Where the Heart is

I was awoken from a dead sleep by an earth-shattering thud. The walls shook and the windows rattled. I sat up and jerked my head to the left, toward the foot of my bunk. Through the twisted frame of my room's only window, I could see the landscape outside slowly beginning to pass by. The view raised and lowered with each gigantic step. We were on the move again.

I brought my attention back inside. I looked down between my feet as they dangled over the room. My bed was the top bunk, so I had a pretty great view of all of the destruction the house's swaying, walking motion had caused. All of my belongings were strewn about the room. My typewriter was overturned on the floor. The thud was enough to knock it clear off the desk. I had to get down there and make sure it was okay.

Just as I prepared to jump, the house lurched hard again, flinging me down to the floor before I had a chance to grab ahold of something. My face made contact with the hardwood with a smack. From here, I could see all of my things shuffling and rolling across the floor. The heavy typewriter made a few low hops, getting about an inch or two off the floorboards. I knew then that I should have nailed everything down yesterday. The house made another thud.

I rolled over to see my younger brother curled up and cowering in the corner of his bed with the sheets pulled up around his head and face. He was trembling. He never did get used to the feeling of house travel. I can't say I ever did, either, but at least I kept my wits about me. I waited another second or two before getting up. After one last jarring crash, the house began to move smoothly. The first couple of steps were always like that, but once the house got some momentum, the ride was relatively smooth.

I got to my feet and walked over to the typewriter. It had the letter I was writing last night still stuck in the paper guide. I heaved the heavy iron contraption up to eye level and examined it. Everything seemed to be okay, so I set it down on the old rolltop desk (the only thing in the room aside from my bunk bed that was actually nailed down). Next time, I would remember to close the cover on this thing before another moving day.

I cleaned up the mess in the room and got dressed. As I put things back in their places, I picked up some of my brother's clothes and tossed them at him. "Come on," I said, "We gotta get downstairs for breakfast." He managed to snatch the shirt and pants in mid-air as he flung back the sheets that covered him.

"Is it over?" He asked. I nodded and waited for him to jump up and pull his clothes on. Just before we left the room, I darted over to the desk and tore the letter out of the typewriter. I then yanked open one of the desk's heavy wooden drawers and rifled through its jumbled contents until I found an envelope. I folded the letter twice, slipped it in, and then licked the envelope shut, stuffing it into the back pocket of my trousers.

I paused for a moment and glanced out the window again. The world was still slowly passing by. Things would be this way until we could find solid ground to settle down on. Maybe my family could one day find some good land and start a farm. Maybe there would be others, and we would build a settlement of survivors. Perhaps one day, I would get to see my beloved Esther again. But until then, I was stuck writing these letters to her, and then leaving them at every outpost we came upon, in the hopes that her house would stop by and find them there.

Downstairs, my mother was cooking breakfast. I could tell, because of the frequent tearing sound that was made by the Velcro we used to hold the pantry in place. Velcro proved to be a very useful tool our house. It kept small things in their place, even when the house was lurching violently from side to side. My brother and I sat in our nailed-down chairs at the table and began to eat our breakfast. Mid-way through, my mother cheerily chimed in, "Hurry up, now boys. Your father needs you in the attic. You slept in this morning, and he wants you to keep a lookout for the next outpost."

We both nodded enthusiastically, and then gobbled down the last of our breakfasts. We then quickly clamoured up the rickety staircase, and then pulled down the ladder that led to the noisy attic. Once up there, we were greeted with a smile and a wave from our father. He was standing at the lever controls of the house's walking mechanism, his brass goggles and wiry silver hair made him look like a madman. The huge metal and wood-paneled cockpit area wheezed and puffed as it chugged along. The house was steam-powered, of course. The boiler in the basement ran night and day, a mechanized arm feeding it coal around the clock. We had to remain on the lookout for "Red Outposts". These were checkpoints created by other survivors, meant to provide houses with the fuel and provisions enough to carry on until the next stop. They also had mailboxes.

I flung open the window shutters around the room. A stream of sunlight filled the dusty attic. We now had a 360 degree view of the shattered landscape around us. The world had been split over two years ago into the massive canyons and sinkholes that surrounded us. Some unrelenting earthquake made the entire country uninhabitable. That's why we moved until we could find something better. The legs were my father's invention. Everyone thought he was crazy when he began building the giant steam-powered machine that would one day carry us to safety. That was until the tremors began. Others in the neighborhood panicked and began building legs of their own, in order to escape the inevitable destruction.

I looked through my telescope and began to scan the area. There wasn't much to see out there but the ravages of the countryside. Off in the distance, I could see other’s houses as they tiptoed over bumps, hills, and openings in the ground; a trail of steam puffing out of their chimneys. I continued to search for the conspicuous red flag that was flown at every outpost, marking its location; but still nothing in sight.

Suddenly, my brother spotted something. "Outpost ahoy!" He screamed as he pointed in the general direction of what he had seen. My father leaned back from his controls and peered through the mounted telescope with one eye. "Great work, Son!" He said as he began to steer the house in the appropriate direction.

***

When we finally arrived at the outpost, my father and mother made their way over to the provisions. My brother went searching for other kids that might be around to play with. But, I was only interested in getting the letter to my Beloved Ester. I imagined her reaction when she arrived at this outpost and found the letter from me.

When I reached the red box that accepted letters, there was a man in a dark blue uniform and hat silently standing there. I stopped before the mailbox to jot down her full name, and house address on the envelope before slipping it down the chute. As I began to walk away, I was stopped by the man in the uniform. He spoke.

"Are you with the family from that house that just arrived?" He asked.

"Why, yes, of course." I returned with a smile.

"This letter is for you, boy." He handed the letter to me. My name was written on the envelope in an elegant handwriting. I knew who it must have been from. My heart fluttered as I tore into the paper. I held it up and read it to myself. Ester had been here, and she sends her love! She writes that she will be waiting for me at the next outpost. She claims that her family has found stable land! We can all settle down together, finally! What fantastic news!

I couldn't wait to tell my parents. With letter in hand, I bounded over to them screaming with delight, the letter flapping from my hand in the wind.

***

The next morning, I was again awoken by a calamitous thud. This time I had been prepared, and everything remained in its place, fastened by nails and Velcro. I didn't have time to waste. My brother and I skipped breakfast and headed for the attic. Father was already operating the house when we arrived. I told him the co-ordinance offered to us by my Beloved Ester, and off we went yet again. Lurching and lumbering our way to a normal, happy life. Or so we hoped.

Author's Note

A concept art writing exercise.

Reviews

[Trigorin]

Not bad. Your inspiration is obvious and you've ran with it well, but I think this could do with a bit more relation to the main character - instead of making it be about him and his emotions, we get a bare narrative of what he's doing and no insight into him as a character, which isn't very fun reading. A good start, but there's still room for improvement.

[Andrew Leister-Frazier]

Once again, I loved this piece. I don't think there's anything I can add in terms of constructive criticism because I was too busy enjoying every bit of it. I fear I have one or two stories of yours left to read.

[Spoon]

Wow, love it!

This really is an interesting concept, and it is done quite well. I love the sense of groundless optimism, too. "The world as almost ended, the entire country is unstable, but dad built a machine and now I will find my true love!" You've built this vivid, exciting, devastated world, but told a human story of emotion and hope. That is what I like in a sci-fi/steampunk/fantasy story. It's too easy to get caught up in the machines and the magic, and forget that people only really care about other people. Good job avoiding this trap.

I hope you expand this at some point. There really is a lot to this.

[Thom]

Quite good; it's a fun and enjoyable concept. I am perhaps inappropriately creeped out by the fact that he always refers to this girl as Beloved, something feels off, but it could be the case that he's writing letters to himself? I don't know, something just felt weird about the way he talked about her, and if that's supposed to be the case, that's great, otherwise it's kind of awkward and not credible. I'd also like to know how old he is. Right now I'm thinking he's 11 or 12 and his brother is 8 or so, I don't know if that's accurate. I think the one thing that kind of broke my suspension of disbelief was the postman for some reason knowing who this kid is. It just doesn't seem to add up logically, unless maybe she was there earlier and left it there, telling the postman to look for a family in a house with legs? I found that part kind of confusing, but otherwise I really like the feel and concept.

[Butterfly_Kid]

Good observation. Reading it over, I think how I would explain the odd conversation with the postman, is that I really just wanted his dialogue to be perfunctory and simple. But I can see now how it just doesn't include enough information. As for the whole Beloved thing, yeah. I kind of wanted to leave the question up in the air. My attempt to inject some whimsy into the character just ended up making him seem a little crazy, so I rolled with it. I'll see about revising the postman dialogue. Thanks for the helpful feedback.

[roarke]

Lots and lots to work with here. You could tighten it up for a flash fiction, or extend the heck out of it for a full blown steam punk extravaganza. Very accessible writing.