Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Selfishness

"If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine."

P.G. Wodehouse

(chapter one, age seven)

"Suppose we lived in a more desolate area, surrounded by nature and the vast, blue skies. No conflict, no hate, just peace where everyone gets along; a utopia."

"It's impossible."

"I'm aware, but what's the harm in dreaming?"

"It'll just get you in a spiral of sorrows. There is no changing fate in this world."

"I didn't know you humored the idea of fate," I acknowledged, laying my back flat against the grass and raising my arm to block out the intense summer sun. It isn't even August and yet the heat is beginning to dry up every lake in the district.

"It's an interesting concept...why the sudden thoughts?" Zeke questioned.

"Because people look."

"Look?"

"Yes, they look and they stare at us. They watch our every move as if we are to pounce and reign terror over their 'motherland'," I mocked, "They aren't afraid to express their disgust."

"That's how life is."

"Well, life sucks."

"Get used to it."

"What if I don't want to? Change doesn't just come to those who wait."

"Stop asking such trivial questions, June."

I sighed. Zeke never listens to what I have to say, no matter the circumstances; making a dull joke to dance around the, usually, serious topics I raise, Zeke will try to distract me with something else. And while I appreciate his expressions of care, I just can't help but feel as though he deems the actions as an obligation, being siblings and all.

"You don't have to pretend, Zeke." I say, making my way down the knoll my brother and I often visit. Zeke doesn't respond, he never does, though he knows all too well what I am talking about. The facade he insists on keeping around me is awfully annoying and rather taxing. Why must I bother myself with someone who doesn't even care to act themselves around me, who clearly doesn't trust me? It's pitiful how I hope and pray every night before bed to a God I don't necessarily believe in for our relationship to be mended, like how it used to be some time ago. I pray despite the coming of ignorance I would face once again. Ignorance to the world around me and the absolute horrors that reside in it.

Entering the house, I saw my dad reading. A novel, it seemed. The book was thick, at least six hundred pages, eight at most. I was curious as to what it was about. It wasn't often dad would indulge in such lengthy books. So with a brightened mood, I ask, "What'cha reading?"

He didn't spare me a glance, "The Envoy."

"Fiction?"

"Meta-narrative."

"About?"

"An envoy."

"Funny." I say, sarcastically.

"Thank you," He humored.

"Could you elaborate, or am I just that bothersome?"

He marks his place, a few hundred pages in, I presume, and sighs. "A messenger, whom is also Marleyan, records his walk around the Ulm internment zone,"