What leads Aniruddha to the dak bungalow in Dumka?

d) He is searching for a place to stay overnight.

b) He wants to explore a historical site.

c) His car breaks down during a journey.

What is the unusual feature of the dak bungalow that Aniruddha notices?

b) A painting of an English planter

c) A strange indigo plantation surrounding it

How does Aniruddha’s behavior change after staying in the dak bungalow?

c) He starts acting like an English indigo planter.

d) He resigns from his job and isolates himself.

a) He becomes more ambitious and aggressive.

b) He develops a sudden obsession with colonial history.

What does the indigo plantation symbolize in the story?

b) The exploitation and oppression during British rule

c) The resilience of Indian farmers

a) The wealth and prosperity of colonial times

How does Aniruddha’s transformation into an indigo planter become apparent?

c) He starts speaking in a British accent.

b) He begins commanding imaginary laborers in English.

a) He starts to wearing colonial attire.

d) He develops a deep hatred for modernity.

What does Aniruddha’s transformation suggest about the impact of colonial history?

b) It continues to haunt and influence present generations.

c) It serves as an inspiration for new generations.

a) It is completely forgotten in modern times.

d) It is irrelevant in the context of modern India.

How does Satyajit Ray use the supernatural element in the story?

a) To critique the practices of colonial rulers

c) To add an eerie atmosphere to the narrative

b) To depict the psychological impact of colonialism

What is the ultimate message of the story Indigo?

b) The remnants of exploitation are etched deeply into history.

a) Colonial rulers were benevolent towards Indians.

c) Modernity has completely erased colonial influences.

d) Progress can only be achieved by glorifying the past.

Indigo by Satyajitray

Rainbows Introduction. When the Sun comes out after it rains, run outside. You may see a rainbow in the sky. Rainbows are tricks made by light. We can see them, but we can't touch them or walk around them. They seem to move away when we try to get close to them. Science can explain how rainbows happen. Where and When Rainbows Appear. Look around the next time you see a rainbow. The Sun will be shining from behind you. There will be rain in front of you, where you'll see the rainbow. Rainbows need water drops and sunlight to form. They can even form under a bright moon. These are called moonbows. We usually see a rainbow as a half circle. It actually forms a full circle. From the ground, we can only see the top half. How Rainbows Form. Years ago, a French scientist studied rainbows. He found that to see a rainbow, you must be in the right spot. Knowing how light moves helps explain rainbows. Think of running on land. Now think of trying to run through water. You will move more slowly through water because it is thicker than air. This pencil seems to bend where it enters the water. In the same way, light moves faster through air than through water. As the light moves through water, it slows down and bend. Rainbows form when water drops meet sunlight. The light bends when it goes into each drop. Then it reflects, or bounces, off the back of each drop. The light bends again as it leaves the drop. This happens in millions of water drops at once, making the colors of a rainbow. The Colors of the Rainbow. Sunlight is made up of many colors. Water drops split the sunlight into different colors. Splitting light makes a rainbow. You have to be in the right spot to see a rainbow. Each water drop reflects colored light at a slightly different angle. The colors of the rainbow always appear in the same order. The name ROY G. BIV can help you remember the seven main colors. They are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Conclusion. Rain stops and the Sun comes out. A beautiful rainbow sweeps across the sky. Most people find it hard not to stop and stare when a rainbow appears. Science explains how rainbows form. Still, a rainbow is always a magical sight to see.

Think about the geography and location of the city or town you live in. Are there bodies of water like rivers and lakes or a coast nearby? Perhaps you live in a place with vast open fields suitable for farming or raising livestock. The natural environment is important when understanding how cities and towns developed. The earliest North American colonies depended on their natural environment. The type of soil, climate, length of seasons, and proximity to bodies of water all played a role in how each colony prospered. By the 1700’s, the American colonies grew into three distinct regions. The New England, Middle, and Southern regions each had different geographical and cultural characteristics that determined the development of their economy, society, and relationships to each other. The New England Colonies included Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. The geography of this region featured dense forests and hills. Combined with the hard rocky land, cold climate and long winters, New England was a poor area for large farming operations. However, many colonists known as "yeoman farmers" had small family-owned farms that grew a variety of crops. Many other colonists relied on fishing and whaling off the New England coast. Others settled in small towns and became craftsmen or merchants. The forests provided excellent lumber for building boats and homes for the growing population. Many of the settlers to the New England Colonies were Puritans, hardworking, and very religious. Close families and strong communities were very important to them. The Middle Colonies included Pennsylvania, Delaware, New York, and New Jersey. The geography of this region featured a warmer climate with fertile soil, flat land, easily navigable rivers, and wide valleys making it perfect for farming and growing crops. Wealthy farmers grew cash crops and raised livestock. Mining and trading were also important aspects of the economy here. Over time, cities grew, and urban merchants sold and traded goods with people throughout the other colonies. Compared to other regions, the people of the middle colonies supported religious freedom and tolerance and had a diverse population with settlers arriving from many areas in Europe. The Southern Colonies included the first English colony of Virginia, and grew to include Maryland, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia. The geography included rich, fertile soil with broad coastal plains that made it possible for large plantations to grow tobacco, rice, and indigo. Most of these plantations featured a labor force of enslaved Black people. These enslaved men, women, and children had few, if any, rights and often saw their families torn apart at the whim of the plantation owner. Enslaved children were even put to work as young as age three, weeding fields, carrying drinking water, or helping in the home. Smaller farms owned by subsistence farmers also existed across the Southern Colonies. Often, the people working these would grow crops for their families with little left over to sell or trade. Indentured servants also arrived in the South who would work for 5-7 years in exchange for their passage to North America. The Church of England (also known as the Anglican Church) was the dominant religion in the region. Most settlers to the South did not come for religious freedom like they did in the northern colonies. Therefore, they often maintained their allegiance to the established Church of England.

Chapter 8: The Worlds of North and South Geography Geography refers to the seasons, climate, soil, and physical features of a region (mountains, rivers, etc.) The differences in geography b/t the N and S is one of the major reasons slavery b/c entrenched in the S while it died out in the N. Geography of the North The N has diverse geography and experiences four distinct seasons including long, harsh winters. The Great Plains region has some of the best farmland in the country. New England has rocky, hilly wilderness, not well suited for farming. It has hundreds of bays and harbors along its coastline. States farther S had rich soil and coastal access through rivers. The N also experienced mass deforestation b/c of the need for lumber and to make room for farms. Geography of the South Climate: the S had mild winters, and a long, hot, humid growing season. It has fertile lowlands, marshes and swamps. It's ideal for growing tobacco, sugar, rice, indigo, and cotton (cash crops). B/c of the geography of the S, their whole way of life was based on agriculture and geography is one of the major reasons why slavery took off in the S. Economies Economy basically refers to the way people make and spend money. The Northern economy was far more diversified than the Southern. Economy of the North The North experienced the Industrial Revolution—the shift from handmade goods to machine-made goods. This resulted in new jobs, increased production, and improved efficiency in agriculture. IOW, you can make things faster, easier, and cheaper. More ppl get more stuff. Factories were almost always located next to rivers. The Reaper The Indust. Rev. changed northern agriculture with Cyrus McCormick’s reaper. It could cut 28xs more grain than a single man. The Sewing Machine Elias Howe's sewing machine; At 250 stitches a minute, Howe's lockstitch mechanism out-stitched the output of five hand seamstresses with a reputation for speed, completing in one hour what took the sewers 14.5 hours. The Textile Mill Francis Cabot Lowell's textile mill: essentially the first factory in the US, Lowell set the model for all future factories. Interchangeable Parts Eli Whitney's interchangeable parts; considered the "dawning of a new age" of machinery. This concept was applied to pretty much all manufacturing. Economy of the South The South's economy was based on AGRICULTURE. Most southerners were agrarians. Most had small farms, some owned plantations. Slavery beginning to decline in late 1700s; prices went down (tobacco, indigo) and cotton was difficult. King Cotton Cotton was South’s most important crop. Earned more money than all other exports combined. The S would go on to supply 75% of the world's cotton demand. Cotton Gin Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin in 1794 and forever changed the US. The gin made cotton incredibly profitable. We start to see the effects of the cotton gin around 1820. Slavery and Cotton Southerners put all their money into slaves and land, and almost none into building factories. With the spread of cotton, demand for slaves increased. 1790 to 1850, number of slaves rose 600%. Transportation Again, the N was far more inventive in their approach to transportation than the S. Transportation in the North National Road National Road stretched from the East (the Potomac), over the Appalachians, to the West (Illinois), over 620 miles. Steamboat In 1807, Robert Fulton invented the steamboat. It traveled 150 miles UP the Hudson River at a speed of 5 mph. Erie Canal Built b/t 1817 and 1825, the canal spanned 363 miles and connected Lake Erie to the Hudson River. This connected farms in the W to cities in the E and the Atlantic Ocean. Clipper Ship Clippers were narrow w massive sails that were built for speed. They cut the time it took to cross the Atlantic in half. Locomotive The fastest and cheapest way to move goods was by steam-powered trains. The first RR was the B&O which was built in 1827. Transportation in the South Most people and goods in the South traveled by rivers in steamboats. The South had trains, but less than half the amount of railroad track than the North had. Society (The People) The people who made up the N and S could not have been more different. The S was primarily agrarian while the N was b/c urbanized. The S was holding on to the past, while the N was embracing change. Society in the South Society was organized into 3 distinct classes of people: rich plantation owners at the top; then white farmers and workers; slaves on the bottom. This rigid social class system was the result of a slave-based agricultural system. Power Structure Only 1 in 4 whites owned a slave. Plantation owners, who owned more than 20 slaves, dominated politics and the economy. Society in the North 7 of 10 Northerners still lived on farms by the 1840s (6 of 10 by 1860), but urbanization was growing fast in the N. The N relied on wage labor as opposed to slave labor, so most blacks in the N were free. N blacks were not treated equally and the N was about as racist as the S. Immigration Compared to the S, the N population was exploding, in large part bc of immigration. Between 1845 and 1860, 4 million immigrants came to the North. Most were German and Irish. Irish--a potato famine; German--a failed revolution. Ethnic neighborhoods developed as a result.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Indigo - Part 3

INDIGO Flocab #7 Have Compassion

Flocab Indigo #9- Shoes Match Your Shirt

Flocabulary Indigo Unit 3

Related quizzes

Related quizzes