Dahlia Red

Prologue

I'm sitting on a green mushroom, staring at the red water, mysterious, beautiful, and bright.  In my world, red is the color of warning, fatal, and dangerous.  But not here. Where is here?  I feel a stabbing pain in my left arm and slide off the mushroom.  I see something in the distance, and it's getting bigger.  Yes, growing and becoming powerful; I can feel it.    I'm too week to get up, and my vision goes out.  I hope I'm gone. There is only one reason why I get up every morning.  I don't want to live in a world where we have no purpose to live.  We really don't.  No goals, no achievements, nothing.  Just filling the empty space.

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I sit on my green grass and watch the city. I watch as the sun sets to purple, then pink. I feel like a queen, protecting her people; like a warden watching his prisoners. But no, they are not mine. And I am not them. I crawl backward on the grass, trying to break the connection between my eyes and the city. What a horrifying view. Why do I bother?

It's my turn to set the table. Tonight's supper is avocado smoothie with salad on the side. We have salad every day; for lunch, dinner or desert. Our dinners are always small portions. If we don't finish our dinner, or if we are not grateful for our meals, the worst will happen. The owners will destroy whatever comes between them and the peace and tranquility of the city.

I open the kitchen drawer to grab another set of utensils. Only to find myself staring at the wooden ones. Ahh, the wooden ones. We use those every 5 years. Its a tradition; on the 13th day of the 8th month of the year, everyone in the city gathers around the new meeting place(it varies every year). We sit at separate tables from our families and eat with wooden tableware with strangers until midnight. Safe, huh? If you're caught doing anything other than this, you have a wish. A Death Wish.