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Melancholy Hearts

Chapter Four

Knute stepped off the bus and looked around the market, breathing in the air as if he wanted to remember the smell for years to come. He looked around, standing like he ruled over all the other rabbits that were trying to make a living off of their cheap wares, each one trying to make their voice heard over the other vendors. He was happy to be alive. He was happy he was able to enjoy this world of his. But most of all, he was happy to be a servant of the government.

And who wouldn't be happy to serve our great and powerful leaders? Scum, if anything. That's what I say!

The Maiors of Pravis, as the government called themselves, had gained quite a few followers in recent months. Rabbits were flocking in from all corners of the walled in city to support the government, trying their best to obtain a respectable place among their leaders. No one really knew why people had suddenly started to trust them, especially with their punishments towards minor crimes becoming more severe each day, but the MP wasn't about to turn down the chance for more cronies. The more support they had, the more they could oppress the poor. The more the poor was oppressed, the more work could be shoved upon them. The more work shoved upon them, the less time they had to do wrong.

It was a simple chain.

And, to be quite honest, Knute loved every part of it. He loved being a part of it.

Knute strolled down the three mile long circle that was the market, not really taking in anything he stopped to look at or anyone he smiled towards. He did, however, take in the magnificent works of art that adorned the billboards and the screens that were bolted to skyscrapers in the distance; propaganda about the importance of the MP and how it helped the people every day. Waving Enforcers stood next to more than excited citizens, smiling broadly. Government officials helped less fortunate people by giving them money and the MP's support.

It warmed Knute's heart.

On the screens, bright and somewhat overpowering, were videos of predators slaughtering prey, played on loop to remind every citizen of what would happen if they left the shelter of the walls.

It's a good thing these people get reminded of all the things the MP does for them. If it weren't for them, we'd all probably be lifeless in the jaws of foxes!

The screens were ignored by most, but Knute adored staring at them. He found that the more one looked at the clips, the more one would fall in love with the government and their ways. Plus, the more one loved the government, the more pure they became in Knute's mind. It made him laugh, after all, seeing the idiots who were stupid enough to stray outside the walls. And besides, how else would he spend most of his day if the screens didn't constantly play those entertaining videos?

Besides the relentlessly playing videos, he also adored seeing the lovely depictions of his leaders everywhere he looked. Each picture, statue, or portrait of them made Knute want to stand at attention and salute, to show them the respect they deserved. He didn't care that others scowled at him, nor did he waver in his self-given duties when something was thrown at him, be it physically or verbally. He made sure that the Enforcers were paying close attention when he did it as well, to make sure they knew he was devoted to the people of the MP.

They knew him by name already, of course, but it didn't hurt any to show more support.

He made his way through the marketplace, wandering from stall to stall yet having a direct route in mind. He meandered his way through the market almost every other day, coming for the same select few items every time. He knew where the shop was to be found just as he knew where the scar behind his left ear was (though it took him a couple of swift swipes back and forth to locate it exactly). He took his time going there however, being that he had all the time in the world to get his small amount of shopping done. Being a dedicated servant of the Maiors of Pravis had more benefits than could be counted, and one of those was not having a set curfew. He could wander anywhere he wanted between the walls, as long as it was within reason, and he wouldn't get immediately shot on site by Enforcers.

The shops would close at a crisp eight o'clock for the general public, but for Knute they were open all day, every day. He would simply use his MP issued data pad, equipped with far superior technology compared to the average citizen's data pad, and get in after hours. After letting the device scan his finger print for a short amount of time and a small amount of tapping on the touchscreen, the device would automatically unlock almost any door, free of any physical labor from Knute. It would take him all of about thirty seconds to grab what he needed and transfer the funds to the computer terminal that held all of the vendor's credits and leave, simple as that.

He didn't receive much trouble from the authorities during his night escapades, but he had sworn to himself that he would always remain vigilant. Most of the Enforcers knew him by his signature look, which consisted of an old red "Pravis Omnes Regulas!" sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and his headphones that usually blared some kind of alternative music to keep him tuned out from the rest of the scum that surrounded him, but that was just most. Some other Enforcers would only rely on the maps on their military data pads, being even more technologically advanced than Knute's. They could see an aerial view of the city and zoom in to see the lifeforms moving about in their vicinity, complete with the names that accompanied those lifeforms.

Knute stopped to stare at a blue booth with an assortment of potted plants sitting on the table out front. As he went to touch one of them his hand received a stinging sensation, and upon further inspection he found a small old woman with fur that matched the deep greens on the plant holding a fly swatter at the ready. He laughed as he smacked her across the face, knowing that there were no repercussions coming his way.

Just as it should be.

Of course, with all of Knute's privileges there came a price. The way he compensated for this price was quite simple; service as a spy for the MP. Every night before sleep found him he would report what he saw and heard throughout the day, even if to him there was nothing suspicious to the matters. Information was information, and the government had excellent ways of squeezing out as much use as possible from every bit of it that Knute gave them. Sometimes it led to nothing at all. Sometimes, every once and a while, Knute would never see the people he had reported on again.

This woman that was trying to pick herself off the ground would fall into the latter group hopefully.

He didn't receive any more information from the MP than he needed. He got the location of the information drop, where he would meet an Enforcer and tell them everything, and that was about it. The MP didn't tell him what they did with it, nor if he had done a god job. He got a simple nod from the person present and a quick shove back into the streets, but he was fine with that. He got to help out his leaders, his masters.

That was good enough for him.

He finally made it to his destination, a small quiet store tucked away in the very outer ring of all the stalls. Unlike the other stands this one was permanent, being an actual building instead of a small shack, though one couldn't say the same about the paint and décor on the outside of the building. As he approached the doors he glanced up at the dimming neon sign that read Quills, Thrills, and Groovy Ways to Chill once in a bright blue that pulled in any eye that got caught on it, now a dark murky blue color. The shop had been open before the curfews were put into place, which was the only reason it had a sign that could be seen at night when there was no light other than the widely spaced street lights. Now the only purpose the sign held was draining the owners' data pads of credit with the extra electricity bill they had to pay for it.

Probably too dumb to simply turn it off.

Though he found almost all people to be ignorant, he found the owners of this particular store to a somewhat smart, in their own way. In fact he actually liked them, though he would never speak to them if they weren't the only way for him to attain his writing materials. Being that books were something reserved for the wealthy not many authors could continue their trade like they did in the old days, and with authors dying out, along with them went the writing shops. It was pure luck that one still existed within the walls.

To many it came as a shock that Knute was an author, writer, and even a poet. He certainly didn't act the part. The people in the government were almost all simpleminded people, but Knute was different, being that he wasn't really part of the MP. Just an outside assistant. He did, however, know how to write the parts. Many that read his work yearned for more, asked for more, and sometimes pleaded for it. His words could take them all to a different place, a place where their troubles were shed like their winter coat. He spent his extra time at home that he was given by the MP writing page after page of words. Beautiful words, ones that flowed easily from his mouth, from his mind, or his ink pen. He occasionally sold his work to obtain extra credits when he needed them to purchase materials to write even more, but for the most part he kept them hidden away in his house so he could enjoy them anytime he liked. He too had times when he needed to simply forget what his life had built up to, usually when a family he had reported on goes missing the next day or something of the sort.

He pushed the two doors open and was greeted with the jingle of a bell, announcing his arrival to a short and rather plump jet black rabbit and her husband, a red and white bean pole of a man.

"P, why you always gotta run out to meet the costumer? You done know who it gonna be, lady." The bean pole spoke in a very deep voice, one that didn't seem to try to hide his age. He croaked, not too far from the noise of a bull frog.

The woman whipped around and punched the bean, causing him to smile. "Cuz I wanna make 'em feel welcome Christo, that's all." She turned back to the entrance put on gigantic smile, one that had a few members missing in the very front. "Goo' afternoon Mr. Knute, what you been up ta today?"

"Oh nothing, Mrs. Po, just the usual work from home. Though I think I may have finely broke though that writer's block I was telling you about last month..." Knute went to front desk in the store and leaned against it, getting ready to waste his time listening to Polly and Christo, her husband, complain about what's best for him to do.

To be honest, I really do enjoy listening to them.

P frowned. "How d'ya stand stayin inside all day 'n doin all that computer magic stuff?"

There was a booming laugh from Christo as he looked at his wife, making Knute smile. "What d'ya mean women? Ya know he don't perform no magic. He's one'a those coder people. Messin around with computers and shtuff."

"I don' wanna hear from you no more Chris. Go sit inna corner er something." Polly punched him once more, but this time he frowned comically and moseyed off towards the back of the shop.

No one knew that Knute was a spy, of course. They were all led to believe that he was a coder for the company that produced the data pad. Sometimes he would take a trip to the actual factory, but for the most part he didn't go anywhere near it. He didn't even know how to code.

But a cover up was a cover up.

Knute looked down at the pens under the glass countertop before continuing the conversation. "It's actually pretty simple Mrs. Po; keep the mind preoccupied. If I'm always thinking about my work, I won't get it done, so I simply think about anything other than it." He leaned in to where his nose almost touched the glass, trying to investigate a bright red pen closer. "I do believe, in fact, that it might have been the reason for my recent breakthrough with my writer's block!"

Polly started clapping very rapidly as her smile returned. "That's wonderful ta hear, Knute! How long d'ya think it'll be b'for ya done? I been diein ta find out wha happens ta that pretty lil Stellan boy an 'is girlyfriend Layla!"

Knute chuckled. "Ah, yes. I think you'll certainly be surprised by what comes next, Mrs. Po. I know I was surprised when the idea popped up in my mind, and even more so when I actually wrote it down!" He had a darker mind when it came to writing, but he wasn't completely cold hearted. It pained him terribly to kill off a character.

"As long as 'ey ain't dead, I'll be happier 'an the bakery cross the street when they get that special delivery they's always gabbin about!"

"Special delivery?" Knute became very interested with the cheap pen on top of the counter. "Sounds interesting..."

Polly laughed. "Yeah, they's always happy when 'ey get them bags a theirs. I think I mighta even seen 'em jumpin up and down over 'em last time. Such crazy folk, but they's good people. Always help'n me out when I need it. An' I do need it, bein' that Chris ain' no help aroun here." She looked back to where Christo disappeared and frowned.

Knute glanced at his data pad, making sure it had been recording the entire time by checking for the very faint green light at the top right of the screen. If anything, this conversation would at least give him a few extra credits from the government.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help with getting your husband into shape Mrs. Po," Knute looked up at her, smiling, "but I can purchase some of your products to keep you in business."

"Aw, ya always been my favorite customer! So what'dya need today?"

"I just need some more ink, and I think," he looked back down at the red pen "I'll take the red pen right here. I've needed a new one for a while."

"Souns like a plan ta me, Knute! Lemme just grab the ink 'n the pen 'n I'll ring ye up. Ya think you'll be needin any nibs fer the pen? Comes wit three of 'em, but I can throw in sum more if ya need em. Won't cost ya any, jus make sure that story a yours comes out quick!"

"Now you know that I couldn't take anything for free, Mrs. Po. I would feel as if I'm steeling from you. From my favorite vendor on the three miles!"

"I won' hear it. Nuh'uh. You need em, you can have em. If ya don' I'll jus hafta follow ya home an put em on yer doorstep!"

"Well, I still think it's wrong..."

"I insist!"

"Well..."

"Well wha?"

Knute shoved off the countertop, standing tall. "Okay, Mrs. Po! I'll take them, but only a few!"

A grin spread across her wrinkled lips. "Thas jus what I wanted ta hear!" She bent over and slid the door open that sealed the wide selections of pens off from the world and plucked the bright red one out of its place beside its companions, sliding the door closed with her knee as she placed the pen in a box for Knute. Placing that in front of him, she wandered back to where Christo had disappeared and, after a loud grunt from her husband, she returned with a tall bottle of black liquid. It was sealed with a cork, one that looked several sizes too big for the bottle, but nonetheless held the ink in place. Mrs. P slid the bottle over to Knute and tapped for a short while on her computer, getting the transaction ready to process.

"All I need is ya pad Knute, and 'en you can head home 'an get the story done!"

Knute put his forearm next to the computer and waited as Polly inserted a cord into his data pad and started the transfer of credits, humming very out of tune the entire time. They sat in an awkward silence for a short while until a quiet _ding_sounded from the computer, making Mrs. Po jump a little and proceed to unplug Knute's data pad from the computer.

With her lips spreading once again to make a smile, she pushed the bottle and box closer to Knute and whispered, "Stay safe now, sonny. Ya know it ain't too safe out ina streets at this time. Darn MP always watchin us!"

And with an awkward smile and a quick rub of his scar, Knute grabbed his items and returned to the outside world.