Am I to believe all these circumstances? Have I been bred to be so naïve?
Sometimes it feels like platforms are falling into the path of my steps, and I get to where I’m supposed to be. This calculated fate designed for destiny; premeditated not by me. Do they think that I don’t see just because I’ve always been here- that my sheltering would leave me transfixed?
To hear all my life the beauty of the painted skies, but when I finally reached out for them, my knuckles resounded a knock!
I beseech you the truth. Lies forevermore, nevermore.
A hand outstretched, in hopes of partnership to rebuild the lost: from a dissed utopia to a dystopia. Annexation of their civilization was just conservation. No one can make it alone anymore. Not him. Not them. But together, their survivability increased exponentially.
But his hand shook.
He was nervous. No, he was thirsty. He was hungry. They had run out of food that wasn’t radiated, outdated, or emaciated. They needed to be satiated.
Dirt rested in the creases of his palm. A thin layer of sweat coated his hand. Blisters were at the base of each finger.
“The Mayor and the town manager waved as their next victim approached.”
The methodology was simple; two people, every year, must die. One year it would be two lower-class victims. The next year, one middle-class or rich and one poor. Then back to two poor. The cycle continues. The poor victims served as scapegoats; only killing the rich would make their intentions obvious, and being caught would be more likely. Once a rich victim was taken, their family would pour all their funds into the town and state governments until they were found.
They were never found.
But the paychecks kept coming. And the mystery of the disappearances only added to the advertising and tourism revenue. Mysteriousness sells, even when engulfed in danger. Everyone benefitted. Well, except the victims.
The plan would continue on as long as the secret remained. Few people knew, and it was about to be fewer. What’s more intriguing than a missing Mayor?