I’ve finally decided to start writing that story. Bad news is that I had nothing planned because of all the stuff going on with me, but here I am, starting it anyways. Good news is that I've come up with a solid plan just writing this first five-hundred down. Hopefully people will find this engaging for a bit. I like story, but it sure is some science fiction. This doesn't mean I'm going to stop the traditional blogging, I just wanted something fresh to keep my mind going, this is like a crossword puzzle to me. Let's see where it goes.
See you tomorrow.
The room was astir, but Kamau’s voice was deep enough that when he projected, everyone took notice. Panicked bodies quieted as he asked his question, “You know what my biggest problem used to be?” He looked around the room, “Anyone?”
The man stood, his imposing figure looming over those sitting on boxes and the floor. “The biggest problem in my life used to be that could never tear that little sticker off the pear without pulling the skin off. Every pear I ever ate was missing a small circle of skin; it was like a little badge of shame.”
His boots echoed on the steel floors and the ever-present hum of the engines underlined all he said. A small girl on a box cocked her head to the side and with a furrowed brow asked the meaning of the word pear before her mother pulled her back.
“You see?” Kamau stretched out his hand towards the little one. “Amaka, the little one, she’s a human being—but she doesn’t know what a pear is. Where did we go wrong? When did we forget our roots?”
The room began to stir again.
“When did we forgo absolute human tradition in favour of controlled information?” Kamau stepped towards a man roughly his own age, “Malik, surely you can see the folly in this so-called plan of ours.”
Malik looked at his friend with saddened eyes, “We all belong to sustaining generations, Kamau. You know this.”
Kamau’s mouth was open, and he looked at Malik as if he had been stabbed through the heart. “Not you too, brother.”
“Not me? Not me, Kamau? You’re the one suddenly forgetting what brought us here. Don’t begin to lecture me for a second about the virtues of our connection to the earth. We were twenty-nine when our hand was forced, and every single adult aboard made the same decision, so don’t give me the old, ‘You know what my biggest problem is?’ speech. Save it.”
Kamau pulled a breath slowly through his nostrils, inflating his large chest and closing his eyes to exhale. “You think this is about the work, Malik? This has never been about the work—the works keeps us alive, I know that. What you don’t seem to grasp is that, collectively, we’re forgetting the place that we’re trying to reclaim. Datum is a hundred and thirteen light years away; we’ve had one new generation born and a decade in, they barley know what earth is. What will the fourth generation, the ones to reclaim the earth—what will they look like!? What purpose will they have to fight!?”
The door at the back of the room opened suddenly, causing the crowd to jump, and Kamau to freeze.
A man with a grey beard and a jet-black turban stared the room, at Kamau and Malik standing in the centre of all those people. He spoke with a controlled volume: enough to be heard, but never yelling.
“You two, follow me. The rest of you, think about what you have heard here today and weigh it against what you know we are here for. We will address everything soon, together.” He turned and walked from the door way, and like scolded children, Kamau and Malik filed out behind him.
Writer, performer, producer and musician from Alberta.