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Prologue,
Mid-afternoon
He was walking, not marching, with a soldier-on-the-town amble. Private Jung was wearing one of his two sets of uniform, in the town, only two kilometres from the base. To the right was a bar that surely had some fellow soldiers inside; to his left an Inn, up ahead was a precious public fountain. A few people on the streets in this mid afternoon. A young girl was crossing the dusty street. One moon was in the sky. Jung ambled on, taking in the colours in the stores, the effect of the bright sun on glass and sandstone, noting how shadows were never black, not really. Walking on the right side of the street, Jung had lost track of the girl, when suddenly he turned and she bumped into him, head on. She looked so terrified at her error that his heart skipped.
“Hey,” he said gently, “Take it easy. You might hurt yourself.” She looked at him, big eyed and speechless. “I guess I’m not the only one who walks along in his own world. I was only looking at some coloured shadows. I missed seeing you.” The girl was probably about ten, tall for her age, long legged, and brown haired. “It’s all right.” For a second she seemed about to cry, for a second she relaxed into him, and in the next second she looked left and stiffened up again. She breathed, “sorry” and dashed across the street to what had to be, in Jung’s eyes, the origin of her terror.
A haggard weary-haired lady had no glance for Jung, only an intense reaching out to hold the girl’s wrist, to seem to twist it, and to lead the girl off. They went around a sandstone corner. Gone. Jung knew he would remember the girl, and her ghost of a hug, for a long time.
Prologue,
Morning
Sue was ten years old. It was light enough to see, and she came full awake. A new day. One of her shabby blankets had fallen aside, her bruised leg was on the floor beside her pallet, and she heard the sounds of carts hissing down the road on their rubber skirts. She sprang up, as girls do, but quietly, not daring to disturb her aunt—no use asking for fresh bruises. Aunt Scarlet would be another hour before creaking up from her raised mattress.
Sue put on her other dress, the one almost equally faded, but still a bit browner, and slipped into her blue shoes. Fastened the ankle strap just so. Then over and out the door to the water closet across the yard. Her “dog chaser stick” firm in her hand, as always.
Clouds were wispy. How beautiful, Sue thought. Walking back she always stopped to breath deep. Glanced around. No bird on the branch of the old tree. No cats in evidence. She went inside and over to her tablet, set on the rickety table she had found. Sue had to be ready for any chores when Auntie got up, but for now she could read about the Muppin twins, from a planet where twins happened.
…
…
Sean Crawford
looking at a blue manmade lake,
September 2021
Blog Notes: My old blog was rated as having low traffic and a strong global presence. The ratings now read 4/5 stars. “…excellent rank. Despite such a rank, the feed was last updated more than a year ago. The channel mostly uses long articles along with sentence constructions of the basic readability level, which is a result indicating a well-balanced textual content on the channel.”
That was nice, and I was translated into several languages, but life goes on. If Ziggy Stardust can become the Thin White Duke then I can change too. My new blog is always shorter (900 words or less) and, just now, is for posting fiction, mostly.
