2054, August 3rd
Rays of light orange pierced through the curtains as late afternoon arrived in Pomona, bringing warmth and illuminating classroom 4-A's interior as their politics teacher continued to write on the old blackboard. About twenty uniformed students sat in their seats, some of them sitting properly and more attentive and others with their head close to the desk, either lying on textbooks or their own hands. Turning away from the blackboard for a moment, the teacher continued: "And therefore, the tradition of wearing white shirts and red scarfs became widespread within almost all communes within California." Then, he posed a question for his class: "Who here knows the meaning of the Children Union's red scarfs?"
Towards the back of the class a single hand shot up, its owner having been one of few students who hadn't yet succumbed to the cozy climate in classroom 4-A.
"Please answer, class president."
Upon receiving permission she stood up fully behind her desk, bowing lightly before responding to the question. "The red scarf embodies the spirit of our Children's Union, which every member should carry with them at all times. When we see the crimson billowing in front of our chest, we remember those sacrifices made by our predecessors and fellow comrades. We cherish all who have come and gone before us in defense of those ideals, and recite the oath we made to carry on their legacy and maintain our position of 'always ready!'"
Having finished her answer, she made to sit back down but was soon halted halfway by the teacher.
"A textbook definition, Hyeja" he said, neither giving approval nor disapproval as he surveyed the half-asleep class before him. "Can you elaborate more on what is the meaning of 'sacrifices of our predecessors' and give your own opinion on sacrifice?"
Nodding solemnly, she replied with just one phrase, for she thought it to be sufficient. "Yes, I can." And memories of two winters ago came flooding back into her mind, as fresh as the day when they had been created.
2052, January 27th
Suhyeon Park looked at her watch and then glanced at the entrance to her daughter's room, which remained stubbornly closed.
"Hurry now, Hyeja!" she called impatiently though not unkindly. Even though she knew it was unlikely for someone of Hyeja's disposition to actually be late, she still couldn't hold back from her usual workplace attitude. After all, one didn't become commune manager just by waiting for things do be done or accepting delays.
"I'm coming, mother!" Not one minute later, Hyeja appeared, dressed neatly in her winter season school uniform with another down jacket on top. "Do I have to wear this outer layer too?" she complained. "It makes me look like some sort of insect inside a cocoon, not to mention it's so warm inside."
"You most certainly may not. It's cold outside, and you can't afford to skip any more days of school after that week you spent sleeping at home."
"Mother~"
"Hyeja, you'll thank me later when you don't catch a respiratory illness. It's either this or drinking ginger honey tea. Now come on, or we'll miss the next tram!"
Begrudgingly, she followed her mother out the door, stepping out into the snow covered ground and shivering a little as she felt the frigid winter breeze on her way to the tram station. Secretly she was quite glad she had listened to her mother's advice, but fortunately she didn't have to dwell on that for too long as the light chime of bells signaled their tram's arrival. She took careful steps before standing near the doorway, watching the snowflakes fall gently onto the ground.
"You never tire of looking at the snow, do you?"
Hyeja laughed at her mother's question, shaking her head eagerly. "How could I? Snow is so magical, and whenever the snow falls it feels as if I'm enveloped in a world of pure innocence and wonder. Especially when it comes down softly like cherry blossoms.." Her voice faded away as she turned her gaze back to the snow, which was still steadily piling up on the sides of tracks and below trees.
Suhyeon could understand her daughter's excitement, for just a few years ago even seeing snow at this time of year was nearly impossible where they lived. But the sand in the hourglass of time is relentless, and with its passage came changes far and wide, including their own city's weather patterns. Gone were those days of hot winters and mild winters, and in their place came four seasons. Though of course, Hyeja was too young to remember those days before climate change. She looked wistfully at Hyeja's excited expression and sighed softly before deciding to look out a side window herself.
Eventually the landscape passing by them changed from residential to rural, signaling their stop had arrived.
"Thank you, Mr. Tram-driver!" Hyeja waved goodbye as doors opened, once again exposing her to the harsh winter snowfall of central California. Then she followed her mother in the long road leading uphill, her snowboots leaving imprints in the frozen ground that became filled again with fresh snow moments later. At last, she trudged her way to arrive at the hilltop monument where her mother was waiting.
"You brought the roses, didn't you?"
Hyeja nodded silently before presenting one of two bundles to her mother, who turned to face the monument.
"Mother, what is this monument for?" She looked closely at the unfamiliar sculpture towering above her, for it was her first time coming to this place. It had the appearance of two people side by side with determined expressions, one of them holding a torch and the other grasping tightly a calligraphic brush. Though she was familiar with the symbols- the same appeared on the united communal government's seal, representing the need for all people to study both practical and theoretical revolutionary practices - she found herself drawn to the barely visible face of the calligraphy figure. There was something about the posture or structure that seemed distinctly different that suggested it wasn't quite human. What was more, even the writing on the monument's base was not any language she had seen before. Though of course that couldn't be possible, right?
Her mother gestured to writing, saying something. Hyeja realised her mother was reading it, saying something in a language that seemed almost songlike. "In Eternal Gratitude to the Brave Feyrisshire Volunteers" Suhyeon translated for her daughter.
Hyeja remembered something vaguely from her studies, but her attention was caught by another plaque lower near the ground almost obscured by snow. It too was written in the foreign script, but more elegantly and in rows suggesting poetry. "And what does this one say, mother?"
Once again, the airy sounds came from her mother's mouth, and then her translation.
"Even the sun and heavens are outshone by the brilliance of heroes who lie here,
To love another nation as one's own is the greatest virtue.
To give one's life for another's motherland is the highest sacrifice,
Though their blood stains our soil, their spirits are back in their homeland, forever honoured in both places."
To love another nation as one's own is the greatest virtue.
To give one's life for another's motherland is the highest sacrifice,
Though their blood stains our soil, their spirits are back in their homeland, forever honoured in both places."
Satisfied, Hyeja fell silent once more.
"Bow" her mother said, and they did so thrice before placing their flowers at the monument's base. The crimson-red of roses contrasted sharply with the pure white snow for a second as if they were droplets of blood, but were soon swallowed up by the unrelenting storm.
"It's time to return, Hyeja" her mother called, but Hyeja had one more question for her mother.
"Mother, did you know any of the...Feyrisshire comrades?"
A lump grew in Suhyeon's throat and a tear trickled from her eye, freezing almost immediately near her lashes.
"Yes I did," she said softly. And as they began the long descend downhill towards the tram station, she began to tell Hyeja her story. A story about those from Feyrisshire she had been able to call fellow soldiers, comrades, and best of friends.
