Godfamily

By Adam M. Graves

Godfamily is the tale of a boy moving past the lives of those they love. Learning about grief for the first time, how to grieve, and the unexpected places it leads, is the story of Ananda and Avaloki. They discover what happens when romance and a world war takes them from home. They run from the Silence of the ANCDD who create ideal humans; not for their sake, but for the Silence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: Mar 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9783987628573

Book preview

Godfamily

Adam Graves

Copyright © Adam Graves, 2023

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 9783987628573

Verlag GD Publishing Ltd. & Co KG, Berlin

E-Book Distribution: XinXii

www.xinxii.com

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Table of Contents

Inception I: The Becoming—Pre-War Era

Chapter One: Service Bell

Chapter Two: What Cannot Be Said, Has Been Undone

Inception II: No Beginning

Chapter Four: The Estate

Chapter Five: Alms

Inception III: Into the Valley

Chapter Six: Godfamily

Inception IV: The Pixel

Chapter Seven: Descent and Success (cont.)

Chapter Eight: Repose

Inception V: VISITORS

Chapter Ten: Admit to Be Admitted

Inception I: The Becoming—Pre-War Era

Chapter One: Service Bell

Mother, Service Bell

Flowers in the hospital, bright lights that come through evening clouds and an open curtain, a handwritten poem left unnoticed on a nightstand, a poem that says her name too many times: Amita. Too much noise here, so she blocks it out by focusing on her breath and staring at the pale wall across from her bed. Too much time; a candle would be nice; a good book perhaps.

She can’t feel lonely – it will hit her later, after the drugs wear off; it will come in waves of rippling crimson heat in her stomach, of mistaken surprise; reaching for something eternally out of her grasp; and being distant and subdued as a sailboat ship in cloudy waters at night; lonely like a hollow, scraped out inward space of being in which nothing resides but locks attached to nothing; and after several months of separation a realization that it is indeed separation and nothing else. No more reassurance from her fantasies. Separation was a long surgery of thought, a surgery of the heart – lonely and alone. She feels though, oh does she feel. She feels controlled by loneliness. And so tired.

She looked to the left of her bed and saw a younger woman in the younger woman’s bed with her mouth slightly ajar; it looked like she was sleeping. Then the nurse walked in and offered to help the younger woman eat her dinner, as though it was an order – it had to happen eventually and it was the nurse’s mission to make that so. Not now, the younger woman said, and it was clear that she had not been sleeping at all.

Amita looked away from the woman and turned onto her right side and then tilted her head up slightly, resting on a thin white pillow. The stars came faster than usual tonight. This was her favorite part of the day. Periodic silence, a perfect warmth, and a sacred knowing assumed her as she looked out of the tall and wide hospital window. How many people saw these stars? Who were they? What were they doing? It distracted her to think about strangers with a common gaze. It helped her feel like the perfect silence and the emptiness made her less lonely.

Her eyes became heavy, and the full moon glistened as the stars expanded into watchful eyes. She forgot about the perfect warmth of the place, forgot about the shallow beating in her chest, and for a moment – that only restful moment between sleeps – she was awake.

Radical Denial

I was thinking, what if the moon was inhabited, or Mars, or a different planet. I think people would flip out, like need counseling or something. ‘Oh yeah, that,’ and there they are, on Mars, ‘I forgot about that.’ Why are people so obsessed with other planets, and space? We have Earth. Maybe people gave up on Earth. Cars. No one should drive cars, what are they? Thanks to Thomas Edison we have electricity. Well, we always had it, he just harnessed it. Now we have cars. Edison isn’t enlightened, he’s just ruined the order of things, hospitals.… I need her to live.… So now we are raising our consciousness, our conscious awareness without even realizing it. It’s more subtle than age, and that makes me sad. Maybe. There’s still everything there’s always been, just faster. Maybe we will hit a new plateau of technology and its capacity and capabilities will increase so exponentially that our entire perception changes. We can’t imagine it. Like I said, it’s subtle, but it will be fast. Ananda had trailed off into a near whisper and almost appeared to be speaking to himself. Some things you just don’t know, I guess.

They were sitting in a cheap diner. Ananda waited to sip his coffee while Dana, an older man with short black hair, had an unfinished salad in front of him. Dana took a bite of his salad, then asked, How have you been feeling?

Ananda's eyes were lined with red creases and the corners were dark. Fine. He lifted his coffee cup and tried to take a sip; it was too hot. Afraid it might spill, he put it back on the table and looked out the window. A car blared its horn and the pavement was white and oily. It was hot today.

How’s work?

The area above Ananda’s cheeks turned red, and began to match his eyes. He tapped the fingertips of one hand on the table. I had to quit.

Dana smiled uncomfortably and leaned forward slightly. Maybe it wasn’t working out.

Ananda opened his mouth, looked out the window until his chest fluttered, took a sip of too hot coffee, and said, Nope –

So when do I get to meet your girlfriend?

Ananda noticed the waitress at the table ahead of theirs. He looked down at the table. His body felt like paper mâché, nearly unable to move out of warm resentment. He wondered how it was possible that the pulsing veins in his head had not leaked out, and he pressed two fingers against his temple.

Dana father looked at him. You’re not, doing anything.

No… Of course not… Obviously not. Ananda crossed the fingers of both hands together and put them in his lap, then sat up slightly.

How’s your living situation?

The same…

Dana raised his eyebrows and slightly tilted his forehead towards him.

I mean… I need somewhere to stay… because I need to move.

"You aren’t getting evicted, are you?

No, no. But you know the kinds of people who live there. I need to leave.

The buzzing thunder of a passing truck interrupted them, as though their thoughts were held suspended in air.

Ananda looked back up, and said, Can I stay at your house while you’re out of town while I look for another place?

The older man looked out the window for a few minutes.

The young man thought it might be a good idea to say something, but could not – it would jeopardize his chance, and he felt dependent on Dana. Sometimes I just feel like giving up, Ananda thought, like sinking into the darkness; emptiness pulls me away. When I listen to perfect silence, I have the will to never give up on myself.

No. And you know why.

It felt as though Dana had scraped his body with a rasp, and discomfort ensued. Ananda knew Dana was not actually his father and thought, I will figure it out.

Ananda looked at the salt and pepper which sat in front of upright menus against the wall with the window. He wondered how long it would take to count each salt grain, and figured it would be best to simply eat it. He thought about how salt looked like sun-bleached sand, and wanted to be far away from here.

Mom’s fine. I mean, she’s better. She’s not perfect or – I mean, my mom. He looked at Dana for a reaction. The older man with the salad was sitting upright and gazing at him. I mean, I know you haven’t gone with us to the lake… in years… and you haven’t seen each other. Ananda checked him again for a reaction. She has been really sick still. She’s still in the hospital… No sympathetic response occurred. Avaloki – your daughter, obviously – we, both of us, visit my mom every week together… Ananda glanced at the older man who was glaring at him. Sometimes I wonder if I need a hospital too, Ananda thought.

Dana pushed his bowl to the center of the table, signifying resignation and consequential completion of lunch. He said, I’m going on a trip for work and I won’t get back until some time next week.

A dark cloud descended before them, and their table was masked in the shadow of it. It felt that an ice covered him, and shattered his bones as he tried to move, to speak, anything, nothing. He moved in place, his mind racing with thoughts so fast they gleamed in a bright light when he blinked. His muscles trembled yet could not move – too tense to function, too afraid not to. The shadow moved across the table and descended upon Dana's salad. Then a hand, carrying in its soft and deceptive grasp a small black