Saskia

“What is it?” I turn the strange object over in my hands. It's made of honey-colored wood, with two screws attaching hinges or flaps.
### “How should I know?” Terri says, taking it from me and dusting it off. “The State would never manufacture something like this, something so... useless.”
### We're squatting in the dirt in Terri's greenspace, behind his family's living unit. A shallow hole lies in front of us, earth strewn about it, and I hold his younger sister's hand. She dug the hole in a typical 3-year-old's game of make-believe, and ran to Terri when she unearthed the object beneath the ground.
### “It can't have been buried very long before the creation of our State, it would have rotted.”
### We pause to recite the State's motto after each mention of It: “Glory in protection, glory in asceticism, glory in service.”
### Then we turn back to the block of wood. “What does that say, Arora?” Terri asks me.
### I specialize in language and communications, just as Terri studies materials. We're both on course to work for some of the State's many bureaus once we turn eighteen. Two years to go.
### But the strange markings scrawled right on the wood grain make no sense to me. “Something that looks like an 'R,' then maybe an 'S' or an 'A,' I can't tell. That's definitely a 5, though. The figures are written by hand.”
### “Really?” Terri is astonished. It is rumored that only the Presiding Officer of the State (may He be blessed and may He experience glory in protection, glory in asceticism, and glory in service) can write by hand, using a utensil. Terri and I have watched Him sign documents on broadcasts over the large screens in the Central Square. Sometimes I wish I could write, too, and draw, instead of simply tapping away on the screen of a portable tablet.
### “This wooden thing has to be from before the Formulation of the State,” I say quietly. Terri and I look at each other gravely. Terri's little sister, Lilah, begins to hum tunelessly. For the first time I can remember, no words of glory fall from our lips after the mention of the State.
### The State incinerated all known artifacts from before the Formulation that were deemed unneeded, in the last recorded use of raw fire. Now, no one is allowed to be in possession of objects without a purpose.
### “We're hoarding illegal property,” Terri hisses.
### Before I can respond, Lilah unexpectedly seizes the object from me and shakes it. A small piece of metal tumbles down from where it was wedged between one of the flaps and the main body of the chunk of wood. When Terri reaches over and picks it up, we can see a small face, a man's, depicted on its flat, round, coppery surface.
### “It's a coin,” I say.
### “Worth five... units of some kind?” Terry muses.
### I take up the wooden object from where it now lies on the ground, and brush my finger over the markings. Rs 5/. I think of the way someone wrote them purposefully many years ago. I wonder if it was to communicate with someone else, or as a note to themselves; in passing, or as part of a larger ceremony.
### At that moment, a strong wind begins to blow, ruffling the grass and Terri's hair. With the breeze comes a loud thrumming sound. Lilah shrieks and looks around wildly in infant terror. ### The State hoverpod makes itself visible in the sky above our sector. A computerized voice begins to issue the famous Last Words. Terri and I grip each others' shoulders and try to shelter Lilah. We all shut our eyes. This is the last thing we'll ever hear:
### “A well-known idiom from before the Formulation said simply, 'Close, but no cigar.'”