Talisman

The woman stood at the barred window, the dark night lit by burning fires in oil barrels. It was still hours until dawn … wake-up time … but she wasn’t sleepy. Her exhaustion would hit her later in the day; it always did.

Just before the ringing of the bells that signaled it was time for more medication; just when it felt as if her ankles could no longer support her feet encased in their leaden, ill-fitting work boots; when her stomach growled angrily at having nothing except a meager bowl of hot water seasoned with salt, root vegetables, and the bones of dead animals found lying in the street.

That is when the extra hours of sleep she could have reminded her of that fact.

She would find herself nodding at her machine, her head bobbing until her neck jerked it upright while her eyelids felt as if they were supporting boulders.

It had become routine. Everything was routine now.

She tuned out the hypnotic, droning voice heard 24 hours a day throughout the city against a backdrop of cheery chimes:

Hail your brave and fearless leader for He is your salvation and benefactor. Take your medicine. Have a good day.

She remembered a life before this. A life filled with sunlight and laughter and friends. Her own home. A husband.

It was all gone.

The overthrow of the government to usher in a new rule was supposed to benefit everyone. Except their leader, a kindly-faced gentleman with benevolent eyes and a gentle smile had usurped all the wealth and resources for himself. His friends and cronies, the general public … none were offered a piece of the very enormous pie the citizens had encouraged The Leader to take by any means necessary.

The Leader had been charismatic, empathetic. He was one of them. He had worked amongst them, he had suffered loss. The masses had hung on his every word, believed all of his promises of a fair and balanced government and prosperity for EVERYONE.

It was all a lie.

Under the new rule, families were torn apart and living in what the government termed precincts which were filled with dirt, decay, and debris. Squalor was too good a word for the filth the citizens lived in.

No precinct was co-ed.

Now, rundown shacks were considered a sign of independent wealth. People died in the streets from sickness and injuries because there was no healthcare for anyone other than The Leader.

The woman turned from the window, her thin cotton gown swirling about her lean frame. A slim gold chain tangled between her fingers; her thumb brushed the heart-shaped locket resting against the hollow of her throat. It was the last gift given to her by her mother before the last Insurrection.

“Keep this. THIS is what will end the tyranny, but only when its other half is found,” her mother whispered urgently as she pressed the jewelry into her daughter’s hand.

The woman looked skeptically at her mother before pulling the older woman in for a hard, long hug.

A goodbye hug.

“Mama, don’t go,” the woman sobbed, her breath hitching.

“Until the locket is matched, we must do what we can to stop this … stop him,” her mother said softly. She pulled away to take in her daughter’s features. “I don’t mind dying, but it cannot be in vain. When the locket is matched, it will burn hot and change hue.”

“Will I know … will I know who holds the other locket?” The woman wiped her damp eyes with the heels of her hands.

“You will.” The mother turned her head at someone shouting for her to stop dawdling.

She turned back to her daughter, and gave her one last kiss. “I must go. Remember my words.” The briefest of pauses. “Don’t let anyone see you with the necklace; there are a few who know it’s powers but many more will want it for its monetary value.”

The woman nodded, words refusing to form. She watched her mother sprint towards an old army truck, tossing her arm in the air; someone grabbed it and pulled her aboard. The woman watched the vehicle drive out of sight, her hand wildly waving back and forth.

She imagined her mother waving back.

That had been months ago. The woman had not seen her mother since. She glanced at the clock, glowing green in the darkness. Almost time for wake-up. She bent her arms at the elbows, her hands meeting at the back of her neck. After some fumbling, the locket was unfastened. She quickly tucked it into the undetectable hole in her mattress.

Just in time.

The lights, harsh and bright, suddenly lit up the barracks.

And the day began.

The woman stood in line to receive her medication and water. A blank-faced nurse thrust two plastic cups at her and dismissed her to serve the women and children behind her. The woman drank her water; she trashed her pills.

She waited her turn for 5 minutes of lukewarm water from a trickling shower. Drying her skin with a threadbare rag, she put on barely clean underwear and her uniform: A drab gray cotton shift, thick socks, and work boots.

In the cafeteria, she took her bowl of “soup”, a crust of hard bread, and water; she didn’t bother searching for a table. She simply sat in the closest available seat. After her meal, she returned to her bed so she could straighten it before heading into “work.”

She slipped the locket into her pocket as she did every day; every day, it remained cool to the touch and golden in color.

The woman fell into line to board the bus that would take her to the factory where she would spend her day sewing garments: sheets, dresses, underwear. She lifted one foot to put in front of the other, but the line wasn’t moving.

She held back the sigh that longed to escape her mouth as she craned her neck to see what the hold-up was. Her eyes widened; she exhaled the sigh. The sun was shining, it’s rays wan, pale, and weak.

The woman felt her hands clench. Each day since the day the world changed was nothing but gray clouds and despair. But today ….

Her attention was caught by her dress pocket; it was … heated. She felt warmth against her skin; practically trembling with excitement, the woman stuck her hand inside the crevice. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out in pain. When she withdrew her hand, slight burns blistered her fingers and palm.

Her heartbeat accelerated. Butterflies soared in her stomach. She tried to quell the hope she hadn't felt in so, so long but it was too late.

Eyes darting around the room, the woman gingerly removed the hot metal from her pocket. She glanced down quickly, her eyes giving nothing away when she saw the locket was now silver, even around its filigreed edges.

Her mother’s prophecy had come true!

Except one.

Who was her match?