The female smiles at me. Perfect teeth, of course. “Soon, the Lord will return all the animals and fish and insects to this world. He took them away to keep them safe.” She seems to enjoy stretching out her arms. Gravity has no effect on her boobs. “And when they return, Aman will name each of them, one by one.”
I know what I have to do. “The fruit of this tree,” I say, “you must eat it.”
“Are you of old earth?” the female asks.
“Why were you not burned away?” her partner asks. “Why is your soul still here?”
“Because I am powerful like your Lord,” I tell them. Their eyes widen. Grandfather would be proud.
“No one can be as powerful as the Lord.”
“And yet I stand before you,” I huff. “Even after your God destroyed the world and all in it, I stand before you.”
“How…”
“I understand His ways,” I say. “He is a deceiver. I have tasted the fruit of this tree and it has given me powers like your God. If you taste of this fruit, you will have powers like your God. This is why He doesn’t want you to taste of this fruit. Trust me.”
“You ate the forbidden fruit?” the female asks.
The male grits his teeth. “We were warned never to eat of the fruit, Ava! Has the Lord not provided us with all the food we need in this garden?”
“It’s not a garden, it’s a park!” I say.
“I want to be powerful, like Him,” the female says. “I want to be powerful like God.”
“No!” Aman shouts. “Obey our God!”
I look the male in his eyes, then shift my stare to the female. “Him? A man? I am a woman, like you. A powerful woman. You can be a powerful woman, too. Taste.”
“Ava, no!”
“Taste!”
Ignoring her partner, the woman pulls a fat pear from the tree and digs her amazing teeth into it. Juice explodes in her mouth, down her chin. “It is glorious!” she manages.
“Woman, you have sinned against our Creator.”
“Your Creator has deceived you,” I reply.
The female smiles. “I feel great, Aman. Taste.”
Hesitating, then staring at me, the man bites the fruit.
The glow of his face fades away.
“Why are we naked?” he asks, cupping his privates. “We must hide.”
The female draws an arm across her breasts and covers her thick pubic hair with a hand. “Before He calls for us, we must hide.”
The sky darkens. All at once, the fruit falls from the tree. The colorful leaves blow off branches like a flame blown off a candle. I am terrified. I run to the SUV, never looking back, never looking to the sky. I plead to Grandfather all the way to the void to keep me safe.
Grandfather closes his Great Book of Darkness. It’s what I call it, anyway. I’m sixteen now. Taller, honor student in high school, still plain-looking. Our dog Donut wanders into the room through the door I thought I closed.
“I will not live to see the new world,” Grandfather tells me. “But you will. The Quiet Space will protect you. You will walk in the new world and you will carry our legacy into that new world.”
He kisses me. Touches me. Scrapes at my back with his brittle nails. “Darkness is assured, darling. It will have its day.” He’s weaker now, needing help positioning himself. I pull him to me. The room is always too stuffy. Heat from our bodies makes it worse. I close my eyes and think of the knob of his cane that’s carved into a jackal’s head.
“Remember, Mia, if you complete your task, you’ll get a gift from me.”
I wonder what this stuffy room with one window and a sloped ceiling would be like if Grandfather no longer stayed here. Then I think, this room and Grandfather are one and the same. He’ll never leave this room.
I saw a bird yesterday. Gliding on outstretched wings through the ashen fall sky. So beautiful I cried. I decide to make tomorrow my twenty-third birthday. A year older and more prepared to shape this new world.
People will put the world back together quicker this time. Stockpiles of history—music, books, movies, museums, photographs, computers—and derelict infrastructure all around the globe will guide the way.
I set out on my errands, more determined than ever. I have no desire to visit Gramercy Park anymore. There are other parks in the city, my city.
My grandfather’s love has never left me. A life devoted to me. Only me. His darling. In this new world, where man will again make a way, so will sin. I rub my swollen belly. My gift. I can feel a fire deep within me. I think of Grandfather, smiling, rocking in his creaky wicker chair in our tiny attic room. His eyes are shiny copper pennies floating in the void. We will be together again.
The Many Faces of the Beautiful People
Hekter Kaztro
Detective Herring arrived at the Police Memorial Building around 9 PM on January 4th, 2069. He hurried through the halls, buttoning up his blazer as he walked. It was always strangely colder in the Homicide Unit. Officer Pratt was waiting for him when he walked in. The desk was covered in paperwork. This was going to be a high-profile case. It wasn’t every day one of the Highers was arrested for murder… Or anything for that matter.
“Is he ready for questioning?” Herring asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Yup. He’s sitting in interview room 1.”
“How did he take to being arrested? Should I brace myself?”
“He’s been fairly calm so far. Hasn’t even requested a lawyer yet.”
Herring was surprised. He’d expected a Higher to take being arrested as an insult. And in a way, it was. The Highers were above the law because they controlled the law. It wasn’t written down anywhere, but it might as well be engraved in stone.
“Did he seem to show any signs of guilt? Any nervousness?”
“Like I said, he’s been fairly calm. I even mentioned some of the evidence we have against him.”
“And?”
“He shrugged his shoulders and said it sounded like a solid case. If he’s nervous, he does a great job of hiding it.”
“Maybe he thought you were bluffing.”
“Maybe.”
Herring nodded. “This is going to be interesting.”
Pratt flipped on the recording equipment and watched from the adjoining room as Herring entered the interview room. The man sitting at the table with his hands cuffed together greeted the detective with a warm smile, but the sincerity was lost on both Herring and Pratt.
His name was Vincent Virgo. A few strands of his shiny, black hair hung in his face while the rest was slicked back behind his ears. His goatee was styled perfectly and his $5000 Armani suit emphasized his taste for the finer things in life. He was indeed beautiful, as all the higher people were. Such angelic looks were a further representation of his social status. Herring, like many others of the serving class, envied Vincent’s physical perfection. The rigid scar that ran across the Detective’s face literally burned with jealousy. He was only ten when the doctor ran a blade from his right brow down to the bottom of his left cheek. The regulated deformity of the Serving Class at a young age had been law for nearly fifty years. The type of handicap imposed was up to the doctor. Pratt, for example, was missing three fingers on his left hand.
They called it Marking Day. Each month, every child of the serving class who’d reached the age of ten would be taken to the clinic to be marked. Herring remembered his own Marking Day to be very traumatic. The experience was physically, mentally, and emotionally scarring. Marking was simply the Highers’ way of imposing their superiority. Every day, Herring would look in the mirror and be reminded that he was nothing more than a servant to the higher class. Still, it was better than being cast to The Bottom.