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By: Ben (Ugh. This one sucks, it's what happen when you push for surprise endings. Put it up to show how I write when I write badly. Scary, isn't it?) Some people say a day isn�t inherently good or bad, it�s made good or bad. Those people don�t know crap. I had lost track of time during the weekend. I thought it was a Monday as I pulled myself from bed. A splitting headache confirmed it. I hated Mondays, they symbolized another five days of work. Teachers are supposed to love their work. It took all my willpower not to pick up a chair and start beating various children with it. Little Tyler Morgan and his funny little comments. Wham! The rebellious Richard Sminks and his total disregard for the rules. Crack! How satisfying it would be to wipe those smiles off their face with a heavy blow to the head. Cruel and unusual punishment my foot. I was exhausted by the end of the week and pretty much slept through the weekends. The only thing I looked forward to was coming home to Natalia, my fianc�e. Long, dark hair and deep brown eyes with a body that would make one of those lingerie models on T.V. self- conscious. She was a secretary for some head honcho in a business downtown. We shared a rather large house in the grassy outskirts of Linville. Linville�where I was born, where I lived�where I died. Linville was one of those towns out in the Midwestern United States, pretty isolated from everything else. People east and west of us both believed all western towns to be little strips in the middle of a deserted plain. Linville was considered a metropolis, seven hundred square miles of everything a person could need. It sat just on the edge of Canada, quite far from any American civilization. It was named after Gunther Linsfield, the man that lead a group of hopeful pioneers to the spot the town was built. The earth was incredibly fertile, and soon, many more came to settle in Linville. A statue of the proud leader sits in town square, frozen eyes watching the simple farming town turn into a giant city. Despite the clever little scrawls spray-painted all over it, the figure still inspired town spirit in all. Linville was quite self- sufficient. There were many successful farms that sent their crops into Canada and the US, along with businesses that had sprung up to provide jobs to the increasing numbers in the city. Despite the urban setting, it still retained some of its farming country charms. There were a few original restaurants and pubs that were mainly there for history field trips. I remember going in there once only to be turned away because they were giving a class a tour. History is quite profitable, evidently. The town also had their own group of rambling old men, lovingly called The Olds. A tad less expensive than a field trip, some of the schools would invite them to spew their random facts at the minds of uninterested youngsters. I remember hearing one speak as a child, more interested in how his loose jowls jiggled as he spoke than the words themselves. People liked them, though, and there seemed to be a constant supply of Olds, sitting on their porches or outside one of the old pubs. It seemed like one of the tour companies that owned the pubs and restaurants had positioned them there, as the thought of rambling old men sitting on rocking chairs, reciting stories to each other was such a clich�. But no one seemed to care, and The Olds received smiles from passersby. Everyone knew each other, it seemed. Despite the population, it was very frequent you�d be walking downtown and be greeted by about ten voices simultaneously. No one moved from Linville, no one vacationed away from Linville, Linville was paradise. I had never loved Linville as much as everyone else, which had earned me quite a few beatings in my younger years. Since then, I have grown much smarter. Going against the populace was a crime with a punishment worse than death, hatred from every man and woman. I never wanted to leave Linville since then. Anyway, it was a Monday. My head ached and my throat was dry. I stumbled to the bathroom and took a look at the wreck that had replaced me. Hair fell in all directions, bags under my eyes sagged to the point that I thought they would drop off and splash against the sink, eyes frozen in a constant state of near- closed. I felt a bit of nausea as I stepped into the shower, and a sudden ray of hope struck me. Maybe I was sick, maybe I could miss school. I laughed at that thought, dried myself off and dressed. Missing school isn�t so simple when you�re a teacher. After I started living with Natalia, I found out why many men didn�t want women to get jobs. Every meal she made was unbelievable. Something that truly brightened up a dreary morning like today. A cold rain poured down from a sunny sky. The cold was the sort of chill that could penetrate even the heaviest of coats. I watched her as I tore apart a plate of steaming scrambled eggs that seemed to get more delicious with every bite. She made meals, she did a lot of the cleaning, and I just smiled and tossed her an �I love you� glance every few minutes. Maybe some flowers would ease my raging guilt. With a quick kiss, I was off, darting through the rain to avoid the chill and jumping into my car. I always liked my Volvo. It was old and had been to the repair shop downtown more times than I cared to recount, but it was a sturdy old wreck I had had since I got my permit. School crept on, and I rejoiced in the fact it was test day in most of my classes. I always believed testing was invented just to keep teachers from going homicidal on their classes. An entire period of peace, only interrupted by the frequent cough or monotonous tapping of a pencil as students tried to shake out answers from their worn erasers. The smart group would always finish first and strut up to my desk to lay down their accomplishments. I hated that group ever since I was a kid. I wanted to just give them a D or F just for the hell of it. But then they�d be rushing angrily to my desk, pointing out my errors with eyes narrowed through thick glasses. Nerds. Something troubled me today, though, and interrupted my basking in the silence. I couldn�t put my finger on it until the end of the day. The crowds of children that pushed violently through the hall were decreased. More and more children were disappearing. The principal said they moved, but no one moved from Linville�no one. Dismissing my concerns, I stopped by the grocery to buy the flowers. Again, something was off about the store. I picked out a bunch of red roses and looked around, confused. Instead of fully stocked shelves, lone cans claimed large areas of shelf. Something was wrong. I brought the bouquet up to one of the well- known clerks. His wide form was squeezed into the little square of space near the register, an engraved white plastic label displaying the words �Gus.� As he quickly punched in the code for the flowers, I cleared my throat and casually said, �I noticed you�re kind of low on stock today.� The man literally froze, except for his dangling fat, which jiggled for a second before hanging still. He looked at me oddly then shakily put the flowers in a brown paper bag. �Umm�just a slow week.� The man stuttered. With worries still crawling on my mind, I drove home. Natalia kissed me as a thank you for the gift and put them aside. �Natalia,� I suddenly blurted out my thoughts, �have you noticed that the grocery is kind of low on food?� I watched as pity flowed into her eyes. �No,� she said finally, �I haven�t. Maybe it�s just a slow week.� There was more than just a coincidence in her words. Something was very wrong, my mind screamed. Without thinking, I blurted out some excuse and walked out the door. I drove without a destination. Eventually, I found myself downtown. I needed a drink, a drink always dispelled my worries. I pulled into a spot in front of one of the historic bars. It was past school hours, there wouldn�t be any tour. I noticed three Olds watching me as I approached. I realized I carried a thoughtful look and quickly hid it behind a smile. The Olds did not return it. �Hello.� My greeting had all the sincerity of a dog�s bark. �Nice weather, eh?� My sarcasm was off. It was never off. Something was wrong. �Somethin� troublin� ya?� One of them spat at me almost angrily. I needed to talk about it. �Well, actually, I was at the grocery uptown today, and it seemed they were pretty low on stock.� The creaking of their rocking chairs ceased, and they glared at me. �Probably jus� a slow week.� An Old answered, with anger in his eyes. Something was very wrong. I darted from the entrance and sped off in my car, feeling The Olds� eyes boring into my neck. There were quite a few groceries in Linville, but together, their stock didn�t even equal what was considered usual. I couldn�t just go home after this, the mystery would tear my mind apart all night. Something was wrong, and I needed to know what. I�d drive to the farms, maybe there was a shortage, maybe everyone was right. My thoughts shattered as my car crashed into air. Bewildered, but unscathed, I stepped out of the car. A crack had appeared in the air that had stopped my car. I extended my hand. It was stopped by air, too. Something was very, very wrong. I looked up. A white rectangle hung on what seemed like midair, but the bolts that held it there revealed that it was just a wall. A wall that blocked off the rest of the world. Straining my eyes, I managed to make out what the bold red letters on the other side of the sign said. �Linville: Quarantined.� I would later drive back, hearing the words echo in my mind. I drove blindly, mind remaining at the edge of the world, numbly driving back to the city. The headaches, the nausea, the pains he had felt every day. It was all a disease. Highly contagious, highly deadly. The soil was enriched by the virus, harmless unless ingested. Cultivated crops sucked it out of the ground, later harvested and sold. People infected were moved to Linville. The proud statue, its body a likeness of one who had fallen victim to the disease. No one had moved. No one moves from Linville. Children couldn�t resist the effects as well as adults. The United States had put a quarantine on Linville as soon as the virus was found to spread. Everyone knew everyone else. No one left or came into Linville. The US had also sent agents into the quarantine to inform the citizens, but also to keep people from panicking and trying to escape. The Olds had given up on informing, as the ones that were told of the virus promptly tried escaping and were killed. They resorted to keeping it a secret, and keeping those that did find out from telling anyone else. Threats were the most effective. Natalia had agreed to keep a secret on punishment of my death. How long had the quarantine been in effect? His friends disappearing when he was just a child, his mother supposedly abandoning him and his father. For a long while, the US had sent supplies and food into Linville. The lone cans lonely on the shelves. Linville was left off US maps after the cost of supplies grew too large. The secret city left for death. When I got back, the angry Olds made their ritual threat. Natalia�s life for my silence. How could I disagree? The last years of my life, I taught. I taught like a machine, watching as Tyler, Richard and every child I had known left Linville in the only way possible. I kept my silence, wondering how many of the people the cheerily greeted me knew the city was steadily dying. I watched my dear fianc�e leave me. I watched the white ceiling above my deathbed, watched as it faded along with my consciousness. I grabbed a last piece of the diseased Linville air. Goodbye my home, goodbye my life, goodbye my Linville, the forgotten city simply a shadow in the mind of the outsiders. <~~Back to Stories |