Prologue,
In the
beginning, there was a rose.
The year
was 3500. The month was summer. Plentu had had an epidemic for almost twenty
years now. The cure was not allowed from the one person who had it: The
president of the ‘United’ States o/ America.
Throughout
history from around 2500, there had been reports of Southern China. It had
taken over two hundred years, at least, for it to make some noise again. It
could be spaced twenty years at a time during the earliest years, and up to
four or less years, then a regular monthly thing. The president tried to keep
them under, sent troops, yet still they attacked.
Even
though not everyone realized it, they were, themselves, having a rebellion.
Wasn’t it the state of Southern China that convinced Ashland they should rebel?
Or, as Ashland’s leader says, was its own their own that they decided to rebel?
Even
when, in 3500, A few years at least since Georgiana joined (or was it
Victoria?) joined the group, when Southern China sent for help, it was
rejected. A letter was sent back, saying, ‘For the reason that you knew we were
at war, for nearly ONE HUNDRED YEARS, and you did nothing, I, name name must
say, NO! For how are we to help if you did not help us what-so-ever, whatever
the reason? NO!’
Southern
China had already known the answer though. They were prepped. They knew of
places the President— anyone, for that matter, didn’t know. Underground- the
safest place of them all.
But
Ashland was exploring something else, something that had been growing for
years, almost a hundred, something that puzzled the Ashlandian scientists. So
finally, with some spare change, Ash (the capitol) agreed to send out an
exploration team. They would explore how it had happened.
But
something much more dangerous happened.
In the
beginning, there was a rose.
But no ordinary
rose, that was certain from the beginning. One was sent away, to his family. He
had a son, sickened with the horrible disease, a daughter, two years younger
than his son, and a wife. His wife was so sick she had been in bed for
something around fifteen years— or more.
Yet, no
one knew how, for the boy had had the disease since he was born, almost,
survived. There was only a 0.99% chance he would, and if past infancy and
toddler, very, very small for childhood. Perhaps they named their child
correctly.
He was
going to go with, but the disease struck up again. The most he could do, for
finding a job was beyond hopeless, not even down in their slums, and so stayed
to care for their mother. This left his sister to try to find a job.
She was
safe, immune since birth.
But she
is beside the point.
The
father sent a letter from Antarctica. Inside was a rose, for his beloved wife.
While the girl got sick, the mother got well. The mother was actually out of
bed. But the girl… was in bed?
Impossible.
Not even the boy got better. Only the mother.
Then
news came that Ash had gotten a letter with one, giant word- “help!”
So off
went help, the poor family worried. They received another letter asking if they
had gotten any packets in the last two months. They had. It was the rose.
The rose
was conphiscated, and the girl taken, and the boy and mother left, wondering
what would happen to their loved one. If the boy had not happened to get
sicker, he said he would go to find her. But he didn’t get well… soon enough.
The mother, now appearing to be cured, stayed. The father returned, with more
money than was going to be paid. The father searched and searched for work, and
the mother stayed, taking care of their beloved son. What might happen now?
