Black Holes: A Narrative Fiction

SQUARES

Pt. 1 The Dream

“Virtue can only flourish among equals.” -Mary Wollstonecraft

To screams she woke; they were her own.

It was earlier in the week when Tiff’s night terrors had started. Every night since Monday she had woken up screaming in her perfectly square bed in her perfectly square room. All was still in the house, and she could make out no noise but the faint murmur of the light box in the front room. Looking up and out her door, the dancing blue reflection on the walls confirmed her suspicions. Papa must be awake.

Tiff pulled on her square slippers and quietly walked out into the front room, rubbing her eyes to clear her tired vision. Papa sat on his square chair, the light box showed a man in a square suit giving the nightly

reports.

“What is it, Tiff? The dreams again?” Papa asked, his gaze still fixed on the light box.

Tiff yawned. “I..I don’t remember.” Lies.

Papa turned around to face her. He was still dressed in his work clothes.

“Why are you not at work, Papa?” Tiff asked. “What’s on the light box?”

“Well, the power went out earlier tonight so all the guys at the plant got to go home until systems are back up and running, but it’s since come on again.

The man on the light box says that the Rounds tried to destroy one of our power stations in their territory. Such savages, those Rounds are…” Papa stared out the window, towards the border. The city of Domashk was separated into two halves. One half belonged to the Squares, and the city walls were arranged as such: four walls, four right angles. One of the walls borders the Round half of Domashk which, according to what Tiff saw on the light box and what the adults talked about, was riddled with non-stop crime, abject poverty, and eternal sadness. The Squares and the Rounds had been separated for as long as Tiff could remember, but the elders sometimes spoke of a time when Squares and Rounds lived together in harmony; that is, until the HOLY SQUARE revealed unto the elders the evil ways of the Rounds. After the Great Conflict, a war that lasted years and ended in stalemate, the Rounds and the Squares took to their halves of the city. Even though the war happened before she was born, Tiff knew it was for the better. The Squares, being so civilized, live wonderful lives: no hunger, no poverty, no sadness. Had the Rounds seen the light of the HOLY SQUARE, they too could live this life, but they selfishly traded prosperity and security for their uniquity. Tiff knew that Papa fought in the Great Conflict, as most men his age

have, but Tiff never heard him talk about it.

“You seem troubled, darling,” Papa said at last. “This is the third night in a row you’ve screamed.”

“I think its the weather, I don’t know. I’ve always felt different during the monsoons.” More lies. She knew what Papa would think if he heard about the dreams.

“Have you gone to the temple and prayed about it?” Papa pressed. To Squares, prayer was the answer to most things. Crops didn’t do well this year? Go to the temple and pray about it. Have a bad cough? Go to the temple and pray about it. Wake up screaming in the middle of the night and don’t know why? Go to the temple and pray about it. She looked out the window of the front room, and through the slow drizzle of dirty rain she could just make out the tall border fence that separates the Squares from the Rounds. Her mind wandered.

Those poor rounds have nobody to pray to.

“No, I suppose I should.” Tiff finally answered, feebly.

“Go now.” Papa said.

“Now?” Tiff asked, quizzically. “So late in the night?”

“Yes.” Papa was persistent. “Now.”

Tiff shuffled back to her room and pulled on her perfectly square clothes. Choosing clothes to wear every day was easy, considering all of her clothes were the same. All of the Squares are given the same stark garments. All Squares are equal when they go before THE HOLY SQUARE, and each other.
Does THE HOLY SQUARE really want me to look like a pillowcase?
Her perfectly Square raincoat helped a little bit. Tiff pulled it out of the closet and groggily left her square house and set course toward the temple.

Tiff had been a Square her whole life. Her parents were Squares, her grandparents, their parents, their parents...Her Square house had been in the family for generations, but there was nothing special about it. Looking around the neighborhood, all of the houses were the same. Square and muted grey, all the same size. The Square’s half of the city was completely sterile of all but human life. All was grey, white, black, or some shade between. Other colors on the spectrum appeared only in the form of a rainbow. Rainbows, as all squares know, are an act of witchcraft cast by the Rounds in attempt to use refracted light against the Squares. Luckily, their attempts have failed so far.

These houses wouldn’t look too bad with a little color.

She pushed these thoughts out of her head; she knew there was good reasoning behind the sameness. The spartan buildings and lives of sameness that the Squares lived was the only reason jealousy and contention no longer existed. The elders designed the community in such a way that nobody had more than anyone else. Tiff read the words on the square door of the temple, the same block letters found in every household, in every public building, and on every street corner in the Square part of the city:

Sameness is equality, sameness is peace, sameness is happiness.

The Temple of THE HOLY SQUARE was located near the border of the Round and Square halves of Domashk. Square, like the other buildings, but it’s walls rose high above anything else in sight, even above the opaque city walls.

I bet you can see for miles from the top of the temple.

Slowly Tiff opened the heavy, square door into the temple’s vestibule and hung up her raincoat, now dirty from the muddy streets, and walked into the ablution chamber.

Water, like food and energy, is a precious resource to the squares; but what is more important is presenting yourself clean before the HOLY SQUARE. The cold water jolted Tiff awake as she splashed it on her head and face. The water ran murky and brown as she rinsed her dirty feet, raw and caked with mud from walking in the rain. She threw her square clothes down a chute as a nearby machine dispensed a fresh, perfectly square and completely white set of temple uniform. All Squares are to appear clean, pure, and most importantly equal before the HOLY

SQUARE.
The main sanctuary was silent. The only sound was the flickering of the dozens of square candles that lined the large, square room. Rows upon rows of square benches, the pews, lay facing the altar. The pews were all empty, save for a few monks. The soft flickering candlelight reflected off of their shiny bald heads as they meditated. The altar, a raised square platform at the front of the sanctuary, had offerings for the HOLY SQUARE. The HOLY SQUARE was kept in a room high in the temple, and only the holiest monks were allowed to see it. One of the priests came to greet her. His long, square robe flapped as he walked.

“Greetings, oh child of the HOLY SQUARE. I am Father Dave. What brings you to the temple tonight?” the priest said quietly.

“I’ve been having these awful dreams. I have woken up screaming three times this week.”

“You’re talking to the wrong person, oh child, but I think I know the right one. Come with me.” Father Dave turned around and walked towards the back of the sanctuary, with Tiff closely following. “The person you are about to speak to is the temple’s dream interpreter,” Father Dave said. “I do hope he does not scare you, oh child, for he can be a bit...uh...unorthodox.”

“In what way, father?” asked Tiff.

Father Dave led Tiff down a long hallway full of doors.

“Oh child,” Father Dave was whispering now, “it is better that you see for yourself." They had stopped in front of one of the doors.
"Is this the dream interpreter's office?" Tiff asked quietly.
"Ha! Something like that. These are meditation rooms. The dream interpreter, he is a monk, named Xavier."
Tiff looked at the modest, square door. It was a name nobody had ever heard before. All of the Squares had names like Chad or Tate, or Niki or Tina. Xavier….well Xavier isn’t a Square name at all. Xavier is a Round name. "But Father," Tiff turned, but the priest was already gone. Slowly she opened the door with a creak.