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     '                                                                  '
    '   anada                "Changes, Unnoticed"                08 jan  '
   '     251                     by TanAdept                      2001    '
  `                                                                        `
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        One day, things changed.  Of course, I'm not old enough to really
 remember the Change, but it happened.  In my life, I think I've heard many
 stories.  Too many stories.  I do know that there was a time when people
 were angry, and when no one knew of the Empire of the Lady.  I think I know
 that there was a previous age.  I believe that there was a previous age,
 since I've heard about it in stories.

        One story people often still tell is that too much storytelling can
 be dangerous.  That the people who listen and the people who speak often
 vanish from one's Unit and aren't seen again thereafter.  But, then,
 every so often, new people join our Unit.  The new people don't tell many
 stories, but they have always been friendly.

        I pay attention to things.  Most people don't anymore.  About the
 only thing most people think about is whether someone else is a Mutant.
 Someone once told me that there were no Mutants 30 years ago.  She told me
 a total of two stories.  I never saw her after the second.

        Mutants are troublesome.  They work harder than real people, but they
 don't talk a lot.  No one talks much, but Mutants talk less.  Or maybe they
 don't talk much around normals.  We work side by side with Mutants, but no
 one has ever been friends with one.  Mutants stick with Mutants, and normals
 stick with normals.

        Mutants aren't trustworthy.  In fact, just last week, there was a
 Unit Call.  We all lined up in our assigned areas, and after waiting a
 few minutes, the voice over the loudspeaker said "All Humans may go now,
 only Mutants need to remain."  I don't know what happened, but to think!
 Any one of the Mutants I work alongside could be a criminal.

        When people work, they listen to music.  There's always music
 playing.  I don't have very good ears, so I don't hear it very well.  So I
 think.  I tell myself stories.  I retell myself the stories that other
 people have told me.  I work hard, and so does everyone else.  When I'm not
 working, I play games with people.  When other people aren't working, they
 play games or just listen to the music.

        Occasionally, someone will tell a story while we play a game.  I
 think that stories are told less often than they used to be, but I'm not
 sure.  Maybe there are just fewer stories.  Maybe I've just stopped paying
 as much attention.

 [|'`'|]

        I never thought I'd actually have a friend.  Being productive in work
 is approved of.  Relationships are frowned upon.  But I found a friend.  A
 buddy.  Sam.  He said that he heard stories and wanted to compare notes.
 One of the first things he told me was that the world used to be less blue.
 That there was less water in the past, and that colors seemed different.

        That didn't make much sense to me.  Colors are part of the world;
 they don't just change, not even over time.  I had been paying attention.
 I thought I had been paying attention.  Sam said he'd heard about the color
 change from a reliable source.  There could never be any proof.

        I couldn't quite believe this idea, but nonetheless I was intrigued.
 For every story I've heard during my life, I think about half were false.
 Some propogate, and some are made up by people.  But, like everything else,
 that's just what I think.  There's little way to be certain. I can't ask too
 many questions.

        Sam said that music used to be made by people, too.  I don't think he
 was older than me, but he had a lot more stories about the old days.  He
 said that music used to be made by people in groups.  He said that there
 were places where there was no music.  I don't know if I believed him, but
 stories pass time.

        During another Call which only concerned Mutants, most of the guards
 were busy with the Call.  We weren't on a Work Cycle at the time, and Sam
 told me to follow him to the Park.  I did.  When we got there, there was no
 one around.  It wasn't particularly surprising at that time of day for the
 Park to be empty.

        Sam started to tell a story, beating around the bush a little to
 pique my curiosity.  Curiosity is uncommon.  When I meet someone who is
 curious, I know that they have a story to tell.  As Sam continued, I heard
 the loud voices of two guards discussing one of the new beverage choices.
 Quickly, so as to not be discovered in the midst of an inappropriate
 conversation, I moved to a statue of the Lady, and began to kneel in front
 of it.  Sam jumped into the park's lagoon, and started splashing around.  I
 don't know what he was trying to do.  Was he trying to get Escorted?  I did
 my best to ignore him as I focused on the statue in front of me.

        The figure of Her form was small, perhaps two feet high, and would
 have been at my eye level, were I standing.  As I knelt, I looked at the
 mosaic which adorned the pedestal in front of me.  It was made up of large
 pieces of blue stone, seeming to represent an ocean with boats, islands, and
 sea creatures.  Surely there was some symbolism.  But no stories were ever
 told about that.

        The guard came up behind me and asked "Why do you worship the Lady?"
 This isn't an atypical question.  Guards make sure that people aren't
 engaging in criminal behavior.  The answer came quickly to my lips, "Because
 she represents so much.  Our lives and existence and history only exists by
 Her grace."

        "What do you feel when you look upon Her?" he asked.

        "I feel happy.  I am happy I can serve Her as a person, and do Her
 work."

        He seemed satisfied and continued on.  I continued focusing on the
 icon in front of me.

        After about five dekaseconds, I looked over for Sam.  He wasn't
 there, and neither was the second guard.  Only a few ripples in the lagoon
 told me that he had been there so recently.

        But, then, it's hard to tell.  Things change, I believe.  People come
 and go, but no one really notices.

        I never saw Sam again, but I never forgot his stories.  I will never
 forget my own, either.
                                                                            
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  '                                                                        ' 
 `   anada251   by TanAdept                         (c) 2001 anada e'zine   `
