Sunday Scribblings 2 - Prompt 89

Waiting for 53A North

In late summer and early fall, grit would sting the skin and hurt the eyes because the rains had not restarted. The advantage was the dry air was comfortable in the night air. The disadvantage was the gray and the beige blowing dusty clouds in the street. Smoke from the generators covered the rest of the blocks in monotony. Still, better than the black speckles of mold on most exposed surfaces come autumnal solstice. And no one remembered green on the outside; plants were relegated to indoor shopping centers and the Fabulous Tower Center in the city where the wealthy lived in health.

Prynne trudged the hardened ground, careful to avoid the rubble on either side. Rats lived there and would be hungry until the water came. Her boots went high to her knees but she covered them with her wide pants and tied them at the bottom. It was more protection from the rats and the roaches which scavenged on the floor of the transport. Her daughter was lucky to have leggings handed down from a neighbor's cousin. They were tough but light weight and they were long enough to stuff into her brother's old boots. Prynne worried about the holes in the soles but some cardboard and a lot of duct tape would be enough protection for the time being.

"Mama, I'm thirsty." Pearl covered her mouth with her scarf and turned her face against the wind.

"Watch your step and stay on the sidewalk. You don't want to upset those rocks. Who knows what's watching us." Prynne stumbled and caught her step with the broad sword xw. The smithy at the mall would sharpen the tip when she got there but it bothered her that she used it for something other than defense.

"Mrs. Buchanan put out her pretty flower pots. See, Mama? They're dark blue and black on the top. They're pretty but not as pretty as those red ones from last year. I liked those. It made her house look cheerful. Mama, a rat, right there."

Prynne whirled around and used the blade to hurl a small stone at a snout and whisker. The animal glared red eyes and scampered back in the shadow of broken cement shards.

"Nice shot." The girl adjusted her cap. "Mama?"

"Yes, Pearl."

"Can we get something to drink when we get to the smithy? I'm so thirsty."

"Pearl, let's concentrate on getting to the stop. I don't want the transport to miss us. Watch your step there."

"The transport is always late and we are always early." Pearl stopped as a particularly strong gust threatened to knock her over. Her mother grabbed her hand and held her steady.

"Better that than missing our ride altogether. That would be bad for us today." Prynne looked at the sky. The main sun was almost overhead. "Second sun is ready to rise so the transport will be here shortly."

*

They stopped roadside across from the area generator. Gray and white plumes tugged from several side. Two workers stood by a metal barrel and seemed to struggle to open the cover. Once they pried and twisted it off, they pushed the barrel over. Liquid rushed out in a black wave on the parched dirt. They looked at Prynne and Pearl in a quiet, windless pause.

"I wonder what that--"

"Hush, child. Lower your voice," Prynne hissed. "We want no trouble today. Remember we talked about this?" She looked at her daughter and stood straight with a firm hand on the grip of her sword. The metal lid clanged on the barrel as they carried it all away, the liquid still shining in the sun.

The wind pause made Prynne even more alert. Every creak of metal, every crumble of rock and stone, every scamper and hidden squeak could be heard all around. She could make out hushed conversations from the tent block a quarter mile away. Pearl squeezed her hand and looked straight, just like she had been told.

To look around was to show fear. To look straight and listen with all your heart was bushido. 

As the wind pause ended when second sun rose to the south and east. Wind gusts muffled the sound of the transport, which grew louder behind them. It was harder to listen in the wind but also safer to talk.

"I brought the coins that I have saved, Mama." Pearl loosened her grip.

"What will you buy for yourself, child?" Prynne checked the strap of her coat as her hood blew in the air.

"Colored chalk. I would like to have coins for beautiful pottery like the Buchanans, but that's ok. The cluster gangs come and break them anyway so they don't last. But colored chalk would work. I will draw on the slab in back of our tent. It's flattened and wide and only a little taller than you, Mama. I'll draw and it will rain and I will draw something else. I remember the stories about rainbows so I know that there are other outside colors. Just not here. I would like to see other colors outside, Mama. It'll be pretty." Pearl looked up at her mother. Prynne could tell by the shape of her eyes that she was smiling.

The transport turned around in front of them. Steam spewed out of the tail pipes and the door opened. The cyborg driver turned its head and made a garbled speech about welcoming them aboard 53A North to the city.

"Come along, little artist. We will get your chalk after we stop at the water cafe."

Pearl let go of her mother's hand to grab the handle bars. The steps were large and steep. She stomped on a roach with a sigh of triumph. Prynne dropped her tokens in the fare box before the transport doors closed behind them.

Copyright 2015 by C. Deanne
All Rights Reserved

For more creative stories, please visit Sunday Scribblings 2.

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This beautiful watercolor print was created by ThaiThanh. Please reward yourself

and visit his online portfolio here. I found his work imaginative and inspiring.

Sunday Scribbling 2 # 75

Thirty Two Minutes to Washtenaw

2:08pm.

That meant she had forty two minutes until 3 o'clock, which meant she had thirty two minutes to get to Washtenaw Avenue across from the school. There was no time to lose because she had to go to the orthodontist, then home for dinner and some homework, then Cub Scouts.

It was nice that her youngest, a preschooler, was potty trained and now in preschool. That meant she had a whole glorious two and a half hours all to herself, which meant by herself. Today she spoiled herself. She would not dare tell her mother-in-law who looked down her nose on her messy house.

"When the kids sleep, you clean."

Today, when the kids were in school, she took a nap.

She had a few minutes before she had to strap rockets on her roller skates and plunge into the third part of her day. Normally she went to the thrift store for clothes. It was a Tuesday, which was blue ticket day, so all blue ticket items were half off. She did not have long to wade through the racks of shirt or the racks of jeans. She had already wasted five precious minutes looking down her nose at the used shoes. There were some things that were not worth it.

The store was large and the floors were dirty gray white. She wondered how hard it would be to clean them so that they looked decent. Then she looked around at the people in the check out line. Then she looked down on her well worn gym shoes. Maybe the floor was decent enough.

Not that she needed anything but something always drew her to the back of the store to the rickrack section. Once she found depression glass but suspected that it was a later piece made in the '50s. It did not matter because it was all about the hunt. She looked closely and trained herself to find the gold in the old.

Instead, she saw a lot of nothing. Coffee mugs from various businesses. Fluted champagne glasses from Prom 1984; people would have a stroke if students were given that nowadays. A Corning Ware lid. A chipped orange pyrex. Small plates of various patterns and manufacturers. Crazed, antique stoneware that had no use in her home. None of these breakable had any practical use in her home, save the Corning Ware lid, which she took. She looked at the ceramic vases, the old glass vases from the 1980s, a couple of etched drinking glasses from Eureka Plastics 1993 Anniversary, with balloons and confetti swirled around the middle.

She felt especially bad when she saw the mugs, the plates and the glass ware from businesses. How many were still around? Who was careful to pick them out and order them? Who took theirs home, had them on a shelf somewhere and then gave it to Salvation Army to repurpose? How do you repurpose something like that? It was already marked.

Maybe that was it. The purpose was clear. It was meant for a specific time or a specific place and labeled for everyone to see. She opened her purse to fish around for her cell phone. She pushed through her wallet, a receipt from the grocery store, a bag of emergency crayons, a pen cap and finally her phone. She had 15 minutes and her cell phone battery was on 10%.

There was a time when that phone was charged, the calendar was used and synced with other co-workers. There was a time when she combed her hair, took a shower every morning, wore nice clothes that looked nice on her. There was a time when she went out after work, not for drinks, but for a leisurely cup. A quiet moment all to herself before she had to rush to the train.

As she turned the corner to head to the register, she saw them. Paisley. Roses. Delicate handles with a little chip in the porcelain. Saucers mismatched. Tomorrow after school there were no appointments, no softball practice, no dance practice and no train. Tomorrow she would put on the kettle and serve a leisurely cup. A quiet moment with little hands who would see pretty teacups and no chips at all.

For more creative stories, please visit Sunday Scribblings 2.

Copyright 2015

by C. Deanne

All Rights Reserved