Thursday 14 January 2010

#FridayFlash. Before Dark

Emboldened by promises that there are no rules on FridayFlash, I've condensed a story that is a lot longer, but unfinished. Not sure if it works, particularly the end. So, let me know (I can take critique!)


The children come to me at sunset. Their chores done for the day, they rest at my feet, the younger ones tussling to sit on my lap. I am always scrupulously fair, I monitor lap usage closely: noone is ever cheated out of their turn. When they are all settled, they beg me, “Tell us a story, Grandma”, and, remembering how my own grandmother used to do the same for me, I am happy to oblige.

I always have to begin the same way, I am not allowed to get a word wrong: The way out of Eden was dusty, the road was stony as the darkness fell around them. They turned back for one last look at the garden they had left behind, to see a brilliant flame of white that dazzled their eyes. There was no way back: an angel guarded the path... Their eyes are round with anticipation, they huddle closer to each other. I don’t know why I tell them these old tales, but somehow I find it comforting to link them to my past, and they always seem appreciative. Sometimes, though they don’t want a story, but to hear about when I was small. So I get out the faded photographs and show them the pictures of my grandmother, older than I am now, looking half my age. There I am with my mother, a little girl in a pink dress. I tell them of the cities that stayed awake all night, the stars blotted out by the yellow and orange lights, the silence shattered by the noise of cars and people shouting. I tell them of the sweet shops of my childhood, where I could choose from twenty different types of confectionary. How you could type into a computer and be in contact with the whole world. How, once, people even went to the moon. But they, who have known only this small farming community - white crofter’s cottages, nestling between grey-green mountains and brown cliffs - cannot imagine such miracles. I can see in their eyes, that my past is as mythical to them as Adam and Eve.

Their mothers come and collect them at bedtime, leaving me to the encroaching darkness. Our generator has enough energy to give us an hour’s grace before nightfall. On warm nights I'll  sit out on my porch just gazing at the sky, the stars visible in their millions. Out here it has always been possible to see them: white flickering flames from long dead supernovas, each one reminding me of the people I’ve left behind. It is overwhelming sometimes, but I have had to get used to feeling this alone. What has gone, has been gone thirty years.

I’m one of the lucky ones, I know. To have survived. To have found my way here. To have married a good man and had his children. To have the satisfaction of knowing that one day my descendants may be numbered like the stars. And yet, on these starlit nights, I can’t help but long for the sensation of silk sheets on my bed. For a day at the spa to soothe my weary bones. For the touch of the lover I still dream of at night. I stay outside till the chill seeps under my skin, sending me shivering indoors to my itchy hemp-sheeted bed. I will sleep till dawn and another day's work. Once, that meant a ride on the tube to an open-plan air-conditioned office. Days creating persuasive designs to sell junk to eager buyers, interspersed with latte and long lunches. Now, though my curved back excuses me of the heavier duties,  I am required to look after little ones, cook for the workers, draw the water from the pump.

This place is hard in the winter. The food is scarce and each year my body fails me a little bit more. There cannot be many years left to me. I should count each one as a blessing and enjoy the pleasures that are left: the brightness of children, the wind in my hair, the stars in the sky. And yet, sitting here in the darkness, it seems too much to ask. All, I can do,then, is survive, as I have always done. To prepare myself for another day.

There is no way back: an angel guards the path.

14 comments:

Skycycler said...

Lovely prose Virginia. I like the lapsarian pioneer feel you've created and the textual references to the Abrahamic religions: "...To have the satisfaction of knowing that one day my descendants may be numbered like the stars". And in an English setting? Something powerful and unsettling has happened here. I like the negotiations the Grandma makes with herself. Thanks for sharing this.
~Simon.

Marisa Birns said...

Oh, you've done very well with your first #fridayflash piece! Welcome.

Very good first paragraph...captures interest. Lovely prose throughout the story, and the ending is perfect!

Thank you.

Anonymous said...

WOW, beautifully written.
drew me in write from the beginning.

Lily Mulholland said...

Nice set-up for this story, although I think you might want to take a closer look at the structure of this sentence:

"When they are all settled, they beg me, “Tell us a story, Grandma”, and, remembering how my own grandmother used to do the same for me, I am happy to oblige."

Too many parts, too much punctuation to read smoothly. Also you can drop the 'me' from the sentence - it's redundant! I loved the use of 'tussling' in the first sentence - great verb choice!

Welcome to the #fridayflash gang - all very supportive and encouraging :)

Anne Booth said...

I really liked this story Virginia. It was beautifully written and intriguing. You are a very good writer. Are you entering it into the Mslexia competition? I can't remmber the length they ask for.

Anonymous said...

I really like your take on this. When it started, I was imagining a past. When it was revealed it was a future setting and that our present was the past, I was very pleasantly surprised. I'd really like to see this world in a longer piece -- it's very intriguing! Well done!

David Masters said...

I particularly liked the ending. Your weaving of biblical creation stories with murmurs of a climate-change apocalypse works well, and makes the ending especially powerful.

We need more writers brave enough to imagine the future post-peak oil. This is a call to take up pens.

I agree with all the other comments too, you write beautifully.

Anne Tyler Lord said...

Beautiful story and welcome to Friday Flash!

I like the idea of a simpler future, even if there is hard work, it seems more connected to a grounded life.

I enjoyed this! Would like to hear more of your work.

Virginia Moffatt said...

Thanks very much for the encouragement folks - what a nice bunch #FridayFlash people are.

You're absolutely right about that sentence, Cascade Lily, doesn't exactly trip off the tongue. I'll look at next time I work on this piece...

Carrie Clevenger said...

I echo Ditty's comment about the surprise was the future is the past is the future, oh my. A decadent delight of old woven tapestries...yes I think it worked quite well.

mazzz in Leeds said...

Very good piece, welcome to #fridayflash!

I liked the ending very much indeed.

One minor point: "no one" rather than "noone", maybe?

CJ Hodges MacFarlane said...

Very well done. Reminiscent of Octavia E. Butler, if you are familiar with her works.

Unknown said...

Another lovely piece V. It work's well. Although did you mean 'an hour's grace AFTER nightfall' rather than before nightfall? Keep these pieces coming. Jx

Virginia Moffatt said...

Thank you Carrie, Mazz and CJ Hodges-McFarlane. Hope you'll come again...

And nice to hear from you Janine, spot on as usual!