Messengers Karen E. Bender (bio) our community was encircled by walls that were eighty feet tall. We had been sealed here, in this compound, for over a hundred years. Our town was spread out on land that stretched for endless miles; there were farms and golden rolling hills and a large clear blue lake. The town was built in concentric circles, so our homes all faced the town square, where we gathered most nights in the purple dusk. We were a successful community because we had started growing a plant. It resembled a walnut but tasted like raspberries, and its fruit produced a very healthy jam, and its leaves could be ground into a gunpowder that was valuable in war. We were busy and productive, and our leaders said we had a responsibility to our customers, who eagerly awaited our items; we could not let them down. Their pictures were on billboards all over town: happy and [End Page 73] nourished, consuming our jams. Our lives surged forward; each spring, the plants broke out of the rust-colored earth and opened up, twisting, green and glorious, into the sun. We woke up, we brushed our hair, we went to the farm or to work or to school; the roofs glinted as each day slid into darkness. But when there were lulls, when we were sitting and talking with our neighbors on our patios and the sky flushed a deep blue, one topic generated a kind of low, dark excitement, made people brighten and lean forward: the appearance of the messengers. For a hundred years, messengers had gathered outside of our community. They arrived annually, during the deep cold of winter, and stood on the other side of the wall, their voices echoing through the silent, chill air as they called for us to accept an envelope and read their message. The community had never accepted any of the messages, ever. We had a great deal of pride about that. ________ in school, we learned that our community had been created after a war, after activities that were unspeakable, and the story we were told was this: Mr. George Worth had discovered the uses of the plant. He had been running along a river, the poor man, exhausted, starving, and as he tumbled to the ground he picked up the scaly green pod. It looked inedible, but George Worth, that genius, decided to crack it open with his teeth. There were casts of George's mouth in classrooms, so we could see close up the teeth that somehow understood the task of survival. We were proud to have brilliant white teeth that could crack anything apart and sometimes cracked fruits at our desks in class, applauded by our teachers. They were most appreciative of those who, through evolution or masterful dentistry, had developed teeth that resembled fangs. We sang songs in honor of Mr. George Worth, whom we were all named after—George1 or Georgina1 through thousands. We remembered the bravery of those who joined Mr. George Worth on this stealthily fertile land, who set up the community and constructed the walls protecting us. The time after the revolution was an uncertain one. Some districts survived and others did not. We had survived, they told us, [End Page 74] because we had worked together so effectively, because we had used our land and bounty to great success. The messengers started to arrive a few years later. They held an envelope with something urgent to tell our leaders, and they said that the community needed to listen to them. Their districts sent just one person at a time because that was all they could spare. The decision to turn them away was made immediately and was resolute. We built our walls higher, kept strengthening them. Certainly, we thought, those in the less successful districts viewed us with envy; we believed their messages were full of malice and threats. So we refused them and waited, with great anticipation, for the people of these districts to try to destroy us. Every month, a siren pierced the air, and we ran down stairs located beneath a closet in our homes. The stairs led to corridors...
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Jan 1, 2024
Karen E Bravo 
Open Access