Our Rise. Our Fall.

I remember the locket most of all. Heart-shaped. Silver. A bit tarnished, but what wasn’t tarnished at this point? And there was a small scratch on the side where it was once scraped against something. It was a minor imperfection that reminded me that nothing is ever, nothing can ever be, truly perfect. It was a reminder of what we had tried to achieve.

It was a reminder of how badly we had failed.

Our perfect society. We thought we were going to fix what those who had come before us had done wrong. Like the locket, our new settlement was meant to be shiny and pristine. But, like the locket, it had since suffered from wear and tear. It had suffered from our complacency.

Well, what did anyone really expect? That the tall gleaming spires would always reflect the sun? That the throngs of people that once packed the palace would always be content and fulfilled?

No, such hopes and desires were now the stuff of forgotten dreams and quiet whispers. And it didn’t even take that long for the facade to crumble. The polished wrapping that had enveloped our small civilization had long since been peeled away, revealing the festering rot beneath.

I suppose it had always been there. But for a while we were placated by the empty words and hollow promises of a leader we once so revered. A leader that had promised a new beginning and had instead brought about the end of so many.

Those who had left us first were the lucky ones. They never had time to learn of the deceit or to try to contemplate why their lives meant so little. Those of us who were still here, well, we were dead too, but of a different sort.

Our hearts no longer held joy. Our minds no longer grasped onto thin strings of hope. And the words of our leader reverberated on empty walls within the palace, for no one felt solace within those walls anymore.

How could it have come to this? How did we allow it?

I think of the locket again. Such a small, insignificant item that had once represented so much. It was a gift for my daughter, Justine. It wasn’t her birthday, or any other holiday. It was a gift given to celebrate and commemorate the new adventure we were about to embark on. The new civilization we were going to be a part of.

And then I see the simple answer. I see that’s why everything had failed. We were all so focused on placing such significance on little things that we never raised our eyes high enough to see the big picture.

It was supposed to be the ideal utopia. After all, we had all learned what not to do by studying the mistakes of our ancestors. We had established a new set of rules and mantras that would guide us on the correct path to a prosperous future.

There would be one city. No cause for war.

There would be no money. No cause for poverty.

There would be no weapons. No cause for violence.

There would be a limit on childbirth. No overpopulation.

We would all learn trades on a rotating basis. We could all contribute, and, in turn, teach the young as they grew.

There would be a set amount of food granted to each individual or family. No famine, and no hoarding.

All would live within a single palace of tall spires and grand rooms. All would be granted the same basic items, the same clothing, and the same furniture. Only what we needed to fulfill our daily living needs. There would be no jealousy of residence or possessions.

There would be no contact with those we had left behind. No one to tell us we were wrong. No one to put alternative thoughts into our head and sway us from our determined path.

There would be no status. We were all equals. Even our leader declared himself higher than none and equal to all, a mere vocalist to inspire, motivate, and share wisdom.

And it worked. For a long time, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

The beginning of our end began with that locket. It began when Justine, in her innocence, thought nothing of showing it to another little girl she had befriended. Who would have thought that such a small thing could bring about a resurgence of jealousy, anger, greed, and abject hatred?

But when that little girl went back to her parents and said that she wanted a locket too, questions were asked. Suspicions were raised. Justine wasn’t supposed to have a locket, you see. No possessions. Nothing for anyone to be jealous of. But now another little girl wanted a locket that no one was supposed to have.

Our leader tried at first to justify it. To explain it away. But his words were met with more questions that held notes of anger. So then our leader made up a story. Said the locket was found outside the palace, in the fields where the farming took place. But not everyone believed this story. And those that did were not satisfied.

The palace walls, once reverberating laughter and kindness, were now also pulsating with hushed conversations amongst different groups. Unsettling words. Uneasiness. Secrets.

Food began to go missing. Just a little at first, barely noticeable. But those who did notice felt it would be prudent to secure more food for themselves as well. And so more food was missing, and then everyone noticed.

The palace walls were filled with accusations, shouting, insults. The leader called everyone together and told them to remain calm. He asked that everyone still try to hold true to the ideals that had served to found their community.

He held individual meetings with each and every member of the palace. He listened to their concerns. He heard their accusations. He discovered who was still loyal to the laws that had been established, and who was demanding of change and retribution.

Of the latter, he promised change. He promised retribution. And he promised them recompense if they would commit to a small journey to recover a hidden cache of supplies and items of the old world. All the things they had left behind, all the objects of value they had once cherished could be theirs again.

They were all more than eager to go and retrieve these forgotten treasures. They did not return, of course. Our leader saw to that. But what he told everyone that remained was another story. He told them that the group that had left had done so because they had become clouded by desires of greed. That they no longer wished to live in a utopia of peace and equality. That they wished to return to the old ways, and had likely gone on to form their own settlement.

This story brought forth only more questions and suspicions. And, as time went on, those that remained formed their own small groups and began to fend for themselves. The leader implored that everyone hold true to the established ideals and laws. But fewer and fewer people came to the palace center to hear him speak.

In fact, the palace center was crowded only once more. The day of the leader’s execution.

For the leader did not hide the bodies of those he had slain very well. They were found when others journeyed father from the palace grounds in search of additional sources of food and water.

They were found half-buried in the soft sand of the hills. They were found slaughtered, shot multiple times with a powerful weapon. Men. Women. Children. The little girl who once just wanted a shiny locket.

The perpetrator of their death might have remained a mystery had it not been for one victim that had not died so quickly. One victim who still possessed enough strength and fortitude to write a name on a rock using his own blood.

The leader’s name. My name.

I tried to deny it, of course. But they raided my room. They found the food I had stolen. They found the items and treasures and coins I had kept from our old lives. They found the weapons I had hidden, and the gun I had used to kill those who were on the verge of discovering the falsehoods I had told.

But were my actions truly wrong? I had only sought to create a better society for everyone. I had only sought to quell the uprising that would destroy it all. Could no one appreciate the responsibility, the burden I had taken for myself, so that others could live a better life?

And they would condemn me? They would ruin everything we had strived to build, all because I secretly gave my little girl a locket?

My daughter, not so little anymore. Old enough to understand the things her father had done. Old enough to believe that my promises were lies. I promised her the same things many mothers and fathers promised their own children when we left the old life for the new.

And, now, she was tarnished, too. Her once bright smile, now a razor’s edge on her face. Her once shining eyes, now two dull orbs that always seemed to stare relentlessly at some far-off point in the distance. She blamed herself for showing that little girl the locket and ruining everything. But she was smart enough to blame me, too. Smart enough to know that her father was not the savior he had claimed to be.

Some of the others thought to condemn her too, simply because she was my daughter. But she saved herself when she made a choice to stand with them. She had to prove herself, of course.

And so it is she that stands before me now, staring not into my eyes, but always somewhere in the distance. She does not look at me when she places the dark hood over my head. And because I cannot meet her eyes, the last thing I see before the hood cuts off the light is the locket hanging around her neck.

The locket that was the beginning and the end of everything.