Free Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler

neighbors wanted to cut down all our big live oak trees and plant something useful. You wouldn’t believe the time I had changing their minds.”
    “What did people eat before?”
    “Bread made of wheat and other grains—corn, rye, oats…things like that.”
    “Too expensive!”
    “Didn’t use to be. You get that book back from Joanne.” He drew a deep breath. “Now, let’s get off the side track and back onto the main track. What were you planning? Did you try to talk Joanne into running away?”
    Then I sighed. “Of course not.”
    “Her father says you did.”
    “He’s wrong. This was about staying alive, learning to live outside so that we’d be able to if we ever had to.”
    He watched me as though he could read the truth in my mind. When I was little, I used to think he could. “All right,” he said. “You may have meant well, but no more scare talk.”
    “It wasn’t scare talk. We do need to learn what we can while there’s time.”
    “That’s not up to you, Lauren. You don’t make decisions for this community.”
    Oh hell. If I could just find a balance between holding back too much and pushing, poaching. “Yes, sir.”
    He leaned back and looked at me. “Tell me exactly what you told Joanne. All of it.”
    I told him. I was careful to keep my voice flat and passionless, but I didn’t leave anything out. I wanted him to know, to understand what I believed. The nonreligious part of it, anyway. When I finished, I stopped and waited. He seemed to expect me to say more. He just sat there for a while and stared at me. I couldn’t tell what he felt. Other people never could if he didn’t want them to, but I’ve been able to most of the time. Now I felt shut out, and there was nothing I could do about it. I waited.
    At last he let his breath out as though he had been holding it. “Don’t talk about this any more,” he said in a voice that didn’t invite argument.
    I looked back at him, not wanting to give a promise that would be a lie.
    “Lauren.”
    “Dad.”
    “I want your promise that you won’t talk about this any more.”
    What to say? I wouldn’t promise. I couldn’t. “We could make earthquake packs,” I suggested. “Emergency kits that we can grab in case we have to get out of the house fast. If we call them earthquake packs, the idea might not bother people so much. People are used to worrying about earthquakes.” All this came out in a rush.
    “I want your promise, Daughter.”
    I slumped. “Why? You know I’m right. Even Mrs. Garfield must know it. So why?”
    I thought he would yell at me or punish me. His voice had had that warning edge to it that my brothers and I had come to call the rattle—as in a rattlesnake’s warning sound. If you pushed him past the rattle, you were in trouble. If he called you “son” or “daughter” you were close to trouble.
    “Why?” I insisted.
    “Because you don’t have any idea what you’re doing,” he said. He frowned and rubbed his forehead. When he spoke again, the edge went out of his voice. “It’s better to teach people than to scare them, Lauren. If you scare them and nothing happens, they lose their fear, and you lose some of your authority with them. It’s harder to scare them a second time, harder to teach them, harder to win back their trust. Best to begin by teaching.” His mouth crooked into a little smile. “It’s interesting that you chose to begin your efforts with the book you lent to Joanne. Did you ever think of teaching from that book?”
    “Teaching…my kindergartners?”
    “Why not. Get them started on the right foot. You could even put together a class for older kids and adults. Something like Mr. Ibarra’s wood carving class, Mrs. Baiter’s needlework classes, and young Robert Hsu’s astronomy lectures. People are bored. They wouldn’t mind another informal class now that they’ve lost the Yannis television. If you can think of ways to entertain them and teach them at the same time,