"On that day, it was raining."
It was a small crowd today - a group of high-school students who were here by requirement rather by choice. Her words had been greeted with disinterested gazes and amused whispers. Mira didn't hold it against them. Even adults had trouble absorbing her words.
"Much like today, the leaves were turning, and the grounds were slick with them. It was the duty of the young to clear them, but that day we were told to stay within the dormitories. They told us that we were being granted a rest day, and we accepted their words.
"We did not know what the Council knew, and even they did not know what was coming."
It was a tale she'd told many times before, but it had lost none of its sting. Those memories of that day were still bright in her mind, even with the layers of context that the years had provided.
"The first encounter, I later learned, happened outside the gates. The Father had gone out with his most faithful to speak with the agents that had come to question him. They wanted to enter, and he wanted them to leave. It was a conflict without resolution, a stalemate."
A few of the students were starting to pay attention, as if sensing what was approaching. It was always here when it did - the moment that everyone knew, the subject of the news reports and documentaries these students had undoubtedly seen.
"No one agrees on who fired the first shot. Was it one of the agents, grown restless? Or was it one of our own, fearing for the Father's life? All I knew then was that it did not end with that single shot. For it was because of weaponry that the government had arrived, and they had been given their answer."
Violence - it was always violence that brought out those eager, hungry faces. Mira tried not to look at them, and it wasn't difficult. Her mind was elsewhere, her memories alive with gunfire and the sobs of terrified children...
"I was among the oldest, and we had been taught well. There was a procedure, a path to follow, to escape. The eldest were to take up weapons, and lead the youngest to the bunker that lay outside the compound. There we would wait until help arrived."
The pistol had been so heavy in her hands. Mira had spent many hours learning how to shoot, but it had always been at targets or animals. She knew why she had learned, but the reality was far heavier than the possibility she had learned.
"However, we did not know that our escape route was cut off. They were prepared for us, but we were not prepared for them. We did not think of them as saviors from our lives in a cult, but as the demons of the outside world, ready to rip us away from our home."
The agents had kept their weapons lowered, but Mira had raised hers. The memory of their attempts to de-escalate was blurry, tainted by fear. She only knew that the young were crying, and that they were surrounded by armed men.
"They attempted to calm us down. To convince us to lay down our arms and go quietly. The children would be safe, they said. We would be safe. Some of us were ready to listen. We were so scared, and so tired. We even began to lay down our weapons."
They were enraptured, now. What images did her words paint in their minds? Was is as bright and clean as a movie, with heroes and villains clearly defined? How could she ever impress upon them the dark, and the cold, and the mud in the short time she had?"
"But we were young, and we did not understand the power of a firearm. In our fear, one of us fired."
In their fear, Mira had pulled the trigger.
"No one was killed, but chaos followed. We began to scatter, and they began to chase. We knew the way to the bunker. We would meet there, and we would be safe, and wait for the adults to come."
"Few of us reached it, and none of the youngest did. They were taken - captured by the agents who were faster and stronger. We took refuge - but in the end, it was not enough."
An underground room with a steel door. In Mira's mind, it had been an impenetrable wall. And yet it only took a few strikes of the battering ram to rip it from its hinges.
"That was the end of our struggle. We were taken in, and given treatment, and observed. It was not until later that we learned that the Father had died. That he had taken his own life, or so we have been told.
"That our Eden, our home, had finally fallen."
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. The prayer was silent, while the polite applause was loud. She stepped away from the podium as the moderator stepped up with a cheerful smile.
"Thank you, Mira, for your story. Now, as we know, the raid on the Edenite cult was in response to their stockpiling of weaponry-"
And as the moderator spoke, telling a tale stripped of the emotion, the tale writ by the outside world and accepted by the masses, Mira took a deep breath, and counted down the minutes until she could return to Terrasphere.
It was a small crowd today - a group of high-school students who were here by requirement rather by choice. Her words had been greeted with disinterested gazes and amused whispers. Mira didn't hold it against them. Even adults had trouble absorbing her words.
"Much like today, the leaves were turning, and the grounds were slick with them. It was the duty of the young to clear them, but that day we were told to stay within the dormitories. They told us that we were being granted a rest day, and we accepted their words.
"We did not know what the Council knew, and even they did not know what was coming."
It was a tale she'd told many times before, but it had lost none of its sting. Those memories of that day were still bright in her mind, even with the layers of context that the years had provided.
"The first encounter, I later learned, happened outside the gates. The Father had gone out with his most faithful to speak with the agents that had come to question him. They wanted to enter, and he wanted them to leave. It was a conflict without resolution, a stalemate."
A few of the students were starting to pay attention, as if sensing what was approaching. It was always here when it did - the moment that everyone knew, the subject of the news reports and documentaries these students had undoubtedly seen.
"No one agrees on who fired the first shot. Was it one of the agents, grown restless? Or was it one of our own, fearing for the Father's life? All I knew then was that it did not end with that single shot. For it was because of weaponry that the government had arrived, and they had been given their answer."
Violence - it was always violence that brought out those eager, hungry faces. Mira tried not to look at them, and it wasn't difficult. Her mind was elsewhere, her memories alive with gunfire and the sobs of terrified children...
"I was among the oldest, and we had been taught well. There was a procedure, a path to follow, to escape. The eldest were to take up weapons, and lead the youngest to the bunker that lay outside the compound. There we would wait until help arrived."
The pistol had been so heavy in her hands. Mira had spent many hours learning how to shoot, but it had always been at targets or animals. She knew why she had learned, but the reality was far heavier than the possibility she had learned.
"However, we did not know that our escape route was cut off. They were prepared for us, but we were not prepared for them. We did not think of them as saviors from our lives in a cult, but as the demons of the outside world, ready to rip us away from our home."
The agents had kept their weapons lowered, but Mira had raised hers. The memory of their attempts to de-escalate was blurry, tainted by fear. She only knew that the young were crying, and that they were surrounded by armed men.
"They attempted to calm us down. To convince us to lay down our arms and go quietly. The children would be safe, they said. We would be safe. Some of us were ready to listen. We were so scared, and so tired. We even began to lay down our weapons."
They were enraptured, now. What images did her words paint in their minds? Was is as bright and clean as a movie, with heroes and villains clearly defined? How could she ever impress upon them the dark, and the cold, and the mud in the short time she had?"
"But we were young, and we did not understand the power of a firearm. In our fear, one of us fired."
In their fear, Mira had pulled the trigger.
"No one was killed, but chaos followed. We began to scatter, and they began to chase. We knew the way to the bunker. We would meet there, and we would be safe, and wait for the adults to come."
"Few of us reached it, and none of the youngest did. They were taken - captured by the agents who were faster and stronger. We took refuge - but in the end, it was not enough."
An underground room with a steel door. In Mira's mind, it had been an impenetrable wall. And yet it only took a few strikes of the battering ram to rip it from its hinges.
"That was the end of our struggle. We were taken in, and given treatment, and observed. It was not until later that we learned that the Father had died. That he had taken his own life, or so we have been told.
"That our Eden, our home, had finally fallen."
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. The prayer was silent, while the polite applause was loud. She stepped away from the podium as the moderator stepped up with a cheerful smile.
"Thank you, Mira, for your story. Now, as we know, the raid on the Edenite cult was in response to their stockpiling of weaponry-"
And as the moderator spoke, telling a tale stripped of the emotion, the tale writ by the outside world and accepted by the masses, Mira took a deep breath, and counted down the minutes until she could return to Terrasphere.