way of dealing with the power outages. To him, the candle was a pitiful attempt to light a graying world through the mist. But it called him home to the only place he belonged–with his mother, if not his father.
Caleb wanted to make their world better for her. He dreamed of finding an energy solution that would save them. He'd study energy cell development after graduating from general school. One more year and then he'd show them. His science teacher said he had advanced ideas. Caleb was tired of the water, food, and energy rationings. The solar cells produced the bare minimum now with the diminished light. He was sick of desperate times. But for now he had to deal with bullies and school and his father.
He slammed the door upon entering, hoping his father wasn't home yet. Rich smells of meat and gravy met him. A big pot hung over the kitchen fireplace. His mother was becoming an expert at making gourmet meals by fire. She peeked up from her cookbook and grabbed him for a hug. He accommodated her, trying not to wince as his ribs were squeezed, and turned away so she wouldn't see his cuts.
She forced his face around and gasped. "What happened?"
He threw his bag on the table. "No big deal. We lost the game against the Hides."
"And you got hurt in the game?" She gently touched his face and he stiffened.
"Not exactly."
"A fight."
"Yeah." He told her what happened.
Her mouth formed in a tight line. "What's wrong with those boys? Why won't they heal themselves? That's why we have such abilities. It gives us an advantage in this–"
"Dying world."
"Yes." She placed both hands on his cheeks. "And you didn't heal yourself either. Why?"
He tried to pull away, but she held him firmly. "You wouldn't understand, mother."
She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting.
"I wanted to go to school tomorrow like this."
"So they'd think you're a tough guy too?"
He nodded. She frowned at him, and despite that and the fact her curly, black hair was bound up in a tight bun his mother's natural beauty still glowed before him. His father never seemed to notice, but she turned heads when she went out.
"All right." She released his face, hers now sad. He wanted her to smile.
"What did you write today, Caleb?" She knew why he was late.
"A poem."
She smiled and sat down, pulling on his bag. "For a girl?"
He yanked the bag away with a groan. "No, Mother."
"Come on, let me see."
She managed to wiggle his notebook out and a tug-of-war ensued until the door opened.
"What's this?" His father stood there, his massive shape filling the doorframe, fierce eyes fixed on their antics. Caleb slid his notebook away.
His mother tensed and patted Caleb's shoulder. "Just being silly." She got up to fill a bowl of stew and placed it before his father, who sat down and stared into the fire.
"Any word, Adrian?" His mother sat down and placed her hand on his father's arm. Caleb's skin tightened being near him and he quickly grabbed his bag to head to his room.
"Yes." He tapped the table with his thick fingers. "Caleb–stay."
Caleb sighed and sat down, watching his father pound the stew into his steam shovel mouth. The enormous muscles in his neck flexed with each swallow. He finished his meal in a few gulps and pushed the bowl away.
"Brahm has been named as mission commander to the new world. With Manta. They have been chosen to procreate and carry on our race."
"Adrian, I'm so sorry. I know you wanted this. Why not choose you?"
"They believe I'm a risk, having worked the factory nightshift."
"But you don't have pitch disease."
"It can lay dormant and develop years after working with the energy cells and passed on genetically. You know this. They didn't want to take the chance of me going insane over time on their precious mission. My brother, Mr. Scientist, and his wife are the perfect candidates." He spat out the words like a bug from his stew. "As if my seed isn't good enough." The firelight flashed over his father's white hair. It blazed
Caleb wanted to make their world better for her. He dreamed of finding an energy solution that would save them. He'd study energy cell development after graduating from general school. One more year and then he'd show them. His science teacher said he had advanced ideas. Caleb was tired of the water, food, and energy rationings. The solar cells produced the bare minimum now with the diminished light. He was sick of desperate times. But for now he had to deal with bullies and school and his father.
He slammed the door upon entering, hoping his father wasn't home yet. Rich smells of meat and gravy met him. A big pot hung over the kitchen fireplace. His mother was becoming an expert at making gourmet meals by fire. She peeked up from her cookbook and grabbed him for a hug. He accommodated her, trying not to wince as his ribs were squeezed, and turned away so she wouldn't see his cuts.
She forced his face around and gasped. "What happened?"
He threw his bag on the table. "No big deal. We lost the game against the Hides."
"And you got hurt in the game?" She gently touched his face and he stiffened.
"Not exactly."
"A fight."
"Yeah." He told her what happened.
Her mouth formed in a tight line. "What's wrong with those boys? Why won't they heal themselves? That's why we have such abilities. It gives us an advantage in this–"
"Dying world."
"Yes." She placed both hands on his cheeks. "And you didn't heal yourself either. Why?"
He tried to pull away, but she held him firmly. "You wouldn't understand, mother."
She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting.
"I wanted to go to school tomorrow like this."
"So they'd think you're a tough guy too?"
He nodded. She frowned at him, and despite that and the fact her curly, black hair was bound up in a tight bun his mother's natural beauty still glowed before him. His father never seemed to notice, but she turned heads when she went out.
"All right." She released his face, hers now sad. He wanted her to smile.
"What did you write today, Caleb?" She knew why he was late.
"A poem."
She smiled and sat down, pulling on his bag. "For a girl?"
He yanked the bag away with a groan. "No, Mother."
"Come on, let me see."
She managed to wiggle his notebook out and a tug-of-war ensued until the door opened.
"What's this?" His father stood there, his massive shape filling the doorframe, fierce eyes fixed on their antics. Caleb slid his notebook away.
His mother tensed and patted Caleb's shoulder. "Just being silly." She got up to fill a bowl of stew and placed it before his father, who sat down and stared into the fire.
"Any word, Adrian?" His mother sat down and placed her hand on his father's arm. Caleb's skin tightened being near him and he quickly grabbed his bag to head to his room.
"Yes." He tapped the table with his thick fingers. "Caleb–stay."
Caleb sighed and sat down, watching his father pound the stew into his steam shovel mouth. The enormous muscles in his neck flexed with each swallow. He finished his meal in a few gulps and pushed the bowl away.
"Brahm has been named as mission commander to the new world. With Manta. They have been chosen to procreate and carry on our race."
"Adrian, I'm so sorry. I know you wanted this. Why not choose you?"
"They believe I'm a risk, having worked the factory nightshift."
"But you don't have pitch disease."
"It can lay dormant and develop years after working with the energy cells and passed on genetically. You know this. They didn't want to take the chance of me going insane over time on their precious mission. My brother, Mr. Scientist, and his wife are the perfect candidates." He spat out the words like a bug from his stew. "As if my seed isn't good enough." The firelight flashed over his father's white hair. It blazed
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