This Year’s Opulant

May 18th, 2099

The crowd cheers when they see her. A 24 year old woman, but she feels like a 4 year old girl.

She is out of her element. She is bewildered.

Cornered between terrors and there can be no escape.

And her stomach summersaults— even with the anti anxiety and anti nausea medications she requested, she feels like she’s about to vomit.

How many times has she been down in that crowd, cheering wildly for the presentation of an Opulant?

Never did she believe she’d be on The Pedestal.

She could not accept this reality-- even after spending a year in preparation.

She swallows hard. This does not calm her nerves.

She feels paralyzed. But she knows what is expected— no, demanded of her. So she raises her hand in greeting, and waves just the way she was instructed: like royalty.

And all eyes are on her. Not only those who have made the pilgrimage to gaze up at her from the square below, but all those who have tuned in all around the world.

The entirety of the waiting public, the Worldwide Commune, eagerly watches.

When her first tear falls, the trumpets blare and the crowd erupts in a tumult of laughter and wild celebration.

She watches herself weep in instant replay on the the big screen, and her tears flow all the more urgently.

The Diamond and Razor Crown is lifted off from her head.

The executioner places one hand on her shoulder.

“You’re doing a good job Carly. I’ll try to make it quick.”

She begins to shake. Just before her knees give out he drives the spikes of the Crown of the Opulant through her slender throat.

And it hurts.

But she’s still aware of the crowd cheering like thunder in her ears.

She wants to lay down. To disappear. Dying this way in front of the whole world— it’s supposed to be an honor.

But all she feels is embarassment. For putting herself her.

And fear. Of what's to come.

She’s getting weaker, but the executioner does not let her fall.

He lifts her gently to keep her in view, and drapes her over the parapet as the last few spurts of her blood trickle down through the open air to the crowd and the world below.

*

April 30th, 2098

"Mom."

Her elderly mother doesn't seem to notice.

"Mom!"

Her mother comes out of the kitchen. "What Carly?!" Her grey hair is a mess and her hands are covered in flour. She hasn't even changed out of her work clothes.

Should that matter?

Carly doesn't know if it should matter, but she can't help thinking it does.

"Mom." Her voice is as plain and drab and empty as a corpse. Suddenly she hears herself, and she feels very stupid.

She knows she should feel something-- and that feeling should be tremendous. But she does not know what she is supposed to feel, so she has settled on feeling nothing.

But she can't smile or laugh or cry or moan. So she holds the envelop up to her mother.

Her mother sees crimson paper, and the silver seal of the World Wide Commune, and she manages to cry for the both of them.

*

May 4th, 2098

"What are you going to decide?"

Carly has cried. In the days following the summons, she has cried bitterly. And she has also felt the almost painful, giddy rush of lunatic laughter welling up in her chest.

"I don't know. Can't you just decide for me?"

Her mother's eyes are puffy and red. "No. Don't ever ask me that again, you can't! I can't."

*

May 17th, 2098

She has pushed this decision as far back as it can go-- but come tomorrow morning there can be no more deferrals.

She must decide if she will accept or reject the Mantle of the Opulant.

It is the highest honor a young person might ever receive. She'd be serving the greater good of the World Wide Commune-- in a direct and real way.

She wouldn't be a mere scapegoat-- she'd be a living symbol of the Final Revolution. She'd be the next link in a chain that supported her people-- their wellness, their culture, and their peace.

Willfully accepting the mantel would mean stepping into the role of ceremonial pig.

It would mean stepping into the satisfaction of all her wildest dreams and wants and having anything her heart, mind, or body could ever desire.

And it would also mean her final, necessary butchery.

She wouldn't be a victim to their violence, that much had always been clear.

Opulants were only ever victims to their own greed-- the violence of the crowd was nothing more or less than the logical conclusion of and reaction to an Opulant's wanton excess.

The voice of the crowd could only ever be infallible.

The voice of the crowd could only ever be justice.

And would she invite that justice?

She could reject the mantle. She could go back to her life-- to her mediocre life of appointed labors and leisure and basic needs met, just like everyone else in the World Wide Commune.

It wasn't a bad life. She would not go hungry, she would not be homeless or cold. If she fell ill, the Commune would provide. There'd be no real suffering-- and everything would be fair.

But the joys in the Commune were simple and free: the arts, other people, the outdoors. Carly had never experienced the legendary joys of the 20th and 21st centuries. She had never experienced a single luxury. She had never experienced the joys of excess.

She knew-- everybody knew-- that to lay hold of the joys of excess, one must be willing to take.

To have in excess meant the deprivation of another, there were no exceptions.

And that was the role of an Opulant-- to take what he or she wanted-- at the expense of the Commune... At the expense of all people.

Accepting the mantle of the Opulant would mean elevating herself above the common folk. It would mean putting herself first and all others last.

And there could be no escaping the punishment owed to such greed.

And she needs to decide.

*

May 18th, 2098

Carly makes her choice. She bows to the whole world, and raises her arms.

The simple, sturdy, comfortable clothes of the Commune are torn from her body, and The Mantle of the Opulant is draped over her shoulders. The feel is a brand-new thrill to her ignorant skin-- later she'll learn that the material which seems to caress her arms so strangely is called silk.

But here and now, washed over with the strange newness of a fabric she's only ever seen from a distance, she feels an unexpected chill shoot up her spine, and she smiles at the crowd.

Their cheers buoy her up and lift her spirits in ways she never could have expected.

Hadn't she cheered for opulants in the past? Shouldn't she know what to expect?

Her smile gets wider, more sincere.

And a jubilant laugh spills from her throat.

Cheering for a hero is quite different from being cheered.

*

After the ceremony she looks in her mother's eyes and thinks, how strange! Now she is the one who doesn't know whether to cry.

"Are you sure you're okay with this mom?"

Her mother shakes her head. "Of course not. I'm terrified. Carly. My sweet baby. But it's done. And though I'm scared I'm also... very proud of you."

"What if I had rejected the mantle?"

"I'd be relieved. Because you'd live...but..."

Carly frowns. "But what?"

"Well you know what. I wouldn't be proud."

"If I decided to just go back to life in the Commune, what, you'd be ashamed?"

"No. Of course not. I'm just saying. Well, you know. You are a Living Symbol of our revolution. A willful sacri-- a willful reminder. Of where we came from, and where we must never return. You did a brave thing by choosing the mantle. Your demonstration will be part of the tradition which sustains our way of life-- not just for a couple of our neighbors the way our assigned labors do. No, your demonstration will sustain our way of life for all of us. For the whole world! How could anything ever bring more honor?

*

That first night, she has her first meal as Opulant.

It is nothing like the rice and lentils and dates she has grown accustomed to-- there is a table laid out with colors, shapes, and smells she has never encountered.

She puts a dark brown square into her mouth-- and it melts into a velvety richness. The Automated Servants inform her that she's eating Chocolate.

Another bite of something else is called Ice Cream. She takes a drink of something that seems to tickle her tongue with bubbles. It's called Sparkling Lemonade.

And she eats alone, because an Opulant is not permitted to share.

The robots said so.

They also said that anything she wants, all she has to do is ask.

But no humans, except for the Opulant may partake in Luxuries.

So she eats and asks for more Chocolate and for more Ice Cream.

But of all the stunning new foods she samples, the one she most wishes she could share with her mother is something called an Orange. It's juicy, and sweet but with a delightful sour bite that is utterly alien to the sustainable diet of the Commune.

*

June 5th, 2098

Last week Carly tried to smuggle an Orange in the broad sleeve of her Mantle. Now she tries to smuggle something smaller-- a Jelly Bean.

The Servants see that too.

She is not punished. But the Jelly Bean is confiscated and she begins to understand the Servants must see everything, somehow. So she gives up on the idea of sharing. She would have liked to.

It really feels wrong not to share.

Then a thought occurs to her and it provides some consolation: her mother probably would have refused out of respect for their difference in station.

Besides, it would have been impossible.

September 3rd, 2098

She didn't bother going to the dining room for her meal, she summoned the Automated Servants and ordered her favorites in her room. Afterall, she was the Opulant. And she could do whatever she wanted.

Her bed was very comfortable. She lounged on the cushions and ate grapes. And she pours through the digital archive and watches some old romance films from the early 2000's.

September 8th, 2098

It's her first time ordering a concubine. Before accepting the Mantle of the Opulant she hadn't even known the Commune assigned laborers to that field.

But there are plenty of options, and the one she chooses turns out to be very good at his job.

Still, she cannot share Oranges or Grapes with him.

She is reminded that he is merely a member of the Commune.

So she squashes the weird little flutter of true admiration she feels.

January 27th, 2099

She hasn't visited her mother in about a month. It's not really deliberate-- it's just that... Well, her last visit didn't go well. It's not like her mother had done anyting wrong. But what was the point?

Her mother was still just a member of the commune. She still wore the same ugly one piece clothes of the commoners. What could she or any of them have in common with an Opulant?

What could they talk about? Could she tell her mother how she spent her days lounging around watching something called Movies in a limitless archive from the Old World? She wouldn't understand.

Could she tell her mom her meals were so luxurious they were starting to become boring?

Could she tell her mom about all the extreme things she'd done with or to or had done to her by the common men and women she had ordered into her bedroom?

It had been a boring visit.

Even more boring than her languishing opulence in the inner rooms of the Pedestal. That was the real problem. Sitting in her mother's pitiful little home, eating bland lentils? Talking about the flavorless news of her old neighborhood.

It bored her to tears.

She did not care if some other of the commune was having a baby.

She did not care if some other of the commune had passed away.

If her mom weren't still alive, she wouldn't care about the commune at all.

And what little care she maintained felt forced.

Truly, she had better conversations with the Automated Servants. After so many months removed from the common life, she felt more comradery with them than to her mother.

And whenever she felt lonely, they offered her any number of pretty distractions.

May 18th, 2099

The daylight at the top of the stairs is blinding. She doesn't know how to feel about this last march.

She feels wasted.

She feels a waste.

Part of her wishes to be ready for her grand exit. Part of her knows she never will be.

She is afraid.

And some distant memory seems to beg her: find some purpose!

She knows, dimly, vaguely, that this death-- her death-- it will be important. It will be a reminder-- of the bloody revolution that founded the commune...

But she cannot bring herself to care, so she climbs the stairs with nothing but her fear.