Sheryl

Early morning. Clouds crash, rolling like waves, and spread out across the sky. The sun eats through and lights up the wet grass.

I’m kneeling in the garden picking vegetables and fruits for breakfast. At least until next year, everything will be dried or frozen, stored away for winter, but for what will be eaten in the weeks to come. Though the weather would be mild, I would miss the days spent outdoors tending to my garden, the colors of the dirt and compost, the smells and sounds nature; the walks in the evenings, through the woods.

Carla was next door, smiling. Her hair hangs just below her shoulders, and a few strands fall across her face. The sunset, shining through blackened strands, illuminates brown. Quietly singing to herself, she props her basket full of fruits against her hip, raises her right hand, smiles and waves. She turns away and continues her work.

I found myself lost in watching, lost in thought.

* * *

Everyone worked together. Everyone built; everyone cooked; and everyone cleaned. The groups moved like music to a metronome, keeping in time and staying together. Everything was organized and planned.

Sure, people argued. People disagreed. But no one fought anymore, not since everything had changed.

* * *

“Thankful for the relocation, huh kid?” - I spun around, startled. It had been a statement, not a question. Otis had caught me staring.

Since the relocation, the only competition in the world came from within. Education, career, housing; all of the things you accomplished, in any facet of life, had become completely dependent upon your potential at being an effective and empathetic human being. Intelligence testing had become the auto-pilot that would steer your course in life. All of the big decisions, swept away.

The first string of testing was done near the end of middle school. Those whose IQ’s fell below 120 would only be attending two more years of school at which time they would take part in an intensive career orientation program.

Knowledge was to be kept confidential within each echelon of intelligence. Productivity and compliance would be taught, as well as policies regarding information-exchange beyond ranking. No decisions of great merit were to be made by the working class; though, their input was routinely sought.

Everything was carefully determined. And, with the legal system torn apart and society running on understood mores, on reason rather than bureaucracy, there was no chance of frivolous lawsuits. People were provided for, and crime wasn’t really an issue anymore, anyways. Besides, money no longer existed.

* * *

The Hunger Solution.

Poverty. Distribution of goods. Overcrowding. Crime. All problems which had been taken care of with the institution of the Hunger Solution.

Murders were rare. Rapes never happened. People hardly ever stole.

The Hunger Solution was a multi-governmental initiative that began in an effort to solve the economic drain that the prison system, as it had grown uncontrollably, placed upon the population.

First it was the death row inmates, packaged and shipped to members of the farming community as a relief effort to assist their struggling industry. Feed for cattle. Fertilizer for crops.

The possibilities for the Hunger solution grew.

Soon, soup kitchens, once struggling to handle the masses of unemployed, no longer had shortages of food. Within a year, the success of the program took hold, and it grew internationally. It had all but completely wiped out world hunger.

Crime rates went down.

* * *

“You still with me kiddo?”

Otis was in his late sixties; an architect. He worked on the design and development of the self sustaining homes which everyone has been in the process of relocating into. Each design that Otis finished met the specific needs of the family that was to move into it.

Between the solar, wind, water and residual microwave energy storage units, each home was equipped to operate completely independently of any other structure. And, besides being functional, all homes were required to provide a pleasing aesthetic within the geography of where they were to be located.

Otis had a complex job; his IQ, 167. Otis was a Buddhist.

“Everything has been so much better since the transition, Odie. Life just seems like it’s slowed down so much. You actually have time to appreciate what you work for. People smile again.”

“Seems like things really have made a turnaround.” - The corners of Otis’ mouth gently turned up. Folds of skin gathered near the corners of his eyes.

“I’m so thankful, Odie. No more sitting in traffic during the morning commute; ten minute bike ride to work and back. No more answering to unqualified bosses that oversaw you in work that they don’t even understand. No more inane small talk with moronic people. No more listening to neighbors providing unprovoked opinion, midway through arguing against her own reasoning, and then sputtering off into a diatribe about their idle existence.”

No more slack-jawed bobble heads.

All of your neighbors were those with similar intellects and levels of empathy. People genuinely cared about one another’s interests. Life had changed so much. Life was better.

Divergence from the ascribed worth of goods and services, dictated by a corrupt capitalist system, had caused quite the ruckus in the business world. Having to grapple with the intrinsic values of goods wasn’t something that the newer generation would have to have to have any experience with. Everyone was provided for.

Throughout the transition, shock had initially unsettled people. The Hunger solution hadn’t seemed reasonable. People couldn’t see how it was in our best interest. After all, we were going against generations and generations of tradition.

Eventually the public saw the rationale. Life became more comfortable, so people stopped asking so many questions.

Otis suddenly seemed distant. His gaze turned down, lost in his massive hands. Tensing then loosening his grip, his hands shuffled something back and forth.

“You okay, Odie? What’s that?” – I asked. He pulled his fingers in tightly.

Otis raised head and stared into my eyes. He seemed suddenly removed, rigid.

My stare held his as I noticed a glint of light. His hand swung up and I heard the air break. A loud popping, and I fell to the ground.

I felt a pain above my right eye, felt the sting, felt the heat run across my face. Another pop and I watched the world turn grey as Otis’ body dropped to the ground in front of mine, blood spilling from the hole beneath his chin.

Carla screamed.

* * *

Otis had married when he was nineteen years old. He married before everything had changed. He married the woman he loved.

Sheryl had moved in across the street from Otis, during the summer, just before fifth grade. Soon they became friends, and quickly they fell in love. They became inseparable.

When the government began testing, and Sheryl tested at 117, Otis lost his wife.