The Collapse CLXXXV: Proposal

 24 October 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

Today I was invited to a meeting.

I suppose once upon a time that statement would have been completely unremarkable; work used to be nothing but meetings, a gathering of individuals for purposes that were undoubtedly important in the moment but 99% of the time without import in the long run. Now, of course, a meeting is an entirely different thing, an exchange of time in lieu of other activities like preparing for Winter or finding food or fuel or worrying about what is to come.

The meeting was in the old post office – you will recall it; it was the hub of activities this Summer, and now (after the fire at the RV Park/bar) remains likely the most recognizable building in town, except for the Old Storefront turned church turned meeting room turned courtroom, which for obvious reasons is likely not a great location for such things. The invite had come from Young Xerxes; it was a fairly generic ask to “talk about some things”.

In the world in which we now live, there are no “things” that are without import.

When I arrived there in the mid-afternoon – our daily sunlight continues to draw itself inwards – I found around ten to fifteen men and women there: some faces I recognized, like my all to recent bailiffs and one or two souls from the expedition to McAdams who nodded acquaintance, as well as some that I hardly recognized more than “I had seen them in town” once upon a time – even years ago when all was well, it was still a small town and one tended to have some kind of nodding acquaintance with almost everyone.

It probably does not need noting, but everyone was armed. This seems to be the way, now.

A set of folding chairs had been dug out from somewhere – the courtroom, someone’s chairs for poker or pinochle? - and we eased into them with all the care that anyone does for a Chair of Unknown Provenance. One of the bailiffs spoke – not Young Xerxes, which honestly surprised me.

We will need to give him a name – Brasidas will work.

Brasidas’ speech was short and to the point. What was gathered here was not just individuals, but individuals representing households – a majority of the households, if numbers said anything at all. They were concerned among themselves, not just because of the events of the last month but because of the fact that a second Winter was coming with unknown impacts – by “impacts”, he meant bandits, he clearly stated – in the Spring. Unlike any of the other areas around them, there was no move to either enter an alliance or even protect the town as whole – still a series of individuals, rent by potentially competing interests as the recent court trial and fire indicated.

For these people represented here, he said, there was no option of picking up to go to another town or an outlying settlement. This was their home, their only home – and they had no plans to become refugees.

They were willing to make a go of it, he said, but they needed someone acceptable to all and of sufficient authority – he actually used the word gravitas, which made the Classicist in me chuckle - to put together a plan and in effect “lead” the settlement. I had marched out to fight the Locust and navigated the court case; would I be willing to do the same thing for Birch?

I sighed, and looked at the faces looking back at me. Some of them I knew, all of them were thinner than they were two years ago. There was lack of sleep and worry on all of them, a touch of anger for all that had apparently not been done on some. And laying behind all of them, the shouting of a courtroom with fingers pointed and a building burned to ash from rage as likely as accidental and a cold Winter with an unknown Spring to come.

“I will do what I can” I responded.

Sometimes, Lucilius, we seek the hour out. Sometimes in spite of all we do, it finds us.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca