A Penny for your Thoughts: Book 1

By E.D. Squadroni

On Nantucket Island, the Court is one of the last cities to lose control of their government system. The Fatalities have taken over not only the United States but the entire world as we know it. They strive for ultimate perfection with the use of science and mind reading. Based in the very near future, Brixton Bex, a nineteen-year-old boy, struggles to find his place on the island.
His peaceful afternoon of reading gets shaken when his mom, Sonu, warns Brixton of a Burning Ceremony that the Fatalities have decided to throw to eliminate any hope of education.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649691545

Book preview

Prologue

MALE NEWS REPORTER I

A group, known as the Fatalities has officially become our first successful form of government to gain world domination. After close to a decade in the making, the United States has become the final country to join the Fatalities.

FEMALE REPORTER I

The US is the new Central Command Station for the entire Fatality System. If accepted, citizens will be given their pennies tomorrow and must keep them the duration of their life. Any child born after will also be examined and assigned a penny.

MALE REPORTER II

Central Command has bought all major forms of business, sending former owners and employees plummeting into poverty.

FEMALE NEWS REPORTER I

Security upgrades are complete. No public access on or off Nantucket Island will be permitted.

Chapter One: The Dull Day

Rain poured; allowing for water to drench the red velvet curtain. Brixton and his mother neglected to patch up the crack in the bay window. For years it went overlooked. A light drizzle here and there didn’t affect them. Only the occasional downfall like today brought attention to the heavy drape. Brixton watched as the water spot grew larger and larger. He hated that curtain. It blocked out not only the sun but all of civilization. Not to mention, it was about five feet longer than it needed to be. The excess fabric sat crumpled on the floor causing a tripping hazard that Brixton fell for almost every time he came near the window. The five extra feet did come in good use today though. He used the massive wine-colored velvet as a dam to prevent it from soaking the window seat. As he dabbed up the escaping puddle he wondered.

How powerful can thoughts be? Thoughts are like the wind; just as invisible. Yet they can embrace any amount of turmoil. Both can destroy everything. A single thought can take control and rule a nation. One thought put in the mind of an innocent person can ruin it forever. One spark can lead to a great fire in a dry forest.

He drew back the curtain and peeked outside.

Nobody. Good.

He opened the drapes up even further. There wasn’t as much to worry about when nobody was outside. Finally, he could feel like he wasn’t hiding something.

No matter what they did, the people in the Court were always hiding. Hiding from Fatalities. Hiding from their past. Or even from their doomed future. To be overlooked was a good thing. He watched a stream of water make its way through the cracks of the cobblestone streets like a giant maze. It winded to the left for a bit then changed course completely and took a sharp right.

What of memories? They are like those streets. Over time they fade with wear. Each stone also locked into place forever embracing new characters. If told right, a memory will carry on in the stories read generation after generation.

Both of these things, thoughts and memories, were so strong and so pliable at the same time. Brixton shuttered to think about the fragile position anyone would be in if they crossed with a Fatal.

The warmth of his house and the window seat soothed him and carried him out of his thoughts. This particular spot became his favorite area in the entire house to sit in spite of his mother’s requests not to do so. Pillows stuffed with feathers made this the place he could relax in his tattered WWI army jacket and read.

Sonu, Brixton’s mom, bought it for his birthday two years ago. He hadn’t taken it off in the apartment since. Only when he went outside did he leave it hanging on the coat rack. As soon as Brixton came back in, though, he wrapped the history around him again. Some of the pockets had holes, but he didn’t mind. He liked to imagine that a soldier wore the fabric out in it from heavy grenades.

His hair fell on the collar of the jacket just enough to cover it. At one point, his hair was a light blonde. Each year it lost its yellow hue and turned more to a hazelnut brown. He could barely see the blonde anymore. He swiped his bangs across his face. That part was annoying about having long hair. He was constantly pushing it out of his eyes. On some days it felt like he had a constant twitch.

Maybe I’m the exception to aging. Instead of getting lighter and turning gray, my hair will be like a raven’s feathers by the time it finishes getting darker.

Be jealous ladies, Brixton said to nobody in particular.

Although a haircut sounded good, Brixton chose to keep it. Other boys his age grew their hair out. He wasn’t one to follow in pursuit of the latest fashion trends but with the hair, girls swooned all over the other guys on a daily basis. Of course they were better looking. Brixton liked to think of himself as an average teenage boy with glasses and a medium-build body.

At least I’m not too skinny like some of the other guys. He thought. I’ve got some definition. He flexed in the reflection from the window.

"I could definitely be a soldier."

He kicked off his worn out shoe and lifted up the inside sole of it. A penny flipped out into his hand.

What do you think? Am I destined to be a big war hero?

The penny given to him at birth said 1880. 1880? Eh, an okay year from what he read in history books. Not that he could find anyway. The only thing of particular interest was the place he was named after. His mom found a city in the same history books and named him after a district in London.

Nothing much happened in Brixton. Electric Avenue turned into the first market street to beam electricity to the area in 1880. Sonu told him that one day he too would bring light back to the world. She probably said this out of electricity deprivation. They hadn’t had the convenience of a light switch since he was a baby. Everywhere else did. But not Sonu. She said it would bring too much attention to them. That and she refused to support anything that had to do with the Fatalities. Since they owned the electric company, the gas company, the water plant and everything else in the Court, he and his mother had to resort to doing things that she liked to call, the old fashioned way.

He imagined some sort of superhero there to save the day. I am here to bring light into the world! Superheroes paraded around in his imagination all the time when he was smaller. He defeated the powerful Fatals and ended the madness for all.

As a teenager, his world remained the same boring place. The superheroes were replaced with reality. He knew superheroes never even existed. They didn’t even live remotely close to England anyway. Why did she name him after a place she never traveled to?

Nevertheless, he kept the penny safe in a hidden compartment in the sole of his shoe.

I wish my penny could be just thirty years older, Brixton thought. I could really make a difference with a penny like that.

War fascinated him. Maybe because there hadn’t been a full out battle for a couple of decades. Some uprisings here and there but not to the extent of tanks, armor and the good stuff he liked. The Fatalities’ idea to end all conflicts actually worked.

They became the first form of government to gain world domination. Complete control took close to ten years to accomplish; the United States being the last to agree. Since they were the last, immigrants poured into the country. Brixton imagined millions of refugees crashing onto the shore; just one solid wave of nothing but desperate people.

Of course, the idea sounded good at the time; everybody flees to the last place standing. What they didn’t predict was that as soon as the States did convert, they quickly became the central command station for the entirety of the Fatality system. It was their idea to take over all businesses. Grocery stores, gas stations, electric companies were all owned by the government. They knew what a citizen was doing before they did it.

To give the Fatality system credit, the initial idea seemed quite logical. If the world was all under one roof of governmental control then they would all be the same. There would be no fighting about differences. A dispute free life came with a heavy price though. To gain freedom from war meant to lose freedom from life.

Two tanks occupied his street at that very moment. One sat on one end of the street while the other stationed itself at the opposite end. Day in and day out those tanks perched like vultures waiting to exterminate anything that wandered into its path.

Please find somewhere else to read, Brix. I hate it when you read in the window like this. It brings –

Too much attention to our house, Brixton finished for her in his best motherly voice. Someone will see you. You know how nervous it makes me. Mom, you worry entirely too much."

Brixton chuckled. She said things like this too many times during the day for him to count. Plus entirely was a new word he had picked up that week. Alone, it ranked as a weak adverb, but it felt like the perfect word to try with his mom.

Sonu was a small, petite woman. He couldn’t figure out how she had been able to have him. Her tiny frame could’ve snapped in half trying to carry around a baby all day. No matter what she ate, she stayed the same for as long as he could remember. Her hair had faded some, but still glowed a soft honey-brown in the sun. She wore it down during the day. Not once did she cut it shorter than the middle of her back. One time the hairdresser did just that and she cried for days. She actually cried. Over hair. Although ridiculous, he agreed. She did look different with shorter hair. Even though it was still long compared to other people’s.

Where she lacked in height and size, she made up for in mind and spirit. She stayed strong when citizens were asked to conform and pay for the power. She refused to buy food from the government run stores. On the roof of their house, Sonu grew her own garden. She became good at it too; so good that she actually sold half of the extras to close acquaintances and neighbors. Any remainders that she didn’t use for the night’s dinner, she snuck down to the docks and gave to the people who needed it more than they did. Brixton hated the kale and ginger anyway so he was thrilled to see it go.

Everyone spoke of her beauty and strong heart too. It was at night though that Brixton admired his mother the most. She wore a loose braid to keep the hair out of her face while she worked on projects around the house. She was always rearranging or making some craft project that she swore would make the house better for whatever reason. For the most part, it did. Some projects turned out better than he would have expected with a piece of junk.

Once, Sonu found a tattered old suitcase and stuffed it with tufted fabric. She then added legs on the bottom for a rather conventional chair. It sat in the brightest corner of the room so she could gaze upon it from every location in the great, open living space.

That was the beauty in his mother no one else knew about. He could see the passion in her eyes and the ideas churning in her head. She still had the spark that so many people lost over the years of New Policy.

Nice word, Brix, but that isn’t going to make me feel any better. Actually it scares me even more. Entirely, she repeated under her breath as she brushed her hair out of her face.

You’re so smart. One day your smarts are going to get you into a lot of trouble.

She spoke with a frantic tone. He couldn’t help but picture her as a twisted rabbit that lost its hole. She polished pieces of furniture that hadn’t been touched in months. She beat pillows to give them a good fluff. She tugged on the drapes to close them up tight again. Then for extra precaution, clipped wood clothespins to the edges to make sure they would not open with even the slightest breeze from outside. The wind sometimes slipped through the poorly set windows causing the curtains to dance within the wind’s faint whispers.

Brixton thought she had lost it once she started moving the furniture around. Any other day this would be normal, but she had just done that two days ago.

She usually leaves it for a while; at least a month or two.

Sonu continued to dart about; always looking over her shoulder at the window. Every time she did, so did Brixton. He kept thinking something was behind him which made him feel nervous too.

What are you doing? Are you expecting someone?

No visitor ever stepped foot in their loft apartment. Sonu liked to keep things private. She did the visiting around the Court.

His mother continued as if she didn’t hear his question over the screeching of the couch on the hardwood floor.

"And – if you must know, ummf, I worry, uummf, because I’m a mother. I’m allowed to. It’s in the rule book right next