An+Inconspicuous+Brick+(Abridged)

This is an abridged version of my own original story, which itself is rather lengthy and **//far// from** complete. And pardon me for the formatting. I'll fix it later.
 * Author's note:**

> - There was a young boy. He lived with his family, his father, mother, and older sister in an off-white cottage. The cottage overlooked the dusty fields that the family would tend to and that the boy would play in, for the boy was not yet old enough to take on the responsibilities that were already his father's, mother's, and sister's. He often played with a whittled wooden block that he liked to imagine as an airplane, running through the fields and making noises he thought airplanes made. Though, not just //any// airplane noises, he made the noises of the greatest airship in all the land! For in his mind he was a pilot of his own ship, and if it's his mind, who's to say that it's not the greatest ship in all the land?

- The boy's strong father was visited by an official from the other district several days after the end of the harvest season. Mother listened and wept, and held her frail frame close to his. The boy did not understand what was going on, all he knew was that father was going away to work for a while because the government told him to. This did not sound right to the boy, but he had no choice in the matter. - He stood with his father on the gleaming metal platform. The underground air was cool and refreshing, and carried a slight chemical smell the boy couldn't figure out. His sister had stayed at home with their aging mother, and in each other's company the boy and his father stood together. He looked up at the strong man who had been there his whole life, and suddenly missed him before he had even left. For the man he looked up to wasn't the man his father was. He was empty, broken. Something wasn't right. - They exchanged good-byes. His father looked into his eyes and said, "Don't ever give up, Lake." - And he was gone. - Gone down the dark tunnel of flickering lights into some distant part of the other district. - Lake hoped his father would tell him what was wrong when he got back.

- He later learned that his father had been ordered to work in the brick fields indefinitely. He would never see his father again.

- One day while playing in the empty fields, he saw a girl sitting on the cool, steel wall that divided the two districts. She giggled at the boy; she had been watching him all morning! She smiled at him, and with a flash of her hair was gone over the side of the wall. Lake had never seen the girl before, and was left pondering over the identity of the unknown girl late into the day. He wished his father was here; he would have the answers. He always used to.

- One morning, like every morning since that morning, the boy looked for the girl. Up and down the wall, and not a single trace of her. He spotted her once, every day, just as he went into the house in the evening. And every time, she was gone. Just like that.

- He sat down beneath a tree, and looked at the faint symbol his father had etched on it long ago. It was a small heart with a circle in the center of it. It had been his father's symbol for as long as he could remember. A tinkling laugh suddenly brought Lake back into reality. He looked up from where he had been absentmindedly turning his wooden "airplane" in his hands to see the girl smiling down at him from the wall. She jumped down, and landed lightly.

> "I've been watching you," she said with a giggle. > Lake stood up and remembered to close his mouth. He began, "I..." He closed his mouth again. "Why?" > "'Cause you're funny." She began laughing. > "Well, I've been watching you too," he quipped. > "Really?" she asked. "Why?" > "I..." He paused. He didn't really know why he watched for the girl who watched him. The first thing that came to mind was because she was cute, but he didn't //dare// say that. "I guess I don't really know." > "Oh, so you don't know? What's that thing in your hand?" > "It's my airplane!" > "It doesn't really look like an airplane," she remarked, then shrugged. "Why do you think it's an airplane?" > "I don't know; I just pretend with it." > "Why?" > "Because it's fun to play with it." > "Why do you play with it?" > "Because there's nothing else to play with..." The boy sighed. "You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" > "I think I do. My mommy says I do. My daddy never listens to me anyway. He's always off at work or something." > "My dad's away at work too..." There was silence. > And then the girl asked, "Why?" > And the boy responded, "I don't really know." > "You don't know a lot of things, don't you?" Lake paused. He had never considered it that way. He guessed that in a sense, she was right. > "I... guess you're right." He sighed again. "Will you teach me things?" > "Sure! What do you want to know first? I know a lot of things." She grinned. > "What's your name?" She smiled and glanced down. > "My name is Rose. What's yours?" > "My name is Lake."

> And so Lake and Rose became friends. She taught him to read and write, something that the people in his district weren't supposed to be able to do. She taught him about the sun and the twin planets, the rocket ships that frequently span the distance between them. She taught him about oceans and mountains he had never seen, the two districts and the great war that made them built the massive outer walls. She told him of the wonders behind the wall, small personal trains that didn't require tracks, metal bags that people could strap to their backs and fly, devices that shoot lightning at //people// at the press of a button. > But one day he showed up at the wall, and Rose wasn't there. He sat beneath the tree and waited all day. She didn't appear.

> After a week, it was time to work the fields again. And without their father, Lake had to work alongside his sister. Every day, Lake would periodically glance to the wall in hope that Rose would be there. She never was.

> Many years passed. Lake and his sister had returned from the fields one day to find that their mother had passed away in her sleep. They buried her next to the spot they made a memorial for their father, whose passing they had learned of years earlier. > Lake leaned on the shovel. "I guess it's just us, sister..." She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Are you okay?" > She cried, and sobbed out a choked, "no." > "Listen to me, Jill, it's okay." Jill just held her head in her hands. > "Don't you see? You're almost old enough to work in the other district. They //always// take our boys at that age. And then you'll be off, working until you die //just like Dad//." She began sobbing again, and ran into the cottage. Lake walked across the field to the tree with the heart-circle etching, and sat down. He sat and quietly and thought of Dad, of Mother, of Rose. All the things he wanted to tell them, and that he never would be able to. > "Mom and Dad are dead," he muttered, "but Rose is still out there, somewhere..."

> The next morning, the official came just as he did to Lake's father. He spoke with the same clipped, staccato tone as he did to his father, his eyes flickering with that dull grey sheen of the video contacts Rose had told him about. Lake was assigned to work on the Second Temple, a megalith of bricks and labor. He was to leave immediately.

> He left the station, leaving Jill behind standing on the platform, her eyes red. They traveled through tunnels with lights flickering and blazing, which he presumed ran under the entire two districts. They came to a hot, walled section in the center of the other district. Here, they were building the Second Temple. Workers came from the same district as Lake, and they were assigned various tasks, from collecting materials to laying bricks. Lake was placed as a brick layer by default. > So he placed bricks. Bricks upon bricks upon bricks. Always under the unrelenting watch of the perpetual hovering metal eyes that followed them all. The moments slurred together, then the hours, then the days, and then the years. For years he lay bricks. The bricks made in the brick pits. The bricks of the workers, the bricks of the d amn ed, the bricks of the dead. And they all ended up dead. He worked on the temple for years. He drained his life force into the work quotas, treasuring the few hours they received every day to nourish themselves and rest.

> So many years...

> And one day, he was tired. More tired than ever before. And he knew it. So he grabbed the next dry brick, and his finger felt a slight depression. So he looked at the brick, and found his father's mark on it. A heart with a circle in it. He took his smoother, and chipped at the brick. He was a model worker, and the eye drones didn't pay much attention to him. He slowly, slowly etched letters into the brick. It took him all day. It took the rest of his life. And he set the brick down. With his withered hands and blurring eyesight, he laid down himself. And he closed his eyes. And he was at rest.

//Epilogue//

> "Introducing, the daughter of the Second Family, our new queen, Rose Lavender!" The crowds went wild. All across the district, people were watching the live telecast of the Second Temple's unveiling. The other district had no way of watching the telecast, so they tended the fields or whatever duties they usually spent their time doing. > Rose climbed the pastel yellow steps. Step by step, her ultralight metal slippers making no noise on the polished stone steps. She ascended until suddenly, she stopped. She stared. She saw a brick, embedded halfway up the face of the temple. On the side that faced her, was a tiny etching of a heart. And in that heart, a circle. She ran, she flew up the steps and ran along the side of the pyramid. For she had seen that symbol before, and she knew where. She stopped at the brick, and pulled at it. It slid out. > On the back, was writing. Crudely scraped out of the brick's surface was a message.

"Rose, I want you to know, I love you. LW"