One

Introduction

            “I think therefore I am”                       fluttering like a dismal light through amnesia; the half perceived world.            And how do we open our eyes to dawn’s first breath? How do we know it is not the same dawn and we have but forgotten. Where do we find ourselves and whence do we fall. What then? Resurrection by the old words. It must be so, the Mayor did it. Did it with intent, though. Purpose is definite in the heart, separate from the mind. He loved, didn’t think.     Where do stars die?

            By The City, she smells like lilies! Here is purpose, I see. Here is open eyes, great doors, heave, heave. But amnesia still, the fog of living. The fear of light.         How she sleeps! Oh, love, sweet love! She blinks, sky-eyed, full of light, lashes like the Nile, glacier bones, spring water. Such admiration is found in the form, saying nothing of the softness of the being buried within the sheets of flesh and glow. If I could be half of what she is, why, The City would be founded anew. That’s the difference, though, I suppose. One is a gilded ice sculpture, the other a hearty machine, brutal and slopping oil this way and that. Ice machines wouldn’t work, though, no. Women don’t work.       But still, look at her. She could work if she tried. Those frail bones would learn to ache, I’m sure.      But then they’re always complaining about their stomachs, round melons of things. It’s a wonder they can walk.       Of course Mara can walk, though. I bet the neighbors are ashamed of us. Twelve years and not a single sprout. Oh, dear. They don’t understand how hard it is to be. Mara is beautiful without a blundering belly.

            Day is leaning through the window now, seems to part the curtains--imported drapes, dangerous job that is, like smuggling. Kind of is, though, got to get passed The Edge and all. No one wants anyone there. Hostility of the heathens.         Dawn is coating her in that glossy lore of day. Cradles her ebony, hair, like soft wax, in hands of ivory and gold. Strolling the supple hills of romance in eons of warmth, the beating of her breast, the mind inside.            She swallows stars, that pale candle between her rosey, unthorned lips, the soft flesh that never vanishes in the day, all the more beautiful as the time swoons her, she swallows stars, she swallows stars,                       I’m kissed! She’s leaned over and blessed me, oh fair Goddess of the heavens! Oh, me. How much of a boy am I? Such excitement.

            But here is my strength, by way of Mara, better than any other way I suppose. Not how they tell you, though, that every man is supposed to hold his own. Up and out, then. Her silent goodbye is my good luck for the day, I must act quickly less it wane like the moon.

            Is that a draft? Damn. The death of Autumn is seeping through the fissures. Oh, and I can hear her sniffling in the other room. She’s sick already. Damn it! I’m sorry Mara, I should have known. You could have told me. I wonder if this means the buggers have bred in the water. I would’ve changed it if I’d known. No time now, though. At least not for me. I’ll change it before she gets in. She’d like that, she needs that. Poor girl. Sniffling,

            Bloody freezing stuff.  I think I can smell them. Now, let’s see, three by twentyfive stacks…by the shell… should get us through winter. I hope. I hope. Funny how the water is never hot nor cold anyway. I suppose a change from time to time is preferable. A little romance in your life, a bit of strife. If I sat here long enough I bet I’d fill it up with my heat. Wonder if it’d be warm for her then. Wouldn’t that be something? Ancient science like magic. Haven’t the time, though. Damned world, always relying on me when so much more could be done. So out.

Even worse than the draft is the draft on my bare a*s. A bit funny, I would say, the torn flap in my robe. Mara would giggle. Bet I look like some kind of animal. The type you see in the little picture books hanging on the Recorder’s wall. The only type you see. Wandering around, waddling, really, chirp chirp, looking for food.

Food. Always the worst concern. A tragedy in deficiency, what with the raids and all. Happened twice this year. They came in and took the medical center again with their fire. The fear in that. voodoo work. Dirty men with dirty names, females flapping with their breasts out; the notion of a thing, by The City!

And that is why my icebox is empty again, no doubt. I suppose I’ll have a look anyhow, just for the sake. A bit of old bread, starving, but, oh, so is Mara. I can work on an empty stomach, better for me that way, just in case she is harboring, just in case.

Now then, to get dressed, seal up my a*s-flap, if I please. Funny thing, I swear. Always tell myself that. Wonder how long I’ll go on about it, not doing anything. Work clothes are looking rather fitting. A bit tattered at the edges and all, no doubt. Not much else is expected, though. It’ll be a charm when I get my new set though. Was promised them after having saved that little boy… Yes, the shame in it. Always have that dream about it. The second raid this year was the worst. Savages came in and burned the Mayor’s home. Mayor was away, of course, in some bunker somewhere. They’re said to be the descendants of City themselves, the Mayors. But his little boy was left in there. He think about him when he was all sealed up? Of course he did. Thinks about everyone.

It was I who saw the smoke, though. Sprinted down half the way before I lost my breath. Savages ran right by, carrying our women as they went. Snow on ashes. Makes me sick. The window felt like volcanic rock when I pressed my face into it. Could feel my bones flattening under the heat. I saw enough though, what I needed to see. By the ceiling, he was swinging. Tied with his father’s belts. And the mother, in the corner, might as well have never been a woman.

Was too late for her, no words to choke out, no nothing. Just the blood and savage remains, ravaged world. But the Mayor thinks of everyone, he’s grieved the most. Saw him in the office the next day, speechless when I told him that I had gone in there. Found them both, untied the boy. Little blue-eyed baby, boy, blonde-haired. And I saved him. Little innocent. Just never in the dream.

The outfit is well enough, though. Just means I’ll have two by the end of the work term. Mara will look at me and think “what-a-guy” and smile that moon-carved grin, such sincerity. Everyone would look up with a little adoration, wondering how my set never seems to wear out. “It’s a secret”, I’ll tell them. Wonder if they’ll be any wiser. Quin wouldn’t be jealous though. He’s got another set every other week. The heavy figure, custom fitted. My best friend. Too bad he didn’t grow. Then maybe he’d lend me a few of his old pairs. Not my size, though. That’s what’s said, anyhow.

I stopped asking, though. Don’t see much point in it some days. Not going to press it. Just have to come up with new things to talk about on the walk. Have to keep up with that relation, being my boss and all. Son of the mayor, second son, anyway.

Almost time for that. Should take a step outside. Can probably see that black box rolling up the cobble. Funny how he walks with me, could ride all the way to work. Probably looking for something--probably trying to get a look at her. Ah. It’s been a while since he’s mentioned Mara, though. Maybe he’s over it. Can never tell with him, though. He’s always got his head turned around the way, you don’t know who he’s talking too or what about. All so troublesome, trying to understand someone, I mean.

So then. Here goes, out the way.

Mr. Ere stood before the old, peeling doorway. He took one last look around at the cramped little kitchen and it’s short, scratched countertops. He noticed the small, black oven had gone out and so he leaned over to blow on the coals, stuffing a page out of an old text in with the smoldering embers. The gentle, blue light rose to life once more and Mr. Ere stood up tall, brushed off his tattered gray uniform and felt the cold, unshapely handle of the door. He then pulled backward, and thus, opened the door. 

Reviews

[Lawrence Parlier]

I like it. Sort of a mad language preamble. It sets up the main character and milieu without being overbearing. It'll be interesting to see how this character develops and how his interaction with Mara evolves.

[Alskar]

The images you use and the flow of the work is excellent. Not a moment is vague or wasted - each sentence builds on character perception and lets us into this mysterious, revolutionized world without giving too much away. This is only chapter one, but you have definitely demonstrated character depth with Mr. Ere. Already we have seen one distinct shade of his character - his love for, and submission to Mara. I think the places where he speaks of Mara are wonderfully crafted and are definitely the highlights of this opening chapter. I sense she could be taking advantage of him in later chapters. The character's general want to impress everyone, especially Mara, is a good, instantly relatable trait. My only criticism is formatting. It's probably just the site, but there are many spaces which I'm not sure are meant to be there. It would be nice if the first quote was just set in a single line, as a hook. I think in terms of comprehension it wasn't difficult to understand. It was quite clear what he was thinking and when, so that's not a criticism I have. Intrigued, definitely.