Metropolis -- Chapter 1

Prologue Published before Chapter 1

New Chapter to come every 2-4 weeks

Chapter 1

“Rainey!” mama yells as I’m coming up the path with exasperation, “The mail transport just delivered a package from Metropolis for you.” Mama is trying to catch her breath while looking wild-eyed in anticipation of me opening the parcel delivered. I read the inscription on the paper package that says: Rainey Smalls of Sunflower Fields, Station: Atlanta – Urgent. “The mail transport said he is heading back to Metropolis tomorrow. All residents of Atlanta who are leaving for this year’s cropping in 3 weeks have to fill out the forms and deliver back to him at 8 hours past tomorrow morning at the transport cars!” mama exclaims with excitement and a hint of nervousness as well. I will be the first in our family to travel the distance to Metropolis.

My mother and father were both in their early 30’s when Metropolis was established and began governing the cities remaining. It was determined that the cities would maintain its occupants and assign jobs based on current situations and households already in place. My father, Benton Smalls, ran a large farm called Sunflower farms with his father. Grandpa Smalls now resides on the property but has not worked the fields since I was a child. We produce other crops such as lettuce, oats and tomatoes, but our biggest product is Sunflowers. We make birdseed for the birds which attracts other types of animals such as squirrels, raccoons, and bears that gives our station options for gaming.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Open it!” my mother eagerly begs me as she sits down at the kitchen table with her mug of coffee. I sit down across from her, nervously opening the parcel, delicately as though I might break some important treasure inside. The package is too heavy to just be paperwork. I lean over to investigate the side opening I have just created and only see the resemblance of paper edges and something shiny that I just cannot make out. I slowly tip the parcel to the side, so its contents slide out onto the table. The first object that appears is a circular black badge with 10 white stars. The 10 white stars I recognize as semblance of the 10 stations that are currently occupied and governed by the council. Next, a large, shiny gold key falls onto the table with such force that I thought it could have broken if it had fallen out any farther away from its landing. Lastly, I pull a small pile of paperwork out of the package. The first page of 4 reads:

Rainey Smalls

You are registered to the Council for citizenship as of July 31st, 2050. Upcoming citizens will depart for Metropolis for training, assessment and job placement on September 1st, 2050. If you do not appear before the council at 8 hours past on September 4 th, 2050, you will be listed as a deserter and will have no protection, supplies, or allegiance from the stations or this Council. No Exceptions.

As an upcoming citizen you will be required to adhere to the rules set forth by your Council. Your Council will assess your abilities and knowledge to determine how you can best serve your Council and Country.

Your Council will send a military representative to assist you in your travels and will act as both a servant to your needs as well as protection in your transport. You are set to leave at 10 hours past on September 1st, 2050. If you do not meet at the transport cars in time for departure, the Council holds no responsibility in getting you to Metropolis as scheduled.

The coldness of the letter sends shivers up my spine. My first emotion is to cry as I’m reminded my time with my family is short, but I hold back the tears as I do not want to upset mama. I can only have faith that people are kind and friendly at Metropolis like we are here in Atlanta. Neighbor helping neighbor is what my father would say. The icy cool tone of the letter feels more like orders than an invitation.

I recognize July 31st, 2050 as my birthday. It was just a few weeks ago, but it feels as though it were months since I turned 18. All upcoming citizens who turned 18 in Station Atlanta since last years’ transport on September 1st will be travelling to Metropolis with me. Each month holds a different stations transport except for January and February, due to the bitter coldness and the need to save on all supplies. For me, September is a perfect month since the sun is not overbearing and the wind settles in, giving a nice coolness in the evenings. This is my favorite time of year not just for the weather, but the sunflowers on the farm are in bloom and my favorite colors spread out over the surrounding hills.

I look up at mama who is quiet after hearing me read aloud the rigid tone of the introduction letter. “I am going to miss you so much” mama says under her breath so low I almost didn’t hear.

“I’m going to miss you too, mama” I say still holding back tears. Once I have gained my composure enough to look up, I see sadness in mama’s blue eyes. Mama is a petite woman at 5’4 and around 120 lbs. Her skin is brown and leathery from working under the unforgiving sun rays all her life. The years behind her leave trails under her eyes and on the corners of her mouth. Her hair that was once a shiny long mane of brunette is now a shorter version of white hair with brown remnants folded throughout. Mama reaches out and touches my hand. “No matter what, you have a home. I don’t care what they say…deserter or not,” mama says shaking her head as though she is trying to toss the thought of me becoming a deserter aside.

I know I would never desert, even if I hated my job or hated where I lived, I could never desert. Many have rebelled against the Council and chosen to live ungoverned and unprotected, but I cannot imagine how anyone could survive deserting. All that is left in our Country since the war is what has been built up in the stations over the last 30 years. This is as absurd a fear as I can imagine. I assure mama I am tough and going to be the best citizen I can be. The Council will know best. I will miss my family, my friends, and the comfort of the known. The anticipation of not knowing what is next to come is almost unbearable, but I will make the best of my citizenship to survive, I think to myself. I take the package contents to my room down the hall and close my door. Once I am safe from mama’s earshot, I let it all go and cry silently to myself.

The next morning, I wait patiently at the transport cars because I am severely early. Some people have ways of telling time with old pocket watches, but we don’t have such a device at the farm. We judge time by the Sunflowers who follow the sun. To make sure I’m on time, I left early this morning, leaving before the sun had a chance to rise. The transport station is only about a mile walk and I love being in the stillness of the morning. I watch the sun rise while sitting on an old rusty rail at the transport cars which is cold and somewhat wet from dew. I take in the birds singing and the coolness of the morning air as people begin stirring. Part of me knows I want to stay with Station Atlanta, but most people are not stationed in their home station. I have a keen intuition that my life is about to change drastically. The thought of never coming back to station Atlanta where my home and my family are is terrifying and painful. My apprehensive thoughts are muddled as I hear someone coming closer behind me.

I recognize the mail transport by the patched insignia of an envelope on his right shoulder. I did not, however, expect a military mail transport. I see a name tag on his left breast pocket that reads Smith. Officer Smith is dressed in all black with various guns and knives attached to his sides. I wonder why military personnel always carry a mass stock of weaponry. Are we not safe now that the war is over? Would they truly use the weapons on a citizen who did not follow orders?

My mind is quickly adverted when Officer Smith ask quizzically, “Is there something I can help you with, Miss?” I blush shades of red when I realize I have been staring at this man in black for only God knows how long. He must think I am a ridiculous schoolgirl who has never seen a man in uniform before. Officer Smith is handsome and probably around the age of 22 or 23, but I was only lost in thought about weapons and safety and certainly not in thought about Officer Smith. His long, thin man physique steps towards me. “Ma’am, I’m only going to ask you 1 more time, are you ok?” Officer Smith’s voice has become authoritative and I begin to feel like a child being reprimanded by their father. His stance makes me feel like he is ready to go into full fight mode if I don’t answer.

“No, I mean yes, everything is fine. I was lost in thought. I did not mean to…” but Officer Smith stops me.

“You are one of the upcoming citizens, aren’t you?” he asks while keeping his authoritative tone.

“Yes, my name is Rainey Smalls of Sunflower Fields. May I call you Officer Smith?” I ask trying to make polite conversation and recover any misguided irritation he may be feeling towards me.

“Corporal Smith will do just fine. Is your paperwork completed and ready for transport?” Corporal Smith asks with a gruff tone. His long blonde tendrils are covering part of his brown eyes as his stares me down earnestly. His skin is paler than mine or anyone I know at Station Atlanta, but we are a station that farms crops and we spend lots of time in the sun. I find the milky color of his skin reminds me of a painting; perfectly brushed smooth with no blemishes creating a unique and stunning picture. In comparison to my darker tan and rough skin with callouses, this picture is beautiful.

“Yes, Corporal Smith, I have my paperwork here and I am looking forward to my citizenship.” I stumble on my words as I have been caught staring once again, but this time not over weaponry.

“Wait! Wait!” I hear a high pitched, whiny, voice calling. I recognize my best friend bouncing her way up to Corporal Smith. Chloe is a uniquely stunning girl with red curly ringlets that have an animation of their own with every step she makes. Chloe is slightly taller than I am with green eyes that set off her vibrant red hair. Chloe is always complaining about her hair. She doesn’t like the color, or the humidity won’t let her do anything with it. I really don’t give any thought to my own hair. My brunette hair is soft and full but straight as a board off the lumber transport. I envy Chloe’s curls which in my opinion always seem to be in perfect place. I cringe to think of what her true opinion is of my bland uneventful mop of a hairdo. “Officer, my name is Chloe Andrews and I have my paperwork for you.” Chloe says with all the enthusiasm in the world.

Grimacing, Corporal Smith declares, “You can call me Corporal Smith.” As Chloe and Corporal Smith engage in an unwanted but one-sided conversation, I find this is the perfect time to slip away cautiously so I do not attract any more negative attention.

I start to head back home as other upcoming citizens with paperwork bustle by me headed to the transport cars. Station Atlanta is large, but its occupants are only about 4 thousand and we tend to stay close like neighbors but far enough away that we still have privacy. Since we are a farming station, each household farms about 100 acres, depending on what crops they grow. My family crops on 80 acres of land as we handle four gardens which include oats, tomatoes, squash, and sunflowers during spring/summer and carrots, lettuce, cabbage, and potatoes in fall/winter.

I see our modest, blue, one story home in my view and all the bloomed Sunflowers as it’s backdrop. What a gorgeous sight. I will miss this. I head down the hill to the gate that leads to the Sunflowers and start running as fast as I can. I feel free here. Here is where the best memories of my youth have been. Here is where I learned to read, where I learned to talk to God, where my father would play hide and seek with me during his workday and here is where I made my very first friend, Kohl. Feeling nostalgic, I walk along the path to the creek nestled in the back of the fields. I find my Oak tree with massive roots that in my youth I treated like a jungle gym. This is the place Kohl, and I would meet when he would come to visit. I have not seen Kohl since I was about 8 years old. We first met just before my 7th birthday. The day was a blistering day for field work and my father let me go to the creek to cool off, as he often did. Kohl was about my age and said he lived in another station, but even as a child I never understood this because the stations are not close to one another. The closest station is a full day’s trip by transport car and citizens who do not have jobs that require travel are not allowed to leave their station. I assumed Kohl’s father worked with the transport system in some fashion and would allow Kohl to come along.

Kohl had brown hair that was always a mess and freckles that kissed the bridge of his nose and brimmed the tops of his cheeks. His light blue eyes gave a perfect vision into his character, full of life and a pure soul. He was adventurous and loved to climb trees and make up stories about far off lands where war and work were replaced by an abundance of food and talking animals. Kohl’s stories were better than any book I could read. His imagination and creativity made me wish we could still print books so I could go back and reread them anytime I wanted. I tried to tell mama and father about my friend, but they believed he wasn’t real because they had never actually laid eyes on him, nor did they know anyone in Station Atlanta with a child name, Kohl. Kohl never wanted to be seen by adults and said I had to keep our friendship secret. Mama called him my imaginary friend. He was anything but imaginary. He was the best part of my childhood. Kohl and I would swim, skip rocks, and explore the land around Sunflower Fields, without going too far out because I had to be able to hear mama call me in for supper. Kohl was even my first kiss; well my only kiss. It was just a peck on the cheek, but I felt like a princess that day with a grin on my face that could not be tainted by anything in the world.

The day Kohl found the farm, he had seen me playing in the creek. I had rocks that I had named as my pets and I was playing with my rock pets in the creek. He asked me what I was doing, and I told him we were playing water slide. He never questioned my rock pets, but just joined in my game with me. I think this first encounter may be why Kohl’s stories always included talking animals because my rocks were never people; only the animals from my books brought to life in rock formation.

Kohl was originally drawn to the farm because he wanted to take a Sunflower home to his mama. He told me his mama was sick and the flowers made her feel better. Every day Kohl would visit, I would steal a Sunflower for him to take back to his mama. I told Kohl the magic behind the Sunflower that my father had shared with me.

“On dark and gray days, when the sun is not out, Sunflowers will bend towards one another to share their energy with each other. If your mama is sick, the Sunflower will share its energy with her and she will feel better,” I explained to Kohl. “They are magic” I would whisper like he often did when he would mock something his story animals would say. They made me feel better too so I knew my father was telling the truth about the magic of the flowers.

When I was a little older, I read books on sunflowers and found this story is true but now I know there is not some mystery magical medicine in the flower I so obtusely believed in my youth. It’s remarkable how God put so much love and attention into all his creations, giving even a flower the ability to store energy and help other flowers. It’s a reminder to me how the stations work hard in storing our own supplies needed for survival and share with each other.

One day Kohl just stopped coming to visit. I wondered how his mama was doing and prayed for her every night. I worried she may need the Sunflower magic, but maybe Kohl was too far away to come and get one. Weeks turned into months and no sign of Kohl. I was sad for such a long time at the loss of my friend and my parents began to worry about my behavior. They decided to invite a neighboring field’s family over for dinner so I could meet their daughter who was my exact same age. Chloe and I have been inseparable since. I look back on those days and wonder if I really did make him up in my loneliness as an only child with a desire for a playmate or was Kohl as real as I believed him to be? Imaginary or real, Kohl was my first friend ever and I missed him so much, but eventually I stopped waiting for him to return.