Glares. All I ever got was glares from everybody when they saw me. I could practically hear ‘em thinkin as I shuffled behind Mother and Pa.
(There she goes, that rowdy child, the girl that doesn’t socialize).
This is why I ain’t been to a town meeting since I was six; that and the last one I went to I called the Oracle a stupid liar to his face. The town square was crowded with people; just as expected everyone was here. Meetings we held once or twice a month, mostly just to listen to what the Oracle had to say about everyone and get together with the neighbors and catch up; climbin trees was much more fun. The Oracle was sent to us by the gods after the Great War, so that none of us would hafta go through such a tragedy ever again. It’s gotta be baloney, the gods would never send us such a cold, evil man. ‘Course, nobody saw it but me, so I was the crazy one.
All I could see as we moved from the dirt road and grassy plain onto the town square was a sea of dark-haired people, like my own hair. Our town square was nothin special; there were some crumblin cobblestones that outlined the official perimeters of the square acre on which it perched, and a rottin bulletin board where the news was posted, though no one ever really read it ‘cause word gets around a small town real fast so everyone knows the news before they even get close to it. The real sight was the town hall; the old brick buildin was massive; big enough to probably fit the whole town in it. It looked plain and ancient from the outside, but it was the biggest buildin that remained from before the Great War, so the inside was kept up real good by the Women’s Committee, who kept our town proper and orderly, which was why Mother joined them last spring. It was also where the Oracle lived, and the rumors said inside was filled with the finest things anyone has ever seen. Of course no one was allowed to go inside his area ‘cause the rest of it was “sacred ground” and only the Oracle could pass; it was where he talked with the gods he says.
Mother and Pa shuffled their way deeper into the crowd, dragging me behind them and ignoring all the glares I was gettin, and the ones I was throwin back at ‘em.
(Look at her glaring at us, you’d think her poor poor parents would have taught her manners).
It was hard to move around in the stupid flower print dress and shoes Mother made me wear, ‘cause apparently ladies aren’t allowed to wear pants and boots.. Mother held her head high as Pa lumbered between everyone; she looked sophisticated in her best dress, her hair tightly pulled back into a bun. Mother always said that people were always judgin you, especially when the Oracle would see you. We had spent an hour combin through my messy hair, fine tunin everythin about my appearance. I could have cared less, but Pa said Mother would have a fit if I didn’t look presentable. It wasn’t fair; Pa got to wear his workin overalls and boots to the meeting. She had made him scrub up good and trim his stubble so he didn’t look as scruffy, but not as much as I had to do.
“This meeting is very important, Naomi, we have to look our best,” Mother nagged, “I want people to look at us and say: ‘There goes Rhoda and Zachariah, and who is that well-behaved girl with them? Why, its little Naomi, they sure did a good job raising her right.’ Is that so much to ask for?”
It was a whole lot to ask for; the dress was incredibly itchy and I was reaching my patience with it. There was an excited buzz cominn from all over, waitinn for the Oracle to appear from the front doors and save us all with his tellins of the future. The doors creaked open a tad, and the crowd erupted in cheers and hollers. He sauntered out slowly and as he appeared to us, the cheering amplified; I covered my ears in annoyance. I could faintly see tears of joy and admiration appearing in the corners of Mother’s eyes; it made me feel ill.
“My good people,” he began, and instantly the crowd silenced with the raisin of his hand, “As always I am pleased to see you doing well. Our crops have been looking good thanks to the gods. We owe our very lives to their benevolence in sparing us from their wicked wrath. Unfortunately, this is the year of the Chosen. The gods have demanded another sacrifice to be made, and they have told me who it must be. I begged Dema herself to spare us this ritual, but she concluded that Abbas would not listen to such a plea, so my efforts were in vain. It is a sad thing that must happen, but, friends, I tell you this; he whom is Chosen by the gods should be honored, and will be honored by us that remain after their passing. It is time to reveal the Chosen one, my comrades.”
Everyone began to fidget and hold their small children close. Mother reached behind her to grab my hand and elbowed Pa sharply to do the same. I wasn’t worried about it bein me, but the way Mother held my hand meant she was. I suppose that would be natural, to worry for your own child, but I was slightly irritated with her worry; it wasn’t gonna be me.
“The Chosen one is…Naomi Raney.”
My heart stopped as everyone turned to look at me; some of the looks were sympathetic, but most were relieved.
(Thank Abbas. Not my child, not mine, but that girl. Gone for good she’ll be. Poor poor Rhoda and Zachariah. Such good people, cursed with such a spiteful child. They must have upset the gods. Things will get better for them now. Thank Abbas, not my child. We are safe again).
(They’re good people, the Raney’s. That girl can’t be theirs; such good people. Dema may bless them yet with another child; a good child. Better her than me, things will be better for everybody).
I muttered one of Pa’s four letter dirty words Mother hates under my breath, and tugged at the collar of my dress. Abbas help me.