads of sweat to form on my forehead. Why was I lying down? The day I remembered was dull, gray. Perfect for my mood. It could not have changed that fast. Where was I?
I looked around and found myself in front of a large building. It loomed over the city, casting its dark shadow over any passerby. The shadow seems to soak up everything. As people went under it, their faces turned the slightest bit grim. More trapped. Worried.
It was the Prime Building.
Suddenly, a man with his shirt tail hanging out and a red face came crashing into me.
His voice was hurried, his words half slurred.
"Forgive me, Miss. I'm running late for work and I didn't see you there. You see . . ." and he kept on going. I thought he was in a hurry . . .
I just stood there and pretended to listen to his elongated explanation. I needed to think. My mind seemed to be lighter now, like I no longer carried a burden. I could think more clearly than I could before, when their deaths would haunt me.
Then it hit me.
The Prime Building? Why was it no longer debris? Where were the Patrol Men? How had I even hit my head?
". . . and then I had to―" I cut him off.
"Sir, what date and time is it?" He probably thought I was an idiot.
"Oh, um, it's . . . ah, May 4. About 3:30 or so." My heart sank. I had gone in the past. A week ago is today. Which means, my mother is still alive . . . My brother is still jumping in her womb. I'm not an orphan.
I can save them.
The man saw that I was deep in thought and completely in shock. He grew antsy again. While I was still staring into space, he nodded to me, and proceeded to walk in the Prime Building.
"NO!" I grabbed his arm to stop him from going in. He would be killed by the bomb otherwise. "Go home," I told him. He just looked at me like I was insane. At that point, I knew I had already lost half my mind to grief, the other half to self-seclusion. But I had a chance yet . . .
"Miss, please, let go of me. I need to get into that building." Then he looked into my eyes. Ice.
Then I watched him walk away.
When he was no longer in sight, I turned and walked into the building myself. I ignored the suspicious looks and curious stares of the innocent workers there. They didn't matter to me. I needed to get to the meeting room where the SSA members were.
I knew where to go. When I was younger, my mother took me to some of her meetings and told me to play in the corner while she talked with the other members of the SSA. Back then, I didn't notice her heart break every time she looked at me.
I didn't realize that she was helping to destroy my future.
I stopped in front of the door and put my hand on the knob before my mind caught up with what I was doing. But my hand wouldn't turn it. It couldn't. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. Why couldn't I do this? I needed them . . . They were my world. I had to save them!
No matter how many times I convinced myself that they had to live, something inside of me was keeping my hand from opening the door and forcing them out of the building. I began to shake. The tears rolled down my cheeks as my face began to constrict with the internal pain I was inflicting upon myself. I pictured their image inside my mind. Mother, with her fair skin and sky-blue eyes she passed on to me. And my brother, still inside of her . . . I memorized every detail of that picture. It was etched into my very being.
I heard my mother laugh from inside the room.
It killed me. I tried to yell, but nothing would come out. I couldn't stop crying . . . I was letting them go . . . Letting them die.
WHY AM I DOING THIS?!
But then I thought of everything else that would happen if the SSA achieved their goal. All of those people . . . I shook my head. It was too much. I could feel my heart being ripped to pieces again. I had to lose them.
My hand was clasped firmly on the door knob. My key. My last connection to them before they perished. Gone. Burned to ashes . . . swept away by the wind and soon to be forgotten.
Then I saw the flames. All sound was gone for a split second, though it felt like an eternity. I held myself as the bomb's fire spread around me. As it engulfed all of those lives, destroyed all of those dreams.
Gone.
And I could not save them.
I was covered in the ashes and debris when the Patrol Men woke me. There were new bruises and cuts all over my body from the explosion that was only moments ago for me, but about a week ago for them. And I was still an orphan.
After that, I drew deep inside of myself and locked myself up in the darkness. I no longer saw, heard, or cared. I was alone.
"Daddy, daddy!" I turned to look out the window. The little girl's voice echoed in my mind. Outside, a tiny blonde, maybe three years of age, ran to her father, and then was swept up in his embrace. I was almost too overwhelmed by the misery surrounding me to recognize the man who ran into me the day that I let my family die.
A small smile touched my lips. His daughter had a tiny lilac in her delicate hair.