[Original Novel] Pariah of the Little People, Part 8

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Again he laughed. I was only too happy to move things in that direction, as he seemed sincerely angry when I brought up the topic of pyramid schemes and he can get pretty ugly when sufficiently provoked.

Mom objected that the subject matter didn’t seem that far out to her and asked Dad why it was a problem. I finished my dinner while he explained to her how it is scientists can know the age of the Earth, the order various species evolved in and whatnot as she looked on with rapt interest.

It’s cute when they get like this. They really do love each other, and I know despite everything else that’s happened I’m lucky to come from a stable home. But no doubt they’d start kissing soon and I had no intention of sticking around to witness it.

The motor oil scheme stuck in the back of my mind as I headed for my room. Something to keep an eye on, anyway. As he’d already opened a crate, I took one of the canisters from it and tucked it into my pocket as I passed it in the kitchen. The little fellows have turned me into somewhat of a packrat. I look at every little thing and think “what might they make with this?”

While there was still daylight, I headed out to the remains of the forest. Looking for hidden settlements, fragments of the past. Here and there I spotted new growth. I smiled inside. To think it was all burnt down, but hasn’t given up. Nobody has to encourage a plant to live.

When I wandered to the shore of the lake, an astonishing sight struck me. The consequence of the battle I’d witnessed the other day in the field, near as I could tell. Bizarre flying machines streaked overhead, rocket engines belching grey wispy plumes of smoke out the back as they tore through the airspace over the lake.

Distant muffled pops sounded in rapid succession. A combination of depth charges dropped by the aircraft, and the anti-air guns mounted to the decks of a dozen or so surfaced submarines. Far above loomed something I’d not seen yet, but should’ve guessed they would build. If not the whole of their civilization, at least a military base of some sort.

A distributed cluster of white balloons each perhaps eight to ten feet in diameter held aloft a network of buildings suspended from them, moored together with fishing line and connected by flexible walkways. I wished for binoculars, but even from this distance could discern what various parts of it were for.

One carried a crisscross of long, flat runways suspended under it. For the single seat fighter craft now assaulting the lake presumably. No sign of the birds they once rode. The tops of the balloons looked to be coated in paper thin photovoltaics, the source of their energy. Delicate net-like moisture collectors hung off the sides to extract water from the air.

Of course with water and energy, you can get hydrogen and oxygen. A serviceable, if not ideal, fuel for rocketry. I don’t recall ever showing them how to build rockets, though the metal Tyrant ejection mechanism did have a model rocket engine in it. Must be something they reverse engineered later.

In spite of what they were using it for, that part pleased me. I want to see them excel. But at the same time, every new innovation they produce is immediately turned to the purpose of killing one another more efficiently. Intelligent stupidity. The spark of brilliance needed to design fantastical mechanisms, but the blinkered, brain damaged single mindedness needed for mass murder.

There I stood, anguished by the juxtaposition of the two, but powerless to do anything. If I let it continue I knew it would only escalate until the last warrior from each tribe strangled, bit and clawed at one another atop the wreckage of their once great civilizations.

As I looked on in silent consternation, a faint red beam leapt forth from what could only be a high powered laser pointer slung underneath one of the floating buildings. Despite a gentle wind buffeting the flying settlement slightly, a gimbal kept the laser perfectly on target, slowly reducing one of the submarines’ anti-aircraft guns to a heap of molten slag.

In response it launched a salvo of missiles, most spiraling about harmlessly but one striking a fighter, bursting in a flash of light and black smoke, the concussive sound of the blast mildly hurting my eardrums. Flaming bits of wreckage rained down on the lake, extinguished by the water as they landed.

“Why!?” I shouted. As if they’d listen. I picked up a rock and hurled it into the fray, hitting nothing. I’d be horrified if I did, but it also hurt to do nothing. This isn’t what she wanted. The crone never would’ve let this happen. She’d know what to do, I felt certain of it. Things had only gotten this bad because she left it all to me.

“Is a shame, yes?” I turned towards the voice. A shockingly beautiful girl stood there, for how long I don’t know. Her hair and skin were both bone white. I’ve never seen white hair except on the very old. Her dress looked inordinately fancy. Red satin with all manner of bows, lace trim, and other embellishments. It reminded me vaguely of Christmas.

“Wait...you can see them?” I asked. If so, she’d be the first. “Da, why should I not? I was there when Babulya made them.” I knew of nobody by that name and said so. “Fool. I speak of grandmother, the one who entrusted the care of these little ones to you. A poor choice by the looks of it, but I assume she saw something in you that I don’t.”

Her face transfixed me as she spoke. Immaculate, perfectly symmetrical. Pale as a ghost, with white hair flowing down her shoulders to either side from beneath her frilly red bonnet. The crone never spoke of a granddaughter. Nor could I see any resemblance, though for all I know the old witch might’ve been quite lovely when younger.

One of the little missiles exploded over our heads. I ducked and shielded myself with my arms. She opened a frilly, matching red parasol which deflected the smoldering bits of debris as they fell. “Do you know why they’re fighting?” I plead. “They never used to.” She shook her head, generous white locks swishing about her face.

“Is not in their nature” she explained. “But, they are impressionable. If someone teaches them this way, they will follow it.” I told her about Dan. About the war with the Tyrants. Less than a year ago but to me it may as well have been another life. “No, I think not” she muttered, expressionless. “I see why you taught them war. No other choice. But something else has changed in them, to make them devour themselves like this.”

It couldn’t be Dan. So far as I know he’s in another state. There’s nobody else I know of that they’ll show themselves to, except for this girl. I studied her for clues but came away with very little. Something about her posture, how the light hits her is undeniably fey. If I didn’t know of her relation to the witch, I wouldn’t believe she had human parents.

Finally one of the little missiles launched by the subs connected with the sky base. A plume of black smoke rose from the fire it started and I could barely make out frantic efforts by those aboard to put it out. The settlement began to rise. Imperceptibly at first, but then more and more steadily into the sky as the little rocket fighters swarmed around it, jockeying to land.

Seemed that the blues had won, at least for the time being. But they also lost a number of subs. From the outside, and a larger scale, I could plainly see the insanity of all this. But I suppose if I were much smaller, fighting in the thick of it, the whole petty mess of a war would seem infinitely meaningful.

“Looks like it’s over for now.” I turned back to the girl, but she’d vanished. I scanned the edge of the woods but couldn’t see where she’d gone. As expected, I suppose. I briefly searched the sky for any sign of a flying broomstick, but then decided she’d probably not use anything so trite. I waited around a bit, but when nothing else of note occurred, headed back to the house.

On the way there, I wondered when I’d see the girl again. Thoughts of her hair, dress and pale features frustrated every effort to think of anything else. Why didn’t the crone tell me she had surviving family? I realized I’d never asked. Even so!

There was so much she left unanswered. Taken to the grave, or whatever became of her body when the Tyrants were done with it. So many questions I wanted to ask, but assumed I would never get answers to. Until today.

When I arrived at school the next morning, she was waiting for me in the cafeteria. Had I been drinking anything I’d have done a spit take. My eyes immediately snagged on her as I scanned the room. Even in normal clothing, she stood out like a sore thumb.

She wore a dress again, but quite modest compared to the one I first saw her in. White wool with embroidered roses around the sleeves, neck and hem. Nearly every other girl in the room was sending furtive glances her way. Some curious, some dubious. Some menacing. I myself couldn’t help but wonder about her.

“What do you think of the new girl?” Tyler asked as I sat down opposite him. I neglected to tell him we’d already met, instead answering that I didn’t think anything just yet. “I love her dress” he gushed. “It’s on point. Maybe a little old fashioned but she sells it. Floral print is all wrong for October too, but she can pull it off with that hair. It makes my whole life come true.” I smiled a bit, and asked rhetorically what his life had been until now.

A teacher’s assistant came by. “None of that sorta talk, Tyler.” I wondered what sort she meant. All he did was amuse me. I couldn’t identify any bad words in it. The TA returned to the corner of the room but continued keeping a close eye on us, as did a few of the other students. Whispering amongst themselves about this or that. Nothing of any import to me, I’m sure.

I relished the chance to get a better look at Heather, suppressing the usual nagging shred of guilt. Certain she wouldn’t notice, as her own attention was fixed firmly on the new girl. I could feel the electricity between them from clear across the room. So palpable that I feared to walk between them! For her part, the new girl paid no attention. Only finished up her breakfast, then quietly left.

The morning’s Bible reading covered the tower of Babel story. I’d long since read it and was privately now on Leviticus, but I find the “just so” stories of Genesis wild and interesting enough as to be worth multiple readings. Yet while it certainly captured my interest, as with the rest of Genesis, I found it filled with troubling themes.

The idea of a great guardian and caretaker who does not nurture and encourage his little fellows to exceed him one day, but instead sabotages their ambitions seemed all wrong to me. If the guardian is our father, what father sees his young son learning to walk, or to read, and punishes him for it?

What father knocks down his son’s building blocks, stomps his sand castle and burns his inventions, then cripples him in some way to ensure he can never do it again? So he will only ever be a child. I couldn’t abide it. That’s not what a good father does, and not something I could ever inflict on my little buddies.

I love them, and delight in watching them grow. I want to cultivate them, never hold them back. If they exceed me, so be it. All children eventually exceed their parents, if they aren’t deliberately stunted. If some day there is nothing more I can teach them, no useful thing I can do for their benefit, I’ll be glad. My duty to the witch will be fulfilled.

I badly wanted to write my true feelings down. But they’ve successfully installed a sort of invisible restraint in my mind which turns me away from being honest with them. And, I fear, with myself. I nonetheless gave in and wrote something bland, approving and submissive. Maybe this way I’d get to hear an entire history lesson for once.

No dice. Something different today. After reading and reflection period ended, we were shooed along into the gym which doubles as a chapel. Certainly large enough, though the basketball hoops at either end diminish the desired atmosphere somewhat.

“October is approaching” boomed the principal, standing at a podium he’d wheeled out from a storage room. “Many of you are probably excited for the coming Christmas season.” Some brief laughter and cheering, cut short when he continued. “But before then, there are some things about the upcoming month that are important for young spiritual warriors to know about.”

He set up a large metal basin atop the podium, apparently designed to mount firmly to it as he bumped it once or twice afterwards and it didn’t budge. Another fellow I didn’t recognize joined him onstage for a purpose not yet clear to me. He poured some lighter fluid into the basin and, as we all gasped, set it aflame.

“October is when Satan’s grip on the world is strongest. Accordingly it is filled with seemingly harmless, fun temptations which are in fact a gateway to worship of the dark lord.” With some grunting, he shifted a cloth sack out from behind the podium and began to remove stuff from it. The first was a fist full of Halloween candy.

He tossed the candy into the fire. It flared up and soon a sickly sweet aroma filled the room. Looked like the ventilation fan overhead was doing double time to get rid of the smoke quickly enough. Fortuitous that it should be there, they must’ve done this before. He now produced a Halloween mask resembling a Jack o’ lantern and put it in the fire as well.

The smell became much worse as the plastic melted. “You see, he comes to you in many forms, pleasing to the eyes and other senses. Makes consorting with dark forces seem fun, whimsical and trendy. You have seen this in so called pride parades, in yoga, in evolutionism classes in secular schools, the “Dungeons and Dragons”, and so on.

But during this month, he does not hide so carefully. Just presents himself in a way that invites the whole family to participate. If they are foolish.” He tossed a DVD of some horror movie into the fire. The noxious mix of candy and plastic fumes started giving me a headache.

“But fear not. You need only put on the full armor of God to defend yourself from these spiritual attacks. First, the helmet of salvation!” He handed the fellow next to him a plastic costume helmet, probably purchased from the same Halloween outlet as the other props. “Next, the shield of faith!” He handed the guy a comically small plastic shield.

So it went, the rest of the pieces being the belt of truth, boots of peace, sword of God’s word, and the breastplate of righteousness. Each apparently symbolizing some aspect of how we’re to mentally prepare ourselves before encountering and disputing belief systems contrary to Christianity.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 9!}