Dystopian story

 (The many, with all their hearts, stared into the sun a fullnfive minutes as they were told, ...)

I was just finishing a chapter from some free book I'd found in a box of books for donation. Randomly I leafed through. At random I read, a writer that my mother had heard of, but my brothers and sister had said "who's that?"

A chapter on Paradise, one on Abraham. Shorts, very short shorts, by Kafka. Abraham was being asked to sacrifice something, hardly specified. Did we all know the story? He made mention of other Abraham's, held up one beside the other, the archtype, one feeling all his inadequacies in the other. The one following such specific orders.

We were watching the clock. Today was an international holiday. The first of its kind. We, too, we're expected to follow orders. Very unusual orders. I knew what to do, only nobody really knew why. Was it something spiritual? It had to be.

There was not supposed to be an eclipse. The day covered up the black sky's openness.  We wouldn't see meteors, or comets. Nothing like that. We simply needed to meet outside, gaze into the sky and stay, stay as long as they said, five whole minutes, staring directly at the bright burning ball. 

I hadn't heard stories about the bible since childhood. Nor did I get instructed anymore about what was good for me. I was in no danger of poking at electric outlets or bathing with a stereo, as if we had things to plug in anymore. I knew not to drink and drive, to pay my bills on time.  To get a full 8 hours sleep. My mother called everyday to remind me something, usually to say a prayer, pray the rosary for someone.  

Perhaps that was why I was now sitting on my mother's couch, old and clean, but outdated. I ran my hand over the hard fabric, thinking of the not so distant past. The seasons change without as much show, the gold fibers over the yellows and greens, it was more like the times of Shakepeare than now. Everything's softer, everything's gray, even the blues and the reds.

What time were we to go outside? In only an hour. I  looked again at the Kafka in my hand. Who did he think Abraham was? Were we not all the lesser man? How many offspring? Like the sands or the stars? What had he done? How many times did he get counted righteous? Was this the reason why? 

Why didn't those things matter to his story? Only that he was reluctant to give in, at least for Kafka, who said another man would be ready, a sharp knife and a steady hand.

For a whole hour I imagined myself as Abraham. Who was I though? I had to think for a long time about that. About that time my mind derived images of a one great father and his less than namesake, casual in compliance, an everyman, I was confused about how we had come from something which came with such a great significance. Who ever thought of Abraham and wondered if they were righteous? Who examined themselves anymore and wondered if God, all the way in heaven, was there watching, perhaps dreaming up some new man, one who would listen and listen again. 

We were all listening. We were all doing what we should. Perhaps the same face of the sky which we knew so well would change shape today. It wouldn't weep here but somewhere,  unless the powerful swept the clouds away, and may, for the sake of this project. The face of the sky would change, or it wouldn't. But it disnt matter. We were looking to the sun. 

I was not well informed about the point of this event. If we were in a science project, if it was magic or spirituality on the part of the superiors. Why would we stare into the sun? The one and only sun, hiding as it is some places still. But at the same noon,  the noon of that day, each would be doing just as we were.

In that hour before the morning ended, as minutes swept away before me, and time drew nearer the unprecedented event with implications unknown, I pondered. And when the hour approached, we all stepped through the door onto the patio outside my mother and father's  apartment to an astonishing scene. Families I had never seen in their entirety were all there. Grandparents pulled from their beds in back rooms, children lined up as if being counted for a census. Young shildrens faces were held skyward. Every single soul emptying out into view from their hiding places. It was captivating. The many were all ready to do their part, looking on high, for a reason we hadn't been given. For no why. Everyone was there.

My mind and eyes crossed over every soul, and I felt like that second hand man, the Abraham who would sacrifice too easily. The one who didn't worry about the body that he must cut. The life he must dispose of. Solomon came to mind, his triumphant council, likewise sparing the heartache of loss. I was not a mother, or father, and for that, what did it matter to perform a duty, duty being what it is? Curiously, we all, the dutiful, were looking up now. The calling out one to another stopped,  and children did as the adults did, turning a quiet face skyward, or heaven ward, an idea which was playing on my mind now, as if I was the true Abraham, having the capacity to be perturbed by the request. How could I allow myself to do something, just because I was asked to? Could that have even occurred to him?

The story outrageous, a man asked by God himself to take his own child's life. And then, as he reluctantly and painfully obliges, his hand is stayed. I can see why we adopted his simple compliance, but why could I not resist flinching, even if it was only my eyes that I sacrificed and not a child, or myself, or my soul! God forbid! Forbid me please! 

In that moment, I took another good look around.  I was alone then, in looking. Every face turned up, and with such child-like faith as not to see me. I could not believe I was the only one who broke with the faith. I began to run past them all, lines in front of buildings. Crowds stopped in their day. I ran looking for anyone like myself, who wasn't looking up, who was looking around. There was no one. 

I ran before them, my feet smacking the pavement like a stag, or any wild thing I'd seen captured, blocked by the fence of men with upturned faces. I was the wildest and freest of beings, and yet the only human who would not be looking. It was as a curse, this freedom. How it terrified me and thrilled me. No one saw me, a singular being, for as long as my strength and breath could carry me, without interrupting, God forbid! the many good who did as they were told.