The Cost

Chapter 1 - The Prophet

"Once we had a voice. Then some freedom was taken from our neighbors. Then a little more. Until we were silenced and there was no one left to speak for us."—Anonymous (a Radical)

My name's Jacob. Okay, that's not my real name. But if I told you who I really was, well....enough said.

At this point I'm getting beyond caring whether or not people like me. And that's not a statement meant to evoke pity, even though that would be kind of nice. I guess legally I really don't have a name, since my ID is now invalid. Yet in more ways that one, I actually feel free. I'm not just another product of the government, another machine by nature born into their control. Because I'm a citizen of elsewhere.

In a few days I may be going home. It all depends how things turn out. Sierra says I should write outlines to help me organize my thoughts, but I told her that with her as my editor there should be no need for that.

So I have no idea how this might turn out, which stories I might want to include. I guess I'll find out what's most important as I go along.

So here we go.

****

Mondays.

"What's up J?"

A familiar, burly hand punched me in the arm as I was opening my locker, wishing I was homeschooled. "Just another Monday. What's up?"

He gave one of his deep laughs that sounded like it came from a bottomless hole in his stomach. Several students turned their heads, then continued talking. "Great, just great. Not that I don't have an uncle who wants to take my entire fortune, not to mention all the money that my parents put away for our college fund...."

"You didn't do something crazy again, did you?" I asked, lowering my voice.

He shrugged, opening his locker so that I couldn't see his face. I imagined a rotten banana peel, old posters, plastic cups, and a dozen other things were in there besides his school stuff. I'd seen it before and I wasn't going back. After me making a big deal about it once after he'd asked me to get something for him, he'd sworn that he would never let me in there again. I was just fine with that.

"Kane!"

"Shut up, man. You're making a scene." He grinned teasingly. "You wouldn't want to get hauled off by the enforcers. I just might have your ID."

"Kane, seriously. What happened?"

"Fine. Maybe I did pull out my dad's gun from the drawer and go out for a little walk...."

"You wouldn't really—"

"Char caught me again."

I clapped the locker door shut. "Threaten you again?"

"Might've. Told her I was doing target practice. She let me off this time."

Then the bells ring, a cheerful reminder that it was another Monday with a load of work ahead of us.

****

"Jacob! Where were you?"

I tried to smile as my little sister tapped her indignant foot against the pavement. "Hey Trish," I told her brightly, ignoring the irritated question. I balanced my backpack on one shoulder as I unzipped something from inside. "Here."

She hesitated a moment as she looked at the brown bag I was holding out, not sure exactly how to respond. Then she snatched it with a muttered thanks and opened the bag, judging whether or not she would accept the offering. I saw her trying to hide a smile and knew I was back on her good side. Honey fingers just about mend everything, no matter what she's mad at me for.

"So what took you so long?" she asked in a calmer voice as she unwrapped one of the brown colored candies, storing the rest that were still in the bag inside her backpack.

"Lots of people at grocery today. Apparently Mona 368 has a malfunction, so we'll have to do some things the old fashioned way."

"Like dishes?" she groaned, already knowing the answer. Then, "You didn't think to text me?"

I shrugged. "I kind of forgot."

"Hmmm," she said as she sucked on the candy, storing it in her cheek like a chipmunk whenever she wanted to talk to me.

All the way to the city square, I started to notice more people. Then there, in front of the white fountain in the center, a massive crowd was gathered, their focus on someone standing on the edge of it with a megaphone. An African American guy with an ordinary tan coat and jeans. A guy who didn't look much older than me.

"Who's that?" Trish asked. I shrugged. But as we got closer, we started to hear what he was saying.

"How long will you ignore the voice of God? He is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love! But He is also a God of justice, a God whose necessity is to remove what causes sin and wickedness. For a long time He has called you through prophetic voices, called you back to Himself. But you refuse to turn from your wicked ways....in fact you exalt it and excuse it! God will not let your nation get away with this path of perversion or with the murder of children—the very children He gave to you! This is why enemies have been coming into the borders, because you've put a band-aid on a fracture! Deal with the issue of the heart!"

People were already murmuring, some not really sure what to think. Some left, seeming irritated and with a look that said this was a waste of their time, they had better things to do.

"What's he talking about?" Trish asked, but I only half-heard her. To be honest, I don't know what drew me in that day; but there was something about the way that guy spoke. Something real. I had to know more.

"Don't think that your military can protect you from judgement so that you can continue in sin," he said. "No army can stand against God. When He acts, who can reverse it? Yet He takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that each of you would turn back to Him...."

Commotion. Glowing sirens. Enforcers making their way through the crowd.

I grabbed Trish's hand.

****

The TV blared that night—Trish was curled up with homework and her pug on one couch. She'd wanted to name him something cute like 'Sweetie Pie' or 'Dr. Sweetness'. But after a few times of cleaning up trash he'd dumped over, I christened him 'Janitor'.

"Hey J, check it out," Trish called, as if I was miles away. I looked up from the table in the 'dining room', which was kind of just a glorified extension of the living room.

Images of the city square earlier today flashed across the screen. For the first time I noticed the guy with the jacket had no tattoo on his arm, the tattoo that all of us had worn since we were kids to identify us by our gender. Or transgender or whatever else. Some people needed room to decide, and it made things a lot more fair at work, school or other public places. And less confusing.

A formal voice came over just as there was video footage of the enforcers coming in. "We apologize for any inconvenience this young man may have caused you in his radical attempt to force his beliefs on the the rest of society."

As I kept watching, I saw that the guy hadn't fought. When they yelled questions at him, he'd stayed quiet.

"We assure you that he has been apprehended, and that his beliefs of discrimination do not represent us and the rest of our staff—nor should they infect a peaceful and unified society. We will do everything within our power to make sure this never happens again."