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rainbowfic2012-05-25 10:59 am
justice_turtle) wrote in rainbowfic2012-05-25 10:59 am
Skyblue Pink w/ Striped Polka Dots 11: Today Is Your Day
Mods, can I please get a new story tag? "story: there's a hole in the library", please. Also one for "color: skyblue pink with striped polka dots".
Name: JT
Story: There's a Hole in the Library
Colors: Skyblue Pink with Striped Polka Dots 11: "Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So... get on your way."
Supplies and Styles: Glitter (Make a list of things you'd like to learn), Acrylic (#689)
Word Count: 489
Rating: G
Warnings: hints of past apocalypse with mentioned death in, discussion of hypothetical book-burning
Notes: I have no idea where this story is going. It's just been haunting my head for a while. I'm hoping to pull out some urban-fantasy / magical-realism elements later.
"Fifty years since anyone was in here," he grumbles, pushing the door open. She's been sitting on the ground for almost half an hour now, handing him lockpicks and listening to him mutter, occasionally asking questions. She likes hearing about the old days and the early days and the ones that came after; someday she's going to be a storyteller, like him, keeping memories alive.
"Even looters?" she asks, scrambling up and brushing dust off her skirt. That's what she thinks of when she thinks of the early days - looters, and famine, and the bad winter. Those are the stories that travel without tellers, just on the edges of older people's spoken memories.
"Hand me the lantern, kiddo," he says. He's collecting his gear, packing everything away into his tool belt. He says that's the same way you handle memories: put everything away exactly where it belongs, and you'll have it again when you need it. "Nope, not even looters. We guarded the building, back in the early days." He holds up the safety lantern and steps into the darkness, waving one hand in front of him, to clear away dust or spiderwebs or whatever's in there. "I'm not actually sure I'd do that now - lot of people died from cold, the bad winter. But I was young and idealistic, I figured saving all this knowledge was more important. Hard to say if I made the right call. If any of us did."
She follows him into the darkness, holding her own lantern. Ick, spiderwebs. She sneezes.
"Blessya, kid," he says, chuckling. "Here, have a kerchief. You know how to tie it?"
"Yes, Grandie," she says, putting the grin along with the eyeroll into her voice because he's not looking at her anyway. "Thanks." She sets down the lantern for a second and ties the kerchief over her mouth and nose.
"We'll get the blocks off the windows later," he says. "Right now I just want to check out the structural integrity, see what we need to do. Find out what's here. Make a rough category list."
"And I get to help," she says, excited.
He laughs. "You'll make a darn good storyteller one of these days, kiddo. You have the curiosity for it. None of the craft, yet, but that'll come. Okay, you have all your stuff?"
"Yes, Grandie," she says again, patting her tool belt to make sure. "Where do you want me to start?"
"May as well take this floor," he says, waving away to the left where the cavernous space fades into darkness. To their right, some kind of brick monolith looms. "The stairs used to be over thataway on the right. I'll see if I can get the door open. Tell me when you finish up!"
"Yes, Grandie!" she calls over her shoulder, heading through the open space, back toward where the shadows of bookshelves reflect her lantern's little sphere of light.
Name: JT
Story: There's a Hole in the Library
Colors: Skyblue Pink with Striped Polka Dots 11: "Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So... get on your way."
Supplies and Styles: Glitter (Make a list of things you'd like to learn), Acrylic (#689)
Word Count: 489
Rating: G
Warnings: hints of past apocalypse with mentioned death in, discussion of hypothetical book-burning
Notes: I have no idea where this story is going. It's just been haunting my head for a while. I'm hoping to pull out some urban-fantasy / magical-realism elements later.
"Fifty years since anyone was in here," he grumbles, pushing the door open. She's been sitting on the ground for almost half an hour now, handing him lockpicks and listening to him mutter, occasionally asking questions. She likes hearing about the old days and the early days and the ones that came after; someday she's going to be a storyteller, like him, keeping memories alive.
"Even looters?" she asks, scrambling up and brushing dust off her skirt. That's what she thinks of when she thinks of the early days - looters, and famine, and the bad winter. Those are the stories that travel without tellers, just on the edges of older people's spoken memories.
"Hand me the lantern, kiddo," he says. He's collecting his gear, packing everything away into his tool belt. He says that's the same way you handle memories: put everything away exactly where it belongs, and you'll have it again when you need it. "Nope, not even looters. We guarded the building, back in the early days." He holds up the safety lantern and steps into the darkness, waving one hand in front of him, to clear away dust or spiderwebs or whatever's in there. "I'm not actually sure I'd do that now - lot of people died from cold, the bad winter. But I was young and idealistic, I figured saving all this knowledge was more important. Hard to say if I made the right call. If any of us did."
She follows him into the darkness, holding her own lantern. Ick, spiderwebs. She sneezes.
"Blessya, kid," he says, chuckling. "Here, have a kerchief. You know how to tie it?"
"Yes, Grandie," she says, putting the grin along with the eyeroll into her voice because he's not looking at her anyway. "Thanks." She sets down the lantern for a second and ties the kerchief over her mouth and nose.
"We'll get the blocks off the windows later," he says. "Right now I just want to check out the structural integrity, see what we need to do. Find out what's here. Make a rough category list."
"And I get to help," she says, excited.
He laughs. "You'll make a darn good storyteller one of these days, kiddo. You have the curiosity for it. None of the craft, yet, but that'll come. Okay, you have all your stuff?"
"Yes, Grandie," she says again, patting her tool belt to make sure. "Where do you want me to start?"
"May as well take this floor," he says, waving away to the left where the cavernous space fades into darkness. To their right, some kind of brick monolith looms. "The stairs used to be over thataway on the right. I'll see if I can get the door open. Tell me when you finish up!"
"Yes, Grandie!" she calls over her shoulder, heading through the open space, back toward where the shadows of bookshelves reflect her lantern's little sphere of light.
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Well done. :)
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AHEM MORE IMPORTANTLY.
I very much enjoyed this- what it had to say about stories and memories, and how it exists as a story itself (cute kid is cuuuuute). I would be happy to read more.
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(seriously did you write this just for me it feels like you did)
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I HAVE NO IDEA. The universe is infinitely weird? ;D ESPECIALLY AROUND US. *hi-fives*
(I know part of it comes from how I was spending ALL my free time at my uni library because I had no home internet and also libraries are awesome, and part of it from how I was so unhappy at work that I'd wake up in the morning and think "hey, what if there was an infrastructure-frying solar storm in the night and I didn't have to go in to work?" And then I did all this worldbuilding analysis on the solar storm idea and... I kind of love postapocalyptic rebuilding stories, okay? *g*)
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