The Compound

The Compound



Chapter One



David



The Compound was once a scrambling, excited automotive plant. It is built like a courtyard. There are four buildings, one on each side of me as I stand in the middle of what was once a parking lot. There is one way in, and one way out. To my left was a stamping building, it used to be filled with millions of dollars worth of equipment, constantly waging their war on silence and the planet. After years of dedication, it has become our Greenhouse. The tall peaks of glass absorbing the suns rays also throw them across the rest of the Compound. To my right stands the Housing Units, the building has been gutted and rebuilt into a community of people, trying to build their own world, only inches from each other. Behind me is the Guard's House, and I can hear the incessant barking from here, rattling everyone who isn't already awake into full consciousness. Before me stands my building, not my home, but the second half of me. This is the Council. This is where every decision is hand picked by each and every member of my world. Each of them believes that their thoughts are all equal, as if their votes are unpersuaded and chosen by the freedom of their own blank minds. This is where I live, this is where I breathe and where I build our reality.



The air is crisp, slicing through the trees, and whipping into my face. As I walk, the wind provoked tears fall from my eyes in an uninhibited stream. There isn't much bustle right now, the sun hasn't yet peaked its yellow face into the sky but its warning is streaked across the morning in angry reds and oranges. My worn shoes clack across the worn pavement, each bump and rock painfully reminding me how thin my soles have become. In this morning peace, I can brood. I can run from whichever problem I choose, and curse any person under me for causing every God-forsaken problem that erupts.



When the sun shines, I must smile. I must walk with purpose, but without haste so I do not panic these fragile beings. I talk softly, and smile gently at each soul that crosses my path. I think only with selflessness and with care. When the sun sets, I hate them. I hate the place I forced myself into, and I hate the person that these spineless, and damaged people have molded me to be. I am not drunk with power; to be drunk is to not be in control of one's senses completely. I am in control. I am in control of myself, and I am in control of the rest of this little world I created. These people are mine, I saved them, I pulled them out of Hell, or away from certain death. They do not question me, they do not forsake me and they never hate me. I am their God.



I close my eyes, to shield myself from the probing wind. They snap open at the screaming of my first problem running across the Lot.







My smile turns on.



The portly little man gasping in front of me is Dennis Erdman; a longtime friend and irritant. His face is a purple red, from the cold and the lengths he has run to tell me that a girl has fallen and broken her wrist is infuriating. I feign concern, and, of course, promise to visit the child later this evening. I tell him to find Dr. Haris, because he should be able to set the bone fairly quickly. He smiles, relieved that he doesn’t have to make a decision and bounds off to find the doctor. I turn my attention to the Council once more.



There are decisions that will be made today. Even in this time of ruin, people find time to be senseless. It was an accident. My clacking shoes inch into the dark building. The sun’s rays are starting to illuminate the highest peaks of the stone structures that surround me. This building was gutted years ago, leaving only two long stone tables and ten stone chairs in the middle of the extensive floor. I will sit in the middle, with the rest of the council members. Everyone else will stand.



Someone is already here. Still oblivious to my presence, the body moves across the floor in hobbling little steps, pacing around the council tables. Little sobs escape every third step or so. She finally sees me and the flood gates open. Long, hysterical sobs echo around me, interrupted by sniffling and hiccups. Her wrinkled face is creased deeper with worry and grief. “Please,” she pleads, “please spare my son.” Her dirty, wet hands cling to me. “Please, David, he is my only child.” Snot is smeared all over her miserable face.



Dislodging her hands from my arm, I grimace at her in the most forged sympathetic way that I can muster. “Doris, stop crying, please stop. You know that I do not make the decisions single handedly. The entire council will review your son’s case. Then, the whole compound will make a decision.” Your son is going to die. “We all love your family here, I am sure that the council will arrive at a fair decision. Please try to rest easy.” Her face has calmed somewhat and hope is flooding into her face. She doesn’t smile, but the relief is dripping off of her like rain. I hug her fragile body and lead her to the door.



Her pain still lingers after she leaves. At least her hysterics have subsided for now. I run my hands down both tables, pushing the leaves to the floor and disrupting the film of dirt that seems to settle overnight. The light has begun creep into the room from the open skylight above me. Sitting in my cracked stone throne, I wait.