A Penny for No Thoughts

A bad penny always turns up. Or is it a penny saved is a penny earned? Funny how the penny coined multiple phrases, yet we were only faced with those two. Two sayings for two sides, just like the penny. Except these sides lacked the innocence of choosing between heads or tails. These sides unknowingly determined of our fate: life or death.

The penny wasn’t our literal nemesis, just those employing it as the face of their marketing campaign-- Great Campaign Foods (GCF), a multibillion dollar corporation. Initially, GCF partnered with the United Nations and the World Health Organization initiative to end world hunger by pricing all food regardless of its source at a penny. When that program proved successful they drafted another proposal to eliminate global poverty.

Ending world hunger. Advancing the economy. Whatever genuine lie they spun wasn’t their actual objective. In truth, the effects of a volatile nuero-drug needed to be tested. It was intended to create a mass reset resembling Darwin’s survival of the fittest. Except those who survived would never be the same, unable to produce unique thought and forever subjected to the command of the elite. All harmoniously playing into the reset’s two main goals. First, to decrease the effects of the carbon footprint and replenish natural resources. Second, to create a world devoid of those regarded as vermin: the weak, the impoverished, the outspoken, or anyone unable to improve their elite society. And what better way to target an ignorant control group than with drug-injected food priced at a penny. Hence the penny campaign began; packaging their products with a seemingly wise proverb, “A penny saved is a penny earned.”

The slogan produced such euphoric feelings of morality ensuring that no one questioned the contents of their products nor the continuous string of events that followed: increasing illnesses, disappearing brands, missing nutrition labels, blacklisting independent farms, repealing of the Sherman Antitrust Act, and the list goes on. All heinous acts and virtually no one cared, their love for the penny too deep.

But some refused to be blinded by the penny’s copper glow. My grandma was one of them. “A bad penny always turns up,” Gran’s favorite saying became my tinnitus with her voice ringing nonstop every time she glimpsed penny-priced GCF products. “We can’t trust a company selling something that cheap,” Gran’s voice would pierce through every aisle in our town’s only grocery store. I used to burn with embarrassment even though I knew she was right. I hated walking through the thick fog of critical glances and ridiculing whispers; but Gran didn’t care who heard her and she certainly wasn’t bothered by –in her words- some brainless squab’s opinion. Gran already earned the title of ‘Town Kook’ and her tirades against Great Campaign Foods were not about to change that.

It’s been a year since the last time I saw Gran. A year since I heard her ornery quips. A year since I felt the warmth of her embrace. One year doesn’t seem like such a long time considering I am haunted by every detail of our last encounter. Each night the same image appears of Gran peacefully rocking back and forth in her wooden rocker while the duet of wood crackling in the fireplace and the KBC News Live Broadcast lulls me back to the beginning of my recurring nightmare.

“The death toll continues to rise across the globe as over two billion have been pronounced dead this month and another 600 million in critical condition. While the cause of this phenomena is still unclear, foreign officials strongly advise citizens to evacuate rural areas and travel to your nearest capital district where GCF has pledged to offer incoming families free food and supplies. In other news the Department of Homeland Security has reason to believe that terrorist groups such as Independent Label Revival and Subsistence Farmers Cooperative could be the chief suspects in this crisis. Anyone who has seen any suspicious activity or participation in either terrorist party is urged to contact local authorities immediately. In the meantime, stay safe and stay tuned. I’m Julia Richards and we’ll see you back at ten o’clock for more KBC Live News.” Julia Richards reported just like any other day, completely unscathed by the loss of human life. The broadcast itself didn’t frost my senses; it was her ominous smile plastered on the screen that shot a chill down my spine.

I turned toward Gran. Her rocking stops. Her hands grip the arms of the chair. Her body stiffens. Words weren’t needed to communicate my next steps, her demeanor a silent siren. We knew this day would come. As much as we tried covering our scent by purchasing a few Great Campaign Foods products, nothing could save us now. Not after Julia Richard’s unsettling report. Now wasn’t the time for fear, now was the time for action. I just had to carry out the plan as we practiced.

I methodically paced to the storage closet, muscle memory controlling each step, strapping on all supplies and grabbing anything deemed necessary to survive. I expected to enter the living room with Gran packed and ready to go. Instead, her silhouette reflected off the urn sitting on the edge of mantle. Sadness brushed across her face while gazing upon grandpa’s ashes. The gaze transforms to a steely resolve as she forcefully crashes her arms over the urn like a tsunami causing it to fall from its place.

She stooped down to sift through the broken bits of glass and ash as if searching for something. My heart raced, unable to move, completely dumbfounded by confusion. This wasn’t part of the plan. An overwhelming flood of thoughts swept through my mind. Gran might actually be crazy or worse losing her memory. Her ornery voice whipped the air, “Wipe that look off your face. I haven’t lost my marbles just yet.”

As she stands up, a thin gold chain dangles between her index and middle finger. Before I could ask any questions, she unclasped her palm and revealed a golden heart-shaped locket. “You don’t have much time. They’ll be pounding on our door any minute now. So take this heirloom, I want you to have it now.” Gran winked while shoving the locket in my palm, then continued, “Do you remember everything I told you?”

I nodded knowing that the locket was more than an heirloom.

“Good.” Water rimmed her eyes as she hugged me for the last time. Gran pushed me away and mouthed “I love you.”

Before I could say anything back, a fist hammered the door. Gran motioned to the trap door hidden under the rug, waving frantically at me ‘to get moving’. She swivels toward the door, I can see her hands raise to her face to wipe away tears. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to know Gran would be ok, but I had to close the trap door. A muffled exchange followed by a crash of furniture was my cue. I could no longer hold out hope that Gran would soon be right behind me. I grasped the locket and took my first step into the abyss. And it’s at that moment I jolt awake, chest pounding, drenched in sweat; waking to a cold unknown.