Tessa, 14th of Destya, 1121
“But why have their pictures been erased?” I pressure, racing after my mother as she walks into the next room, her footsteps crisp and quick on the tiles.
“I was looking through photographs of the Landing in the library and their faces are blurred out. When I saw that I did some digging. Every mention of their names is redacted, every image covered. I couldn’t find a single picture.”
“It’s because of the Damnation of their Memories. You know this already, Tessa,” she replies angrily.
“But why? Doesn’t it seem extreme to you?”
She whirls on me, her thick black hair popping against her pale white complexion.
“My parents killed people, Tessa. Is that what you want to hear? They set off an explosion and purposefully killed innocent people. So yes, their memories are as damned to hell as I’m sure they are.”
Her voice is tight and controlled, as always. I place my sepia brown hand on her arm, causing her to pause.
“Don’t you find it strange that we lost contact with Dentroa the same year they died?” I continue.
I withdraw my hand and with a huff she slams around the kitchen, pulling vegetables from the icebox and slicing them with unnecessary vigor on the sleek metal countertop.
“Why are you so obsessed with this?”
“Maybe because I’m stranded on this godforsaken desert planet and I’d like to know why?” I shout. “We are the city historians, aren’t we?”
“You’re only sixteen. You’re not the historian yet, but I am. This conversation’s over,” she snaps as she turns on a lamp to combat the fading light.
I storm away, burning with frustration, pushing the tight coils of my black hair away from my face. Stifled. Trapped. Nowhere to go. I sigh, shutting myself in my room and sinking onto my bed. I’ll survive. Well, for a while anyway. One day at a time, I remind myself.
I comfort myself with daydreams of rain showers and the sight of green forests brimming with life on Dentroa. But dreams they are and dreams they will remain. Will I never leave this place?