The Luminosity Series (Book 1): Luminosity (5 page)

The entire world was given a prognosis that year. Like
cancer, the disease would slowly flourish until one system after the next failed.
Accepting our fate would only be the beginning. But returning to our everyday
agendas felt impossible. That summer, life became a meaningless contradiction—a
glimpse—a flicker of light before we’d all burn out like dying stars. And all I
wanted was for it to be over with.

Three
Years Later

I
played a ghost in a world of unpromising days. Call me foolish, but back then I
thought I could outrun my doomed future instead of confront it. For three years,
I resisted the curiosity—the notion of how life would have unfolded if I hadn’t
taken off that day. Now at age twenty-three, fighting it was impossible. The
old life haunted me with memories, but the new life was a thief, robbing the
pieces that once made me whole. Amidst the chaos, I settled for a life of
imprisonment—one filled with walls, fences, curfews, and guards. After global collapse,
the country was left in ruins, demanding rule from our leaders for the sole
sake of survival. It didn’t matter if we lived a satisfying life, just so long
as we fulfilled the orders given to us. We carried on without the promise of
tomorrow.

Assisted
suicide became lawful in all territories. Many of the poor and homeless had to
choose between ending their lives and suffering through deprivation or illness.
Some rioted, but they never stood a chance. After witnessing their suffrage, I
already felt dead on the inside. Not like I hadn’t before. Still, the need to
redeem myself for their deaths nagged at me for months, as if mending my broken
past would make up for it. Even if it couldn’t reverse what happened, perhaps
it’d be enough to forgive myself for leaving.
Perhaps
it’d give me a reason to fight.

Putting
on a mask was the only escape. With it, I fought through the endless masquerade
every day, striving to find my place within the new world. But after hiding in
the shadows for three years, a fire rekindled in me. Now, it seemed the only
thing left to do was to undo my mistakes, to return home to my mother, to
regain closure about my family’s unspoken past before this ended. Redemption
became my only method of survival. Even if my future
was
obsolete.

♦  ♦  ♦

Turning
around crossed my mind several times before I arrived at the barricades
blocking the entrance to the landing pad. Knowing it was too late to have
second thoughts was the only thing that kept me moving forward. Even if returning
home meant admitting I was wrong, convincing my mother I still cared about her
despite her decisions was all I had left now. Closure would heal the emptiness.

As
we soared upward aboard the transport helicopter, an infinite series of
over-sized army fleets and Humvees made their way west on the interstate,
distracting my view of the land beyond them. For miles, nothing but large cargo
trucks and tanks were visible out the windows. To take my mind off them, I
observed the other transfers sitting in the seats across from me. Beside
myself, there were only seven of them, most focusing their sad, rugged faces at
the floor. Two of them slept with their heads pressed up against the wall. And
at the back and front end stood an armed military guard, guarding the exit
doors.

As
if any of us had the strength to resist them.

After
tightening travel restrictions, only a selected number of people could transfer
between bordered cities. It was risky to do so, but for some, it was the only
choice to reunite with their families. Transferring from an entire territory to
the next, however, was even rarer. Only those who were granted special pardons
could do so.

To
distract myself from my fear of heights, I turned the dial on the radio of my
sister’s ancient, battery-powered Walkman. Music didn’t come in now, but there
were still a few a.m. stations on air. Sometimes between the white noise, I
imagined the old classics my father used to play when I was a little girl. The
way he’d force me to sing along with him in the car before the song ended.
Before he’d drop me off at school, dressed in his usual, overly formal work
attire. Before he disappeared. The memory served as comfort, yet brought me
back to a past I struggled to hide within. And as I got closer to my hometown,
the familiar static convinced me I wasn’t far.

After
passing
through the entrance security
barricades, we made our way to inspections before boarding the bus. I took my
seat, staring through the barred, jail-like windows in awe. Before my arrival,
I pictured it in my head a thousand times. In my imagination, the town was just
as how I remembered it—the high school, the antique shops downtown, the annoying,
synchronized traffic lights that always forced you to a screeching halt, even
if no traffic was approaching. The old, uneven residential roads with their
cracked pavement and loose gravel giving away their age. But in reality, the
future grabbed a hold of this place, gripping and squeezing the warmth and life
right out of it, like the sun had already turned its back on it.

Much
of Golden resembled a ghost town already. Shop windows became wooden boards.
Red X’s covered the siding, the entrances to the doors blocked by thin, rusty, decaying
fences. And you couldn’t find one road unguarded by military. But despite how hollow
it felt, I hoped the people wouldn’t be as empty.

After
all the other transfers were dropped off,
I
began the short journey to my mother’s house, an area of countryside just south
of downtown. Although my mother’s land was still within city boundaries, it
stayed secluded from the high security, probably due to its remoteness and
proximity to the mountains. Thankful to see less military guards out here, I
breathed a sigh of relief.

After
exiting the bus, the dust from the tires swirled in front of me, forming a
whirlwind in my path. As it vanished, my mother came into view, sitting on the
porch steps before standing up in anticipation for my arrival. Following the
gravel driveway, the lift in her droopy eyes became clearer the closer I got,
as if the weight of my presence ascended from them.

Taken
by the summer heat and stiff from traveling, I trudged forward, dreading the
emotion rising in me. The large tote slipped down my arm, the pull of gravity forcing
me to flinch. The small rolling suitcase remained by my side, tumbling through
the jagged rocks. My mother seemed hesitant to approach me at first, almost as
if she was afraid she’d scare me away. The wrinkles in her face appeared weathered
now, like she had survived the harsh storm of life for too long. Her grim stare
signified a longing for the past—a desperate plea to return back to the days
prior to my departure.

I
blinked back the guilt building in me as I walked toward her. She wiped a tear
away before putting her arms around me.

“I
thought I’d never see you again,” she said in a low tone as I avoided tears.

“It’s
okay, mom. I’m here,” I said, closing my eyes while I returned her embrace. It
was all I had to say before her grip on me got tighter.

“You
look exhausted. Have you eaten anything today?” She pulled away to stare at my
slim figure. I shook my head.

“You
should eat something,” she said. “I’ll make you something while you unpack. How
was the ride down? Did the soldiers give you any trouble?”

“No.
It was fine. I’m fine.” My mother opened her mouth to say something that never escaped.
“Really, I’m okay,” I reassured her, even though I wasn’t sure I was.

“I
have your room ready upstairs. Let me help you with your things,” she said, glaring
at my suitcase. Aside from my clothes, I kept most of my belongings with her
when I left. Transfers were only allowed a strict list of belongings. Besides,
they were worth more to her than me, I presumed.

As
I followed her inside, flashbacks of the past filled my head. Even now, the
distinct scent of the house hadn’t faded, still smelling of old candles and
perfume. The coolness of the hardwood floors and dryness of the air brought me
back in time.

When
I entered my room, I paused before setting my things down. Sitting in the far
corner was the full-sized bed beside the old, antique dresser. Its large oval
mirror had a thin layer of dust on it, like it remained that way to preserve my
reflection. Thankful for the familiarity, I let the memories sink in as I took
in my surroundings, breaking away from my gaze as she snapped open the
curtains. The window formed a single beam of dusty light from the early evening
sun, the brightness of its burn revealing my tears.

My
mother hesitated before speaking.

“Why
don’t you get settled in…I’ll give you some privacy while I prepare something
to eat.” She glanced at the boxes aligning the floor. I wiped the tears from my
eyes as she aimed her focus at me.

“I’m
not asking you to do that.” I felt guilty already.

“Don’t
waste your energy feeling bad for me. You’ve been ordered around by military
all day. You’re exhausted, and you need to eat something. You’ve gotten too
thin,” she pressed, looking concerned. I wasn’t frail, or one of the several
starving people back in Grand Junction, but I had dropped weight within the
past three years. After food became more insufficient for demand, we survived
off of scraps, leftovers, and cheap, imperishable foods.

“Okay.”
I gave her a weak smile of gratitude.

When
the food was ready, we sat at the dinner table in silence. I knew what she
must’ve been thinking about, but I aimed my sights on the generous portion of
chicken, potatoes, and vegetables in front of me to evade the thought. She
peered at me a few times before speaking.

“I
know it’s taken a while to adjust to this, but I’m glad you came back here. And
I promise I’ll do a better job handling things from now on.” The way she said
it hadn’t convinced me. She poked her beans with her fork before bringing them
to her mouth. I swallowed my food before staring at my plate. She sensed my
discouragement as the guilt revealed itself through my eyes again.

Since
the collapse, my mother’s dependency on prescription drugs had gotten
excessive. It was only a matter of time before medicine ran out, and therapy
and counseling efforts only provided temporary relief to our fears. Knowing it
was her only method of coping, she stole and hoarded medications while
volunteering at the local hospital earlier that year. And after being caught by
authorities, she paid the ultimate price—her chance to qualify into a colony.
To prevent being imprisoned for her actions, she’d exchange her future for her
services at the food bank, where she provided food from her garden to the town’s
supply.

Before
I could look up, my mother dropped her fork against her plate before putting a
napkin to her face, the
cling!
making me flinch.

“I
don’t want you to blame yourself for this. My actions weren’t your fault, Aubrey,”
she said, grabbing onto my hand from across the table.

“I
should have been here for you, mom, but I left. Maybe if I hadn’t run away,
this wouldn’t have happened, and you’d still have a chance,” I said with
conviction, staring into the space ahead of me.

“It’s
too late for that. Besides, you know at my age my odds were never that great.
And I don’t blame or judge you for running, especially under these
circumstances.”

“Then
that doesn’t give Andrea the right to blame you for what you did either,” I
said. My mother blinked before speaking again. I knew the real reason behind
her emotional issues. There was more to her story than our uncertain future—our
family’s history, it plagued her just the same. To this day, she continued to
be hard on herself, in fear I still resented her for the outcome of our
family’s separation, and for losing our father.

“She
has her reasons for wanting to stay there, just like you had your reasons for
leaving here,” she said.

“That
doesn’t mean it’s okay for her to keep avoiding you. She needs to learn to
forgive you and stop holding this stupid grudge against you before this is
over,” I snapped. Just then, my mother looked up at me in hesitation.

“Look,
we’re all dealing with our new lives in different ways. Your sister’s never
handled your father’s death well, that’s all. How’s your food?” she asked,
changing the subject. The same uncertainty shrouded her eyes, the same dismissive
glance as Andrea’s. But I wouldn’t accept it anymore.

“Why
won’t she tell me how he died?” I asked, looking up with a wince. She seemed
blindsided by the question.

“Aubrey…
we’ve been over this,” she sighed, looking away for a second.

“Why
are you both so afraid to talk about him?” She stayed silent for a few moments,
gathering her memories while I analyzed her reaction.

“His
relationship with this family was complicated, that’s all…” she said under her
breath. But I ignored her comment.

“The
guards took something from her, something of dad’s. I didn’t even know she had
anything of his until after it was gone. What was it?” I asked. My mother drew
in a heavy breath as she closed her eyes.

“The
year before your father died, he left something behind for each of you girls to
hold onto. He was going to give them to you when you were eighteen… when you
were old enough to understand,” she said, wiping her nose with her napkin.

“Understand
what?”

“How
much he loved you. I never had the chance to give you yours because—well,
because we were too overwhelmed with the news. And because it was the only
piece of your father I had left. Not long after you moved in with Andrea, the
guards confiscated it during a routine inspection. I should have locked the
damn thing away somewhere,” she said.