Dissonance - Book One

the end

"It's time."

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have said it, if I weren't sure. This isn't exactly something you second guess."

"We could wait, at least another six months. The data says we could wait."

"Once upon a time the data said we wouldn't wind up in this mess, yet here we are. I wouldn't put all your faith in data. They're just numbers after all."

"Numbers? Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"My sense of humor left me long ago."

"Corporate says she's not ready."

"She'll be ready. In 12 hours she'll have no choice but to be ready."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"How do you think history will view you, all of us, when this is said and done? Will they understand? Will they forgive?"

"Forgiveness will fall on deaf ears. There won't be anyone left to hear our remorse."

"Except for us. How do we live with what we've done? How do we look ourselves in the mirror?"

"Are you questioning my authority soldier?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Good, then tell them I gave the order to proceed."

"Yes Ma'am."

"And so it starts, the beginning of the end. God help us all."

***

They consider me special, not in and of myself, but merely because I am the last of my generation, the last of any generation to be exact. The government put a ban on giving birth after the year 2030. They called it the Attwood Contingency: the government's last-ditch effort to control the population expansion dilemma. At the time the law was put into place, no one ever truly believed it would be implemented, and the American public, per usual, was fooled by big words, flashy politicians and false promises, which is why they voted it in without much thought as to the law's actual implications.

To make matters worse, we weren't the only ones. The whole world followed our lead, and why wouldn't they? We were the most powerful nation in the world. We thought we had found the solution. We had determined what needed to be done, no matter how difficult or morally reprehensible. Our narcissism blinded us to the truth, which, in the end, would be our ultimate undoing. Nothing destroys life faster than an unchecked ego.

Of course none of that meant anything to me then. On the day of the accident I sat in the backseat of my parents old Chevy pickup truck, blissfully unaware of the current state of affairs as I clung to a copy of my favorite book, Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I watched as the cornfields passed by my window, blowing in the wind like waves rolling across the plains. I tried to count each stalk, but lost track after twenty or so. My brain couldn't keep up with how quickly the tall yellow stalks flew by at fifty-five miles per hour.

My sister sat on the opposite side of the truck staring out the window, twirling her long golden brown hair. Its rich hues sparkled in the light that shone through the window. I loved to watch her twirl thick strands of hair around and around her fingertips, tying them in little knots using just one hand. I tried so many times to do it myself, but being five-years-old, my tiny fingers and unsophisticated fine motor skills, made it difficult at best. I idolized her, as a younger sister often does of her older sibling. Her beauty was natural and effortless and her smile made me feel warm and tingly inside, yet she was often aloof in a way that made me seek her approval. But as pretty, sophisticated, and cool as she seemed, it paled in comparison to her intelligence. Unfortunately, for those around her, she was fully aware of her superior intellect and influence, which she took advantage of, at the tender age of nine. She could get whatever she wanted without pleading or throwing a tantrum. It was her skilled persuasiveness that seemed to drive my brother the craziest. He sat between us, ear buds stuffed in his ears, and eyes fixated on his iPad. If my sister were the prom queen, then he would be the classic nerd. His face was glued to an electronic device nearly every hour of the day, writing code, and unbeknownst to my parents: hacking systems. He had created some sort of new code that he wouldn't stop talking about and I tried to tune him out, turning my attention back to the window. My efforts however, were futile, and did little to stop him from pestering me. Periodically, he would stick the tablet in front of my face and ask me to fill in the blanks. To humor him, I would enter a few random numbers that popped into my head. He always seemed pleased with my answer and tousled my hair with his hand, to indicate his approval, as if I were a dog.

It was difficult to see my parents from the angle at which I sat. All I could make out were their hands entwined in one another's, resting their arms on the large center console that divided the driver and passenger's seat. This was the way they rode no matter where we went. I don't recall my parents being overly affectionate, but I can vividly remember the way in which they held hands as we drove down the road that day, perhaps because it was the last thing I saw before the impact.

It happened quickly. That's about the only thing I remember. And the blood. There were drops of blood all over my favorite book. The Cheshire cat, perched in the tree, looked down at Alice as blood rained from the sky, dripping down the tree trunk and puddling at Alice's feet. Did the blood belong to me? My siblings? My parents? I couldn't tell. I remember trying to wipe the thick red substance off the pages, but instead, my tiny trembling fingers smeared the droplets across the beautiful words as they lifted me up onto the stretcher. I recall counting the corn stalks as they wheeled me past, towards the ambulance. I only made it to ten when their rich golden hues turned a crimson red. Blood splatter covered the tips of the cobs, and ran down the long golden stems. I must have passed out from the carnage, because after that, everything went black.