Free Veracity by Mark Lavorato Page A

hard fact to face; but a fact it is - we are living on stolen time, time that was taken from countless others. And as odd as it may be, The Goal hasn't taken either of our lives; instead, it has given them to us. So then, doesn't it fall logically that, in some curious way, we are also indebted to it? And if so, what is The Goal really asking from us? Is it something unreasonable to give in exchange for our very lives?"
    I felt my forehead contorting with thought, and, as if content to see my mind at work, Dana lowered his eyes and tipped his teacup to peer inside. Then, in his slow and deliberate way, he lifted it to his mouth and swallowed what was left.
    "Okay. I'm going to leave you for a bit and come back later this afternoon. I'll bring a few different books from the Great Hall for you to start paging through, which will hopefully spark an idea of where you'd like to start." He stood up and gently replaced the chair to the exact spot where he must have found it, and disappeared around the corner. I listened to him walk down the corridor, and almost jumped out of my seat with the sudden metal clang of the door slamming shut, which was followed by the subtle sounds of his testing the latch to make sure it was locked. A few moments later, I heard him clearing his throat as he walked down the trail away from the shelter. After that, I was alone.
    I looked around the courtyard, knowing that I was expected to start thinking about things, but the truth was I didn't, I couldn't. My mind was a complete tangled clutter of everything I'd ever thought or felt in my life. Nothing, not even the slightest segment of my existence, was what I thought it had been. Memories, stories, sensations, lessons, explanations, everything leapt into my head at once, and I was suddenly forced to judge them with the greatest of scepticism. Which of them was a lie, which of them truth, and which of them fell somewhere into that grey area between? Was this what they had meant by veracity? Was this what I would have to do for the rest of my life, wade through the dense muck of a reality that was constantly reinventing itself, scouring the horizon for the only high ground that wasn't an apparition? I hoped not - because if that were the case, I was already lost.
    My head dropped onto my arms, and I felt my eyes rolling around in the confusion of their sockets. Where was I going to begin? I knew that I would have to take every one of my notions, every belief, the very structure of everything I thought was true, and rebuild it all again board-by-board, nail-by-nail. What a daunting task, overwhelming even - especially as it seemed likely they wouldn't let me leave until I was finished.
    I sat there until my eyes eventually slowed, and gave way to a blank stare that brimmed with tears. It didn't take me long to figure out that, even if I didn't want it, even if I was convinced the Elders were mistaken, I would still have to accept a little guidance from them. It was really the only chance I had.
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    8
    "That's an interesting book to put into the selection."
    I lifted my head from the pillow at the sound of Harek's voice wafting over the walls from outside the shelter. There was something curious in his tone, the words colder than they should have been, cutting almost. Another voice, which I would learn was Dana's, gave a muffled reply. I stood up from the bed, which was where I'd been laying for most of the afternoon, and walked out under the sky of the courtyard, hoping to hear something more. But I couldn't. And the reason for this wasn't only that the men had stepped closer to one another and lowered their voices, it was mostly because of the birds.
    It's funny how appreciative of silence one can be while eavesdropping on a conversation that is towing the fine margin of earshot. I hadn't even noticed the birds before that, but they suddenly had all of my attention, chirping away inside one of the garden's trees. I would manage to catch one of the men's