Alder was born in the town of Hillston on October 14th, 2221. It was a time and a place that was unfitting to someone of his skin color and his proclivities toward the company of other men. Hillston was ruled by a council of elders, something common to small towns in this time period. The council looked negatively on homosexual behavior and on the idea of integration between races and would often rewrite books of history taught in the school to subvert any perceived progress made by homosexual-identifying people and people of color.

Alder did not know this when he was young. 

He played with the males and with the females equally and considered himself to be popular among all students. He studied hard and loved history and religion most of all. He would often write notes to his god postulating about what it all meant. He created games of pretend even into his teenage years because he loved to be other people with other interests and other skin colors. He saw this as harmless fun even though it was not. 

Unbeknownst to him, the elders of Hillston approached his mother several times about the freeness with which he played with the kids who did not look like him. She shielded him from this because he was only a kid but tried to lead him in a direction that was more suitable. 

Soon Alder did not play with anyone at all. By gentle nudging he had come to learn that his type of playing and his interest in imagination was not shared by those whom he considered his peers. His mom convinced him that those who had a skin color that was different than his were not fun to play with – they were not as imaginative as he was. His mother had a skin color that was different from his.

Alder fell in love for the first time in the summer of his sixteenth year. This was not the love of adults, but it was strong and fierce and it consumed him. He had fallen in love with a boy that neither shared his skin color nor his feelings. He was quiet with his feelings because he had learned that what happened in his head was not for others. But he always felt as though his god was on his side and so would pray frequently on the outcomes of conversations. 

The closest the two boys came to something beyond friendship was on one evening in an empty field looking up at the moonlight. The boy had invited Alder to the outskirts of Hillston, on a hillside, on his last evening in town before his family left to try to find a new home. They lied with each other for many hours and would both recall there being something magical about the moonlight. They held hands. 

The boy left the next day and Alder was alone once again. Older now. And more sad.

Three months later Alder’s mother died. He was overcome with grief. But old enough to work and so given work to survive.

Alder amassed an impressive amount of wealth for a man of his upbringing and color and proclivities in the years that followed. He was a blacksmith. He made everyday items for the people of Hillston – both decorative and practical. He became known for his imaginative designs and creations – things but useful and whimsical. He fashioned creative pursuit in a world that was often lacking. He devoted life to work and nothing else and proved himself worthy of the town in ways that others did not have to. In his twenty-sixth year, he bought the mansion at the top of the hill that overlooked the town. He was the envy of those that chose to respect him and the ire of those that did not. 

People did not leave Hillston often and those that did were never heard from. The residents of Hillston did not have the means to travel effectively since the collapse of the train and flight systems. It was an observation that Alder was acutely aware of as he was growing up and one that he dreamed of escaping. There were only a few stories of those that left – the first boy he loved was one of them.

The rich citizens of the east coast, where the New American Empire still held sway, and those from the European Union, could travel. They often had lavish stage coaches or private aircraft. The older residents of Hillston had stories but no first hand experience. They spoke of grand helicopters swooping across town when they were young and stopping at the mansion at the top of the hill. On some nights, Alder would stand on the balcony of his new home, look up at the night sky, and wish for something like that to happen to him. One year, four months, and three days later, it did.

Three men in a carriage drawn by horse passed on the northside of Alder’s home. They stopped in the midday sun to explore his grounds and Alder went outside to greet them. They were dressed in fine clothes and greeted Alder with respect. There was one that had a skin tone very similar to his, the quietest of the three.

“It is a pleasure to have you visit my home,” he said.

“The pleasure belongs to us,” the tallest of the three responded. “How did you come to own such a magnificent property in such a horrible place.”

Alder laughed.

“Hard work and faith. And not too much demand on property around these parts.”

“I imagine not,” the stout one said. “You must have the most incredible parties here.”

“Not really a partying sort of town. No one interested in partying.”

“What about you?” It was the one who looked like him that spoke up now. Alder could hardly take his eyes off of the man. “Do you like to let loose and have fun?”

Alder was silent. He smiled.

“We have to get going. But if you want, we can arrange a party here. We can get all of our friends to come by. Enjoy the scenery.”

Alder could see the man’s eyes looking him up and down and the man smiled at Alder flirtatiously. 

“Okay.” It was all he could muster.

“Seven days from now,” the tall man chimed in. Alder nodded and they left.

Like clockwork they returned, their carriage looking even more extravagant the following week. They helped Alder set up as the sun began to set and before he knew it, dozens of people poured in. Many in carriages, some dropped off by helicopter. And the parties began.

Over the next two years, his home on the hill would often overflow with raucous debauchery. In the mornings that followed, the red wine upon the wooden floors would puddle in obscure patterns. Alder became an avant-garde artist of lasciviousness who practiced his craft with deft and dexterity like clockwork every time the moon rose. It was a release from the time before. Everything that he was never able to do. All the pent up imagination of his teenage years unlocked. The affairs grew lavish. Men and women of all ages and types and skin colors were invited. They arrived from destinations domestic and abroad. Libations would flow in excess. Sex took all forms from the tame to the dangerous and Alder tried it all. This was what he had waited for. It was the more he wished for when he prayed as a child.

The sex made him weak and the alcohol made him slow and the rumors made him hated and the ego made him blind to the consequences of the world in which he lived. 

Alder kept partying. Over the course of two years, three months, and eleven days, Alder consumed seven hundred and thirteen bottles of wine. He had sex with two hundred and seventy-seven different men. But he was always at the market at eight in the morning each Sunday, quiet and polite as he said hello and others avoided eye contact. He regarded himself as a model citizen.

Alder fell in love with a man named Adrian after a full night of everything except for drinking and sex. This man had been coming to the weekly parties for over a year and Alder had noticed him shyly sticking to the corners. Adrian was young and attractive with olive skin and a chiseled face. But Alder never approached him. He was not used to being smitten in a way that did not involve sex. 

On the winter evening of November 3rd in the year 2250, Adrian introduced himself and they sparked conversation. They retired early to the master balcony and sat and looked up at the moonlight and spoke about life and love and sex and faith and hopes and dreams. Alder shared things with tAdrian that he had never spoken aloud to another living being. Alder knew immediately and intensely that he was in love – a quick love, one that sparked fast and hot. They spoke for six hours and twenty-seven minutes before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Alder woke up the following morning to the sounds of Adrian screaming.  

When his eyes opened he saw that his house was on fire. Flames licked the curtains on the other side of the room and the furniture was engulfed. Adrian was no longer beside him. He stood and turned and saw the elders of Hillston at the door of his bedroom. 

Another scream.

Alder turned to see another man, older, with a decorative sword held across Adrian’s throat. He recognized the steel as his own. Alder made to stand but the older man held the sword tighter against the throat, drawing blood.

He froze. The elders surrounded him, stripped him, and tied his arms and legs.They paraded him through the burning home, dragging him through the hallways with Adrian pushed behind. Everyone was dead. Many murdered in their sleep with peaceful looks upon their faces, many more lying on the ground of the hallways, faces frozen in agony – impaled or cut or gutted or burnt alive. 

He was made to watch his house burn for seventeen minutes, told that they had killed his mother and his father and that he was to be taught a lesson. He was the example.

Alder was tied to a pole erected atop a pile of his furniture and his clothes were ripped off. He was impaled by a broomstick while seven people that he had grown up looking up to and laughed. He screamed but could not hear his own voice. It was an example of persistence of the tribal nature of humanity. Adrian was brought forward and his throat slashed unceremoniously. 

And the pain stopped. 

Alder knew that he did not want to give them the satisfaction. Instead, he prayed.

On November 4th, 2250 at 7:22am, Alder Kemp died in a fire created by furniture from his own home. He prayed to his god in the moments before.