The Ashen Wrath (Watty's SHORTLIST recipient 2018) CHAPTERED VERSION

4

As I became a teenager, restlessness got the better of me. Nightly whittling was no longer sufficient to occupy my troubled mind. I plowed, planted, and harvested our grain with grim efficiency, but the praise I received for my efforts was meaningless. Knowing I reaped more rye than anyone else in the zone brought little satisfaction. I was just going through the motions each day, trying to keep my family safe and my head empty. Each month I felt tempted to test the surveillance blind-spot I had observed, despite my efforts to push the knowledge from my mind.

My sister and niece couldn't care less about my mental state, but my grandfather sensed my growing ennui. He confronted me one evening during our usual mid-week meal of rye bread and soy beans.

"Danth, I'm worried about you."

"What?" I replied, surprised. "I'm fine, Granddad."

My grandfather sighed. "I see the same fire in your eyes as your mother. This is a confusing time for many children your age, but you must be careful not to overstep your bounds."

"I'm not a child," I protested.

"No, you're not," said my older sister, Marta. "You're starting to stink."

I sniffed my armpit. "I am not! I bathe in the stream every day."

Marta wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, well, you should do it at night, too."

Annie giggled.

"Alright, that's enough," scolded my granddad. He was a stern man, but fair. I always tolerated his lectures, knowing our family owed him everything. "Hard work is what we live for. It's how we survive. We can never forget that."

"I know, granddad," I said. "No one works harder than I do."

"Me do!" said Annie.

I smiled at my four-year old niece. "Okay, maybe Annie."

"I can tell you're not listening," said Granddad. He took one more bite of bread then stood up. "Just know I see even more than the drones do!"

"Pop, you can barely see anything through those jar lids on your face," said Marta.

Granddad adjusted his glasses. "These work just fine...I'm watching you too, young lady."

I peered out the window at the blinking blue light in the distance. "They're giving us a lot of time for dinner tonight. Where's the Factory Trill?"

"Be thankful and finish your food," said Granddad. "We may be in for a long shift later. The trill could sound any minute."

I groaned. "Last night, we only punched metal for a half hour before the Sleep Trill rang. It doesn't make any sense."

"Quiet boy!" said Granddad, slamming his fist on the table. "It is not our place to question." He took a deep breath. "I'm retiring to the bedroom until the next trill. Do not bother me." He stomped away and entered the flap to his partition, which he zipped up tight.

"You're lucky you don't have to worry about factory shifts," I told Marta. "I wish I had the Care Card."

Marta glared at me. "Being home with a bored and hungry kid all night isn't any fun."

"No fun," said Annie, imitating Marta.

"We're not allowed to leave the house or even rest until the Sleep Trill. At least you have a routine—I'm just a prisoner in this tent."

"They let you read at least."

Marta laughed. "Do you know how many times I've read The Ten Tomes? They're—" A loud clunk made Marta slap her hands over her mouth. I looked out the plastic window and gasped. The stilt strider at the edge of the compound had turned to face our tent. Its blue light was pulsing faster.

Even Annie went quiet. Getting the attention of the drones meant you were one mistake away from death. We remained silent until the stilt strider turned away again. Afterwards, we didn't have much to say to each other.