Next Step-- Genocide

Prologue
The Account of Adell O'Malley, Historian


One of the things people take for granted in today’s society is memory. What would life be like if a person could not cherish the good times and learn from the bad? Would life be able to disguise itself by claiming to have a purpose? Especially in today’s belief systems, when one learns what he or she can in this life, and then returns to learn more in the next. Or, they learn as much as they can without offending their deity, and learn how to live life in a pure and simple fashion. Memory is what allows people to learn. The mistakes are recorded and accounted for, and if we’re lucky, they are not repeated for quite awhile.

Unfortunately, one major mistake has been repeated. And this mistake has killed millions and destroyed everything that humanity has been trying to achieve for decades. Peace.

Some called the state of the world now utopia. They say life has never been better, and peace was achieved.

But this is not peace. This is not freedom. The smiles are false, and the handshakes are full of hypocrisy and lies. The world is crashing down around all, and no one is willing to challenge the current authority and say what is really going on.

Genocide.

But I digress, for there are a few who are on the verge of sacrificing everything to defend their morality, and to attempt to restore what people have been yearning for since the beginning of the  8th century.

Freedom. That is-- true, honest freedom.

One of them had nothing to lose. She had been pushed to the bottom of humanity’s food chain. Her parents refused to yield to the developing dictatorship, and this made her an outcast in every part of the world.

The other, he had nothing to gain. He had survived by converting to the social norms. He could not bear the agony of being singled out and debased. But something about her struck a chord with him. He was voluntarily blind, but by mischance, he opened up his eyes at the right moment, but at the wrong time.

We can get to what happened in a moment, but I warn you now, this is not, and is not intended to be, a story of star-crossed lovers. This is what happened when the youth of the world finally decided to ban together to protect themselves, and the next generation of youth.
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Chapter One

The brick walls were covered in ivy that was tough enough to withstand any winter, if it were ever to arrive. The only sign of the season was the snow piled up in slowly melting mountains. The air did not even have the bite winter normally had. The gray sky did not fit the disposition of the land’s inhabitants. Young people were chatting, dressed in warm layers as they strolled through the bleak landscape from one building to the next. There was the normal collection of Lycee students; the entire teenage spectrum was there. Girls wandered in the latest fashions, one legged pants were all the rage this mild winter, and boys tossed balls and tackled each other. It was— average. 

The definition of mediocre was what people thrived for. Why draw attention to one? 

The curious thing was there was not much mingling in terms of the races. The Vienne boys stayed with other Viennese. The Parisians girls batted their eyelashes at Parisian boys. It was not like mingling was discouraged or frowned upon; it was just the way things went. If one was not used to the system, it might appear biased and elitist, but one group was not favored above the other. The Lycee was very proud to advertise it that way, so it better be true. The Deacons made damn sure of it. 

The dorm of the Deacons faced the outside world. They lived in big, perfect brick houses. May the Deity forgive any leaf that falls out of place. Every shrub was trimmed to perfection. The glass windows gleamed as if they made their own light. The brick looked freshly made, and the paint on the door would not have the audacity to chip. Even the morning glory was tamed to grow around a single lamp post in the spring. The sheer perfection of the housing awed any visitors to the campus. That was all they saw, because it was all they needed to see. 

Sure, the student housing was not terrible. The heat occasionally did not work, and the coed, co-race rooming concerned some parents, but overall, the interior was pleasant and homey. 

The walls were painted. The floors were cold. The halls echoed, a mouse could produce a howl, and the sound of a dropped glass shattering created the sound of a break in. 

Though no one was concerned about that, people did not steal things anymore. The Head Parsons said so, and everyone trusted a member of the government and the clergy. Any man who was able to balance both taxes and souls deserves a person’s absolute trust. 

Most people did trust them.

One of the people who did not experience the homey sense sat with her back pressed against a tree reading a pointless book. It was about a pilgrimage, the only reason it was allowed. Why should a child read something that would give her new ideas? It’s the older ones one can trust. They have been, after all, tested by time. 

Her raven hair fell over her olive skin and hid her green eyes. The mismatch features would have been enough to make school hell for her. Teens can be cruel sometimes.

But they were just being kids. At least that was what the Deacons said to her the day she went to one of them bleeding and bruised.

Her parents sent her to school after being forced. Home education was no longer allowed; the government had the right to ensure the education of the future rulers and workers of the world. They have to be sure the student is up to the challenge.

And the government can be trusted. They have the public’s best interests at heart. They have been trained since birth. Just because they have been pampered as well could not mean they think they are better than everyone else.

She was often whispered about, even when people had never seen her.

"How dare her parents have the audacity to educate her themselves!"

"They do not have the right to be trusted with something that important. They have ruined her future; she will never be trusted by anyone."

There were even whispers of witchcraft and harlotry.  The Deacons refused to comment about that, though they neither indulged it nor discouraged it. It was frowned upon to talk about things like that openly. It was not proper to gossip, especially about negative things. Why dwell on evil when they could think about good? 

Some people had achieved this, and only thought about Deity. They were such wonderfully nice people too. They helped everyone else think about Deity as well. They’re children came to Lycee so advanced in the basic studies, and they almost always became involved in government. These kids, these naturals, were often referred to as “Heavens”.

The girl, obviously, was not a "Heaven." 

“She doesn’t even have a real race, just something she made up for the census!” was the most common thing said about her. Hence, no one would invite her to their table, so she ate outside, even in the most frigid weather. 

The afternoon was mild for being winter. She could eat outside with the tree that was hers. The sun did not forsake her, and the wind seemed to like her. But wind could be a temperamental mistress, and she changed her mind without warning. The girl often got along with wind, especially when they sang together. At the moment, wind sang the lower notes into her ear, and she hummed the higher ones. Then wind murmured a warning, and she ducked. 

A gob of muddy snow hit the tree where her head just was. 

“Heathen!” cried a voice. The sound of laughter was heard, and fading footsteps followed. But the sing-song of “Lanae is a heathen” did not fade. 

The girl called Lanae winced at the song that stalked her every move. She wished she could just stay in her tree for the rest of the day, but class was rapidly approaching. Class, she laughed, more like mind control. Every day after lunch; she would sit in a room and be told how evil people like her were. It would have been funny; at least it would if other people didn’t believe it. 

She decided not to make any comments today, a choice that was reaffirmed by touching her still swollen lip. Lanae jumped off the branch and began towards class. Another muddy snowball was thrown, and hit her square in the face. The force was enough to open the wound on her lower mouth.

As she bled, the temperamental mistress laughed.