I often wonder how far the net extends. Our generation is so successful, and our children, and our cousins and nieces and nephews, but we can always find someone desperate on the edges. Perhaps the blessings of the sacrifice are more powerful the closer the bloodline. Thank goodness the beast doesn’t seem to mind diluted blood.
Today I was going over how much we have done, how much we have built, how much we have given our own community, yes, but the world as a whole! If only people knew, if only our parents and grandparents could see. We have worked so hard and done so much with what they gave us. Truly, we are their dreams realized. It makes me laugh, thinking of how my mother wrote about Joel Young Jr. concocting a mix to make the sacrifices sleep. Now Young Pharmaceuticals leads the entire world of medicine. From seemingly small beginnings, our parents’ blessing creates truly astonishing results.
You wouldn’t know it to speak to some of the others, though. Susan Stratton showed up on my doorstep yesterday, a drunken mess. She acts as though it is such a burden, having read Tommy Callas’s book, having shown it to her own daughter. It is a privilege. I would do anything to read the book, to understand more fully what our grandparents did for us.
But no, there she was, crying about whether the cost is worth it, about whether we have the right, about that little girl she never even met or knew.
If we didn’t have the right, we wouldn’t have the responsibility. I reminded her of her children’s degrees, their places at tables in major businesses, courts, Congress. We deserve those roles, and we get them, and we do good with them.
Is the equivalent of a life every six months really such a sacrifice in the grand scheme of things? I do not think it is too much to ask, and I told her so. Besides which, when has she ever done more than attend our meetings, a sullen, cow-eyed presence?
Still. It reminds me that I was wrong to want to tell everyone. Best to keep the information close. Contained. Who knows what other people would do if they knew, what they would decide. I have seen Dick try to get his hands on this journal. Casually ask me what I’m up to when I meet with the families. As if it is any of his damn business what I do with my time, in my house, in my town. He’s lucky I let him stay.
I will keep an eye on Susan.
JULY 22, 1995
Tragedy this year, as Susan somehow got inside the gate during the season. No one saw her go in. We only knew when her daughter Karen reported her absence and we realized the beast was behind on its eating schedule—which meant it had consumed someone else. Susan is the only candidate.
It’s a mystery, and a tragedy. I already said it was a tragedy, look at me, so upset I’m repeating myself.
Well. Nothing to do but move forward. Everything else went smoothly.
FEBRUARY 1, 2000
That bitch. That absolute bitch. I finally cracked the combination to the safe—a task that took me years!—so that I could read the rest of my heritage, my inheritance, and it’s gone. The book is gone. That night, Susan must have had it with her. Had it on her. I should have known when I saw her slinking out of the spa. Why else would she be there? But I cannot tell anyone without admitting that I threw her into the park. I did it for us, for Asterion, to protect us all, but will they see it that way? Of course not.
No one can know that it’s missing. If they do, they’ll ask questions about Susan. Or they’ll go into the park to search for the book. And who knows what else she left behind, what evidence they might find.
Fortunately Karen has already had her lookie-loo at the book. And Karen’s own daughter is still a child. I have a few years yet to figure out a replacement before the safe is opened again.
JANUARY 1, 2002
I have discovered reality TV. What a nightmare. What a glittering example of everything that is wrong with the younger generations. But…what an opportunity for us. I think I have finally solved the issue of how to get people to come gladly, to stay in the park willingly, and to stick it out the whole time in spite of what they may or may not suspect is happening.
More pressing is the issue of inheritance. I’ve had to run the last two seasons with only Ray and Gary to help me manage, though their sons are always good for guard duty. I don’t see true leadership or innovation in any of them. Tommy Callas would be ashamed, I think. At least he was a visionary. None of his descendants have been the same. Certainly I can’t depend on any of Rulon Pulsipher’s children. He’s seen to that.
My own children, of course, have such happy, successful, busy lives elsewhere. Dick wounded me the only way he could, poisoning them against me. I sacrificed everything for my family and they left me behind. Sometimes I think my grandparents were lucky that they never had to see it happen. Their sacrifice was instant and complete.
Doubtless Chuck Callas will be groomed to take over. I know the families have been wanting to push me out for decades. I’d like to see how he does. A woman’s touch will be sorely lacking.
JULY 22, 2002
I will try not to exult in my cleverness, but I was right. The “contest” lured them far more easily and permanently than the promise of honest work did. They all want something for nothing.
JULY 22, 2009
Another perfect season. I think I have finally done what no one else could: created the ideal sacrifice scenario. You’re welcome, Asterion.
JULY 12, 2016
Another successfully planned year, but does anyone give me credit?
I used to think perhaps we should aim for older people, sparing the youth in the hopes that they could still make something of their lives, but I look at this group, at their young faces, their smooth skin, their utter disrespect for experience and labor, all their years spreading ahead of them already wasted. They contribute nothing to society, and they complain at being asked to work like we did, to build themselves like we did. And honestly, I think I’m doing them a favor. I’m giving them purpose. I’m making sure their lives mean something.
JULY 10, 2023
A new season is nearly upon us. This may be my last one. Is it odd that I’m sentimental? I have the names and photos of my final fourteen in front of me. So young. No idea what a great, noble thing they’re about to do.
I wish I were passing this torch to my own daughter. I wish she could have worked side by side with me, like I did with my mother. I wish she could be grateful for what we have given her, instead of taking it and me for granted. The poison of her father. I should have married a damn Harrell or Young, kept it within the families.
Regrets. But I do not regret what I have done to protect this legacy, and what I will do this last time. My legacy would be perfect, were it not for stupid Susan and her theft. But maybe I’ll die before they ever discover the missing book. It would serve them right. A tremendous mess, and no Linda to the rescue! Let them clean up for once.