HarmonicMy name is Hope. I live in a realm in which war does not exist. Everything is peaceful and harmonic. Everyone is nice to each other and treats others with respect and equality. I love it here.
My sister, Miracle, who's seven years older than me, says there's something she knows that everyone else forgot. Destiny, my mother, tells me that she's ill in the mind. Miracle has to go to an office every day where a doctor tries to make her sane again. But I don't think she's crazy. Maybe there's something in her brain that really bothers her. I wonder what happened to her before I was born. My parents sure don't remember. Not even my father, Eternity.
Everyone is named for a good thing here. My best friend is named Harmony, her mother is Tranquility, and her father is Wisdom. It symbolizes the love in our community.
When I open my eyes this morning, the harmony in the air seems normal. I smile and pull on my khaki shorts and green tank-top. Mother braids my hair and ties it with a purple bow. We all sit at our table and eat some blueberry muffins that the Community made for us. When I finish mine, I put on my soft tan sneakers and carefully tie them. Then, I go outside.
The air is warm. I tilt my face up to the sun. Mother comes outside and kneels in the garden. She begins tenderly harvesting the ripe fruits and vegetables. Father goes to our orchard and starts to gently pick juicy red apples from the branches. Miracle is carted to the doctor's office by two men with gloves on. She struggles with all her might until they inject her with a syringe and she falls limp.
At exactly noon, the bell chimes and everyone heads to the town hall. Mother, Father and I sit together in the very first row, like always. The Community gives their long speech, as always, in their monotone voice, as always. When it is finished - exactly five minutes long - everybody goes back to their houses, eats warm bread and a salad, and does their jobs. Mother spreads brightly colored paint on a canvas, so the Community can hang it up in the town hall next to all of the other pictures. Father sits at his computer, typing a report on farming methods so the Head of Farming can make any changes to our system. I put all of our dirty clothes in a straw basket, take them down to the stream, wash them thoroughly, and hang them on our clothesline. Nothing bad can happen when I am doing what I like best.
Or so I think...