Endoran was a stupid place. Marcion hated it. Nothing ever happened, there were never any other children to play with, and it always smelled of burned eggs.
The reason for nothing ever happening was that The Committee controlled everything, no one would ever dare so much as go on a picnic without permission, and permission took a very long time to come by. Old Man Proctor had been waiting for permission to replace his jammed doorknob for three years, so he’s spent those three years climbing into his house by the window. Poor old man.
The reason there were no children was that there were strict laws concerning childbearing, and his parents were the only eligible couple in the entire village. So, until they got permission to make him a sibling, Marcion was alone.
The smell of burned eggs was because his grandmother, Lucinda, was a terrible cook who nonetheless insisted on cooking, and eggs were her favorite food. Each morning, she would throw eggs on a skillet on the wood fire stove, at which time she would sit beside the stove and promptly doze off until the smell of burning eggs brought Mother in to wake Grandmother up and throw the eggs into the fire. Every morning! The smell made Marcion want to puke all over everyone.
There were rumors that things were far more exciting in the neighboring nation of Kalingar. Marcion heard stories that they had far less rules there, that there were many more children, and that they even had huge birds the size of houses! Marcion longed to go there, or anywhere that wasn’t Endoran.
Today was Slumpday, which meant the one day of the week with no chores or work for anyone. It would have been wonderful if there were actual children to play games with, but as it was, Marcion was sitting in the village circle, picking at the dirt with a stick.
“Boy, can you tell me what village this is? I’ve been in Endoran for weeks and they all still look alike to me.”
Marcion looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. He couldn’t make his brain understand what was happening. He was flabbergasted. No one travelled in Endoran, at least almost no one. Other than Committee members, it took years to get permission to travel, and since each village was the same as the next, and the landscape was barren desert, no one ever felt it was worth it to go through the trouble. Whenever someone actually did put in for a travel pass, by the time it was approved they’d either lost the urge to travel, or they were dead. The only thing more rare than an Endoran traveller was a foreigner traveling in Endoran, the borders had been closed for centuries, and the penalty for being caught harboring a foreigner was lifetime imprisonment.
“What’s the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue?”
Marcion just moved his mouth wordlessly, trying to make sense of what was happening. It did seem his tongue had stopped working, and while he didn’t know what a cat was, he thought perhaps one did have his tongue after all.
The man came and sat beside Marcion. “Sorry son, I didn’t mean to startle you. I guess you don’t get much in the way of visitors here. I’m Stanton, but my friends call me Stanton. What’s your name?”
“M..m..marcion.” Stanton smiled. Marcion looked at him more closely. He was tall, far taller than Marcion was used to. His legs were skinny and his pants were bright orange. His shoes were green, just like the plants The Committee sent for food sometimes. He was wearing a purple shirt with a huge collar, over a rust colored coat that looked far too warm for a day like today, or just about any day in Endoran for that matter. No one in Endoran wore anything that wasn’t brown, so these clothes were quite striking. Stanton clearly wasn’t taking great pains to avoid notice.
As Marcion continued his appraisal of the stranger, he noticed that Stanton’s hair was red, and his face was covered with freckles; the iris of each eye was a startling blue, but around each iris was a copper colored ring. Marcion had never seen anyone with rings like that before; once he noticed them, it was hard to look away.
“Well, hello M..m..marcion. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you mind telling me what village this is? I would be awfully grateful to you.”
“This village is called Sabbia. But you shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous. You’d be put to death if someone saw you.”
“You see me, are you going to put me to death?”
“No, I mean someone else. A grown-up.”
Stanton smiled. He slid his index finger along the side of his nose and winked. “Well, you let me worry about that, friend. I can take care of myself, alright. Fancy an orange?”
trigger fiction. 