NEEDLESS TO SAY, HE WILL BE RELEASED, the voice had said, followed by silence.
There was an ironic tone to that final message, as if the Speaker found it amusing;
and Jonas had smiled a little, though he knew what a grim statement it had been.
For a contributing citizen to be released from the community was a final decision, a terrible punishment, an overwhelming statement of failure.
Even the children were scolded if they used the term lightly at play, jeering at a teammate who missed a catch or stumbled in a race.
Jonas had done it once, had shouted at his best friend, “That’s it, Asher! You’re released!” when Asher’s clumsy error had lost a match for his team.
He had been taken aside for a brief and serious talk by the coach, had hung his head with guilt and embarrassment,
and apologized to Asher after the game. Now, thinking about the feeling of fear as he pedaled home along the river path,
he remembered that moment of palpable, stomach-sinking terror when the aircraft had streaked above.
It was not what he was feeling now with December approaching. He searched for the right word to describe his own feeling.
Jonas was careful about language. Not like his friend, Asher, who talked too fast and mixed things up,
scrambling words and phrases until they were barely recognizable and often very funny.
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