Prodigy

Prodigy


         The cliff overlooked the crimson terrain making this particular spot the most beautiful site in all of Ozurega-Quintis. It was a grand sight because you could also see the city, hundreds of tall buildings protruding from our red planet watching pods float by in their normal manner. It was hard to believe that the city was miles away, for the cliff made it seem within short walking distance.
         Separating us from the city were dunes and ridges almost strategically placed across the red landscape, their position on the desert floor made it a trial to even travel to the city. They were the very mounds of red dirt that unofficially divided the city with the village. It was an interesting thing to look at during the day, but at night, the eerie silence of the night sky shadowed the dunes leaving you with a ghostlike sensation. 
         We must have sat there for hours, Manek and I, watching the planet of green and blue overhead.
         “I wonder what it’s like over there,” I would always ask to break silence. Manek would always shift his weight to the side and sigh.
         “Beyond the dome?”
         I shook my head, “No, I mean--up there.”
         There was an awkward silence, just as there always was whenever I would raise this question. It was hard to tell whether or not Manek enjoyed this particular question because his response was always a large groan followed by a long explanation.
         “You don’t believe me, Camilla?”
         I gave him a suspended shrug.
         “Scientist have proven that there’s no life over there, Dad. It’s a dead planet.”
         He stared at me almost blankly, shaking his head.
         “Scientist explored Luna but you can’t believe they’ve explored…” he pointed to the green ball in the sky, “that.”
         “Dad, there’s no recordings or any information of life on that planet--we haven’t even developed a name for it.”
         He threw his hands in the air, “Bah! You won’t listen to me, I can’t help that.”
         “I’m sorry, Dad, I just…” I searched for the best explanation for my idea, “I mean, welcome to 2107.”
         “Camilla,” he said resting his large, calloused hands on my shoulder, “Happy 20th birthday.”
         He got up and left, leaving me to think about what I said or what I kept saying over and over again to make him angry.
         
         The dome vibrated and the sky suddenly turned to a mysterious dusk. Sandstorms covered the dome making a shadow over Ozurega-Quintis. In a few seconds, the city itself would adjust, illuminating the dome with it’s countless beams of lights. We’d get sandstorms quite often, some even lasting days.
         I rejoined Manek who sat quietly in the old land rover, listening to the intermittent hum of the old engine. He acknowledged my presence without looking at me but rather waiting for me to fasten my seat buckle for him to drive off.
         “Dad, thanks for taking me here.”
         He nodded, his face impassive as he turned up the hill and down towards the village nestled behind the mounds of burgundy soil.
         Upon entering the village however, that red dirt became greenish land our ancestors called “grass”. This grass was rarely seen in Ozurega-Quintis because it was an art--or a true gift--to grow this soft, bristly land. And it always grew, sometimes to even ten feet high! Manek would always hack the grass with a loud and annoying red machine that gargled and spat out this mysterious grass to the side. It’s an old machine, he claims, that was passed down by our ancestors. It was up to him to keep it working and in tact because supposedly, he was the only one in the village to possess such a device. When I was little, I was always fascinated by the machine, but as time grew, the machine became an embarrassment and an irritation to the other villagers who complained of it’s loud noise. Why Manek decided to possess such an old, decrepit device over something newer was beyond me. Laser rods were proven more effective and more powerful--as well as quieter. But it was Manek’s source of pride, as it sat out in the green territory of ours, staring at me in defiance. I hated that machine.
         He finally looked at me, his old grey eyes flickered as he smiled.
         “If only your mother could see how much you’ve grown,” he said while patting my head, “You definitely don’t get those pretty brown curls from me.”
         My mother--someone I knew so little about, wishing my father would stop bringing her up so abruptly. My birthday was a constant reminder of the day she passed away, each year marking the anniversary of her absence. It was so hard to remember the details of that same day thirteen years ago and the more I think about it, the more I realize how little I know of her death.
         “I really shouldn’t be corrupting your mind with such thoughts,” he said as he pushed in the identification code to get into the house. You could tell Manek was getting old--he was slower with the numbers and multitasking became his utter burden. “Damn this thing, I have to start over.”
         “I’ll do it, Dad…”
         He shooed me away, “No, I can do this, Camilla, it’s just that--”
         The identity machine made a low beep. Access denied.
         “Dad, really, it’s 456-678-444-335-127-85. Remember?”
         “I remember the goddamn numbers, I just can’t talk and do this at the same time,” he rolled his eyes, stepping away from the numbered wall panel. Slowly, he took off his dusty old hat, stroking his thick fingers through that old grey hair of his. He chuckled, “Fine, I lose. You do it, Camilla.”
                “Are you going to be alright?”
           And all he did was smile and nod, walking into the door that had recently become so hard to open.