"That was a surprise." One of the scrappier vendors laughed humorlessly. "Now we get to sit back and watch the rich scramble!"
"I want to see how that Elliot fares living as one of us!" Another chimed. People started calling out bets on how long he would last before he died, and the pool of money on the barrel grew.
Papa pulled me along, trying to block me from the carts. I could still see them anyway. Why were they so happy? I looked to Papa. He didn't seem happy, or sad which confused me. It was only worry.
"Come along, Isra." He told me. I wanted to stay, I wanted to touch all of the pretty butterflies, I wanted to see all of the hats, but I knew better than to argue. I held my tongue. He would explain when he thought the time was right.
We walked to the travel pods.
"Where to, Mr. Cancelliere and Miss Isra?" The computer asked.
"Home, quickly please. " Papa told it. I don't know why he bothered to be polite, the computer only registered the words "home" and "quickly".
Even with the "quickly" command, the trip still took forever. What was a giddy conversation on the way here now was dead silent, the only sounds were of the motors whirring steadily.
When we got home, it was dark. We had missed the sunset, instead sitting in the artificially lighted carriage.
Mama rushed out to meet us when we got home. "The news is everywhere, praise America it wasn't us."
Papa glanced at me.
"We need to talk, Verity."
Mama shushed me inside, closing the door behind her. The house was still lit up, so she must have tweaked the settings to stay on until we got home. I grabbed a modified apple off of the rack and took a bite, savoring the taste, then pulled the stool up against the corner.
The walls of the house were soundproofed since it was rebuilt, but I found the foundation from the previous house let in a little noise. I used to "sneak" down at night and sit, listening to the quiet lull of noise outside.
"...and what about next year?" Papa's voice was anxious.
"We'll be okay. We can sell off a stock or something. We have an entire year." Mama's sounded calm and collected, soothing.
"That's a year that our income will grow. Work isn't going to start paying me less..."
"We don't have that much money. In the entire WorldAmericana, you think we are the wealthiest? You worry too much."
"You worry too little."he said, but Papa was laughing slightly.
The door started to open, and I quickly tucked the apple into the folds of my dress and jumped off the stool.
"Isra? It's time to go to bed, honey." My mother called out. She closed the door, but stayed outside. I hurried upstairs and slipped into my nightgown. I put the apple in the top drawer of my nightstand, then sat on the edge of my bed and waited. Mama and Papa would surely still tuck me in, right?
After some time, I laid back and looked at the holographic sky above my bed. The stars shone brightly against the dark ceiling. I traced my fingers over my favorite ones, all neatly labeled.
There was no moon out.
I had only ever seen the actual stars once, when I was four years old. Papa had taken me outside so late at night, I could hardly keep my eyes open. As soon as I saw the glittering lights, however, I was awestruck.
"These are stars." He had told me, pointing out a few of them. I had stayed outside for what felt like hours, just watching them.
"You cannot tell anyone, Isra. Not even Mama." He whispered as we went inside. And I never said a word, but ever since I have had a burning passion for them.
I drifted off, not quite asleep but not quite awake either. It broke when I heard Papa slowly walk to my door.I turned slightly, so he couldn't quite see my eyes but I could see the door, and pretended to be sleeping. A crack of light from the hallway landed on my face. It opened a bit wider.
"Goodnight, my little butterfly." He whispered and kissed my forehead. I opened my eyes slightly as he walked out, and saw Mama behind him as he closed the door.
"Goodnight." I whispered back.
YOU ARE READING
The Capitalist Plan
Science FictionIn a future WorldAmericana, a new idea is enacted: The Capitalist Plan. In it, the Richest person alive has to donate all of their money to a charity and start their life completely over at zero. Sometimes money isn't all its cracked up to be.