A Time For Thought

• Vidathra Patabendige, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

The slender grass stalks around me seem to convey a message.

‘Shield’, they whisper ever so softly.

A shield from something.

A shield from what?

Evening sunshine smiles down on the vast landscape, warming the ends of my old body, yet I feel no pleasure from it. The Badge of the Grasslands rubs against my chest on the sleek uniform we citizens must wear and I’ve understood that these are the only possessions I have. The only possessions I am allowed to have.

Beneath the sunlight, the glistening ends of the grass reeds blink every now and then, and it is almost as if I am surrounded by a sea of lights. But that is all it is, for there are much greater happenings in our settlement. Knowing this, I stand up from the log, and begin to make my way down the hill to the buildings of our community down below.

The tall grass reeds stroke and slither over my legs, intertwining me in their ever so soft touch. The whispers in my head soften, fading away as I near the community. The rough dirt path seems to embrace the equanimity of the scene. Again, I am plunged into contemplation.

According to the Powers-That-Be, the Grasslands (which would be the name of the settlement) would operate on behalf of the phrase, ‘One for all and none for one’. Basically, this meant that no one could hold things as their own, unless they are approved of by the entire community, and anything received must be shared by the entire community. Through various tests, the Powers-That-Be built up on this concept by either adding components, such as the regular supply trucks, or removing things that they deemed detrimental to the society, like the Communal Library, which they plan to do soon.

Finally, I reach the bottom of the valley. Quickening my pace so as not to receive punishment, I join the other civilians in unloading the trucks, which have arrived, yet again, without my notice. The stony, expressionless faces of the others stare at me, nod in regard, and continue with their work. The wind, now stronger, blows consistent gusts across the expansive grasslands around us, as if to match the repetitive actions of our work. The whispers are completely silent now, only a remnant of the past.

It is almost as if the ripples and the unchanging movement of the landscape is what really matters, in this place, this world, than what is reality.

But knowing that that was just a fleeting thought, and a hint of irregular behaviour, I come to the conclusion that my existence could impact our society. Thinking about this, before deciding that I should request a dose of eternal sleep serum tomorrow, I walk to the Sleeping Quarters to get ready for my last day in the community.

‘A shield,’ I think as I lay in the communal bed.

A shield from what? Life?

What is it I’m searching for?