For Alitheia

Grey. Another day of smoke and ash as I lay longingly on a park bench outside of El Dorado High school, home of the Titans.

Sun. There used to be sun, or so they say. A sun that filled the sky with bright radiating beams that illuminated the heavens and shone warmth on all the lands. I close my eyes tight, tight, tighter, until the tiny specks of light dance across my inner eyelids. What I would give to feel the warmth on me now. What would California be like with a sun, I ponder. There is no warmth today or any other day. Images of the once great state of California haunt me. Postcard images, with white sandy beaches, lush palm trees, rich forests with thick burly redwoods billowing into the atmosphere. All this erased, eliminate due to the great pandemic. Over half of the world's population gone from 2055 to 2057. The survivors created a new order, one out of necessity to survive.

I didn't blame the survivors, I didn't blame my father even though I hated the law that would eventually claim my life, my very existence in just six short months. The law was necessary, my father said, necessary for humans to survive. His focus was always on the humans, disregarding the very present other half of our population, the Fecits-humanoids designed to serve the administrative and service sectors of our now dismantled society. While people held high-status positions in government, education, medicine and more, Fecits were denied basic rights, relegated to a life of servitude. After all, 'they were made,' as my father so righteously stated, and thus, could be 'unmade.'

I had a soft spot for Fecits ever since I was a little girl. My nanny was a Fecit, her name was Alitheia. In Greek, it means truth. As a tiny child, her name rolled off my tongue like a Greek goddess. Her soft voice was a nightly prayer that sweetly hummed delicious lullabies that lulled me to sleep while my parents worked their government jobs into the wee hours of morning. I often would bury my head into her thick luscious amber locks, gurgling and giggling as she tickled the tiny arches of my feet. Alitheia was home. She introduced me to our community garden, an oasis where new beginnings start with a tiny seedling. Behind its rusted chain-linked gate, Alitheia taught me basic agricultural skills that would sustain me throughout my formative years. Tending to my garden was a powerful antidote to the oppressive future I faced. At eighteen, I along with every adolescent entering adulthood, would be forced into marriage and required to procreate. It was the law. A law created for the good of the human race. "A prisoner," I whisper to myself, realizing Alitheia and I fortuitously shared the same fate.

Remembering Alitheia brings back both the blissful and tragic moments which pirouette into my final memory of her being ripped from my arms. They took her from me. Those bastards came midday to our garden. Six soldiers with machine guns. A hairy brute monster grabbed her small fragile wrists and screamed, "We got her, see if the bot tries to run now." Alitheia pleaded with the man, screaming, "She needs me, I'm her family, she's still young," but the only sounds that could be heard were my blood-curdling screams ripping through my tiny body, willing her to come back to me. That night, Alitheia's bed lay still made. Her golden hairbrush, pink votive candle, and tiny gilded picture frame of us had vanished. Not a trace of her life was left in that room, it was as if she had ceased to exist.

The thunderous roar of the lunch bell crashed into my ear jolting me back to reality. Wait, is that the third bell? I'm late. I race as fast as I can into the dimly lit halls, swerving and ducking like a footballer evading my defenders. All too quickly, I'm light on my feet and then smack...I hit a wall. The bricks are soft, quite warm to the touch and there is a gentle curvature that graces my cheek. In sheer panic, I look up and see him for the first time. He stands over me. His strong arms are embracing me, steadying me on my feet while his piercing lavender eyes look overly concerned.

"Are you ok?" he asks. He's a Fecit. Beyond the lavender eyes that immediately betray his secret, I can see the small tattoo, F-46785-21, under the tiny fold of his earlobe. This tiny miniscule ink mark lay strikingly on quite humanistic features. His skin appeared soft, almost porcelain and the warmth of his breath upon my cheek radiated throughout my body.

"I'm fine," I stutter, only half glancing back at him. "Thank you," I say, embarrassed as I see the clutter of books flung across the hallway.

"I'm Ayon," he says, seeking acknowledgement. I can barely look at him, not because of the pure humiliation that floods my veins but because of the magnetic pull that draws me towards him.

"Naya, sorry, I'm late," I glance up as if to take a final breath of him in and dash behind the stairwell.

That afternoon, I found my way to the community garden, schlepping my bags and books as I pushed away the gnarled vines near my favorite patch. I can't shake the image of Ayon, for the idea that my mind is consumed by him. You are ridiculous, I sneer at myself, a Fecit! In six short months, I am to find an eligible human man, no, I stand corrected, boy and marry him. The prospects were dismal. Every human male I've encountered was unremarkable at best and abhorrent at worst. The law molded them into carbon copies of each other, bred for one and one purpose only to become breeders themselves. Gone were the days of passion, desire and all-consuming love. I softly brush over the loose soil, as if raking it into a soothing meditation for reflection. I'm startled by a rustling behind me. I see him from a distance, his long lean frame shoveling dirt with elegance and grace. He knows I'm watching him. He is, after all, Fecit. Within moments he turns around and our eyes meet. He smiles at me and gently gestures for me to come over. I'm frozen, like an ice sculpture in the dead of winter waiting to be thawed by the brilliance of spring. He moves toward me, steadily taking in, one step at a time. I can barely breathe as the distance between us shrinks, amplifying the electric tension hanging in the air.

"Hey, I see you've found your footing," he smirks playfully.

I play along casually, "Ah yes, well, it's hard to be a speed demon when one is surrounded by vines and soot, not exactly a racetrack out here." Disaster, I think, my attempt at witty banter is absolutely mortifying.

He grins at my awkward comment. By design, he likely has an infinite number of responses coded into his programming that won't make my fragile ego shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Hmmm, not a track star. Plant wrestler, perhaps?"

Is he making a joke? I think. He chuckles. I can't help but also laugh as well. There is a strange but familiar lightness about him. We joke and chat, then joke and chat some more until the golden red splintering streaks of the evening sun are consumed by starlight.

"I have to go," I finally say.

"Tomorrow?" he asks.

"We'll see," I whisper, grinning, my facial expression forsaking me.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. Every school bell ending my day dawned the new possibility of freedom. Unoppressed by laws or ordinances, Ayon and I found refuge in the garden, in each other and in blissful everyday ordinary conversation. My naming of plants was quite humorous to him while I often found myself in fit of laughter watching as he twirled and danced to the hum of the crickets or stare dumbstruck when I often would sneak a glimpse of the evening sun’s golden glow gently touching the purse of his lips.

One evening, while Ayon and I knelt closely together tilling the earth, I felt consumed to ask him the question I had never dared ask him before.

“Ayon, what is it like to be a Fecit?” I could feel the contour of his soft arched body next to mine suddenly harden. His lavender eyes were now overcast grey.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m not allowed to be anything. Created in the likeness of humans, but not human.” Ayon pauses for a moment; his eyes stare deeply into mine. “A second-class citizen, if even that," he swallows.

“You’re not that to me,” I say, reaching for his hand. “If it wasn’t for you, I would be hopeless knowing that in just three weeks my life is ending,” I gasp. “You have kept me living, all these months. Here in this garden with you I feel…” I pause. It is within this moment I realize how alone I was after Alitheia. After she was taken from me, I turned inward, grieving in isolation for her absence. The rest of the world saw her as a mere commodity, to me she was my family. My heart was never the same after she left.

“Go on,” Ayon says while gently wiping a newly formed tear from my cheek. But I couldn’t speak for fear that my heart would shatter into a million tiny pieces. Instead, I reach for Ayon’s arm for support only to fall face first into a warm embracing hug. I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My rational brain knows that Fecits have thermal regulation systems and biomimetic technology designed to replicate human biological functions. The heat I was feeling was not real.

“I feel alive when I’m with you,” Ayon sweetly whispers these words into the hollow of my neck. I look up and see the tenderness in his eyes. My irrational brain kicks in.

“I feel alive too,” I say. “I don’t ever want this to end,” I softly whisper, attempting to muffle my cry.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” Ayon says. “There are places on the outskirts, where these rules do not apply.”

“Don’t talk this way,” I shake my head pleading with him. “What you’re saying is treason, you could be neutralized for saying this.” My only worse fear than a life not with him was a world without him.

“Is it treason to betray your happiness?” he pressed gently. “I may be Fecit, but we both know that real love transcends these laws.”

“I can’t,” I gulp, “you don’t understand, my father, my mother, their expectations.” I pause but the words hang like a death sentence, “Do I just abandon them?” I shake my head, “Abandon everyone, everything I've ever known. You wouldn't understand."

“Wouldn’t I?” Ayon said, looking ever so agitated, “I guess I wouldn’t, given I’m a Fecit.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I stumble.

“Exactly, how did you mean it?” Ayon looks troubled.

I pause and look at him. He studies me like an antiquity on display. Silence hangs between us, filling the air with unspoken desires and dreams strung feebly across the invisible line dividing us. I intertwine my fingers with his, noticing how my hand fits snugly within.

“I can’t change the way things are, nor can I change the way I feel about you,” I breathe.

“Naya, what do you want?” Ayon says desperately, “Not what your parents want or society wants, what do YOU want?”

“I want you,” I say in anguish, my heart bursting in my chest.

“I want you too,” he sighs and maniacally laughs out loud. “We can do this, you and me. Can’t you see? As long as we have each other,” Ayon pulls me into his chest and gently strokes my hair. “Us against the world," He whispers.

At dawn we meet, our last moment in our garden together. I scan the vibrant patches of kaleidoscope colors that make up a patchwork quilt of memories stitching together my last seventeen years. Who am I without this? Ayon’s hand slides into mine, “Are you ready?” he says, turning to me. “Remember, we move together, follow my lead, ok?” I methodically nod my head yes. Despite the love and trust that that has overtaken me, my heart is severed, existing between two worlds now.

“I’m ready,” I say. We head out into the morning sunset. The streets are barren and there is an uneasiness as we make our way to the large, barbed wire fence that symbolizes the boundary between civilization and barbarism. I hear the words of my father infiltrate my thoughts, “People who cross this fence, Naya, are lost forever.” Ayon has motioned for me to move towards a small breakaway gap in the fencing just as a guard appears in the distance. Fear creeps over me. Ayon squeezes my hand twice as if to say, “you got this,” then heads to the guard. I’m petrified. He will be caught, imprisoned, or worse, neutralized. I’m paralyzed, I can’t move, I can’t think. Ayon is talking to the guard now. He is jovial, laughing, pointing to the sky even. Now, I must move now. I turn to look at my city for one last time, savoring the blood through my bitten lip then quickly slip through the gap.

The forest is thick and dense, hardly the same picture from storybooks or children’s fairytales. It is harsh. I find Ayon on the other side. He surprises me from behind the trees and I scold him like toddler out of parental fear that he would be taken from me forever. He holds me for a long time telling me it was out of necessity and once I find it in my heart to forgive, we continue on our voyage. The brush and thorns tear at our ankles as we make our way deep into the forest lair. The sounds of scurrying creatures hidden beneath the woodland blanket frighten me as if at any moment I could be pounced upon and swallowed whole. Ayon is aware that I’m on edge, his tender embraces, loving glances, and microsecond words of affirmation are enough to prevent me from spiraling into a deep despair. As night begins to emerge and the forest appears to settle for the evening, we build a fire to rest our aching limbs.

Ayon joins me by the fire, holding me lovingly. I sink into the warmth of his embrace and nestle my head in the nape of his neck.

“We did it,” he smiles coyly. I stare up at him and bring my face to his. I let the tips of his gentle eyelashes flutter against mine while our lips wait suspended together, momentarily brushing paths as if to dance in a simplified waltz. We have never kissed. I blame our harsh upbringing and the severe brainwashing of Fecit vs. Human dogma preventing us from doing this very simple act.  Ayon pulls away and looks at the ground, “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” He’s embarrassed. I can see the flushness in his face. Light pink seeps into his cheeks, so naturally, so humanlike. I reach out and stroke his back. “Yes, let’s get some rest.”

We curl up next to each other, threading our fingers together in one final embrace for the day and fall asleep. I’m suddenly awakened by the leaves rustling. Footsteps, I think. No, I must be dreaming. I hear the rustling and crunching of leaves underfoot again. I panic, “Ayon, wake up, someone is here.” Ayon is already awake and was likely awake many minutes before. A Fecit’s hearing is more precise than a wax moth, bat, or owl combined.

“Don’t move,” he says, “we are surrounded.” Ayon slowly stands and states loudly, “We come in peace and seek shelter, show yourself.” From the thick and dark foliage, black figures begin to emerge. As the images approach the light, it becomes evident that these figures are both Fecit and Human.

The shape of a woman starts to emerge from the shadows, and for a moment, uncertainty grips me—it’s unclear whether she is Fecit or Human. Long, curls cascade over her delicate frame, interwoven with the essence of the night, drawing my gaze as she approaches the flickering flames. Her porcelain skin glows eerily against the encroaching twilight, a striking contrast that makes her appear almost ethereal.

“You are not the first to seek refuge,” she proclaims, her voice resonating with an unexpected thunder, despite her petite form.

As recognition crashes over me like a wave, my heart races. I know that voice, that soft touch of porcelain skin, the way her curls framed my tiny face in fits of giggles. In disbelief, I reach for Ayon to steady myself, shock coursing through my veins.

“Alitheia,” I whisper, her name escaping my lips as the certainty floods in. “It’s me.”