The exercise:
Write about: the snare.
I picked some apples for a local order this morning, along with a zucchini and cantaloupe for a friend Kat was meeting up with at the park. While I was out there I noticed that there were still some strawberries being produced by our everbearing plants, so I grabbed some of those to send along for the kids to enjoy. And the parents, I suppose.
I should maybe have another look at those plants on Friday, see if there's enough out there to make a pint or two for the market.
Max spent the afternoon with Natalie and Becky's mom. Her 'other' grandma is here for a long visit and it's nice to see that he's getting more comfortable with her. Particularly when it lets Kat and I have an afternoon together.
Mine:
"Check the traps."
That's my job now. I go out at daybreak and collect what's to be collected, if anything. Reset any snares that need resetting. I do it all again after dinner.
I prefer my morning rounds. Something about the peace and quiet of early morning. Plus I don't feel rushed, like I'm racing against darkness like I am on my evening checks. I do not want to be caught outside of camp by the setting sun.
Nobody does.
This has not always been my role. This isn't what I did growing up. No, in the city there wasn't much need for catching small animals. Well, animals of any size, really. Not unless you were some kind of sicko.
But the end of times has a funny way of changing the course of a young man's life, I guess. Take away his comfortable home. Steal his technology. Kill off his friends and family.
Life can get pretty hard.
I'm one of the fortunate ones. To have a community like this. We look out for each other. Keep each other safe. Keep each other alive.
Sure, none of us are doing anything like what we did before. But before doesn't exist anymore. There is only this. This... survival. So we all do what we have to do to get through each and every day.
Me? I check the traps.
3 comments:
So innocent and sweetly smiling
Just a little flirtation,
Work buddies, a dinner date
Now he's in deep
She controls his every move
Milking him for affection and his bank accounts for money.
@Morganna: that's both sweet and chilling at the same time; I started off thinking that the poem was much more romantic and postiive than it turned out to be! Excellent work turning the tables like that, I really enjoyed reading it :)
@Marc: those strawberry plants are making Herculean efforts for you! Are they the ones you're planning on replacing? But I'm sure people at the market would love to see fresh strawberries in September.
Your story is a little more obviously bleak today, though I think there's slightly more hope in there than Morganna's poem leaves room for :) I am quite fascinated by the change of circumstances that are described, especially the idea that the technology was 'stolen' rather than lost or destroyed. This feels like it needs to be developed and expanded into something larger :)
The snare
"Check the traps."
I curse softly under my breath because I've already done this and Joey is just making work for me while he flirts with Stephanie on the side of the stage. The entire crew have been debating for the last two evenings whether to tell him that Stephanie used to be Stephen and is still saving up the money for the operation, but the consensus so far is that it's up to her to do that. I feel a little sorry for the poor girl, as I've got a good idea what Joey will do when he finds out, but... well, my mother always used to say that you can't live someone else's life for them. Not that that stopped her from trying.
Back to the traps; trap sets, for those of you who don't know, are the percussion instruments that are set up for drummers to use, and we've got three set up for the battle of the bands this evening. They're mounted on a revolving platform so that a drummer can get set up while the the band ahead are playing, and can disengage themselves while the next band are on and setting up. Two of them are normal, but The Addis Ababa Experience, have asked for a set of tubular pipes to be included in their equipment; I had to spend a good three hours sanding the rust off them. I'll be finding them a less damp home after this show.
I glance over the kits again, pretty cursory because I sat down and played through a couple of exercises (plus YYZ for the exercise and because I know Joey hates Rush) and it's all looking fine.
Something catches my eye, and I turn back, looking again. The top of the snare drum on the back kit is... glowing?
A finger taps me on the shoulder and a voice in my ear says, "I'm the demon of the drumkits, and you're earned yourself three wishes...."
Morganna - I'm with Greg on this one. That's some great misdirection at the start, and the ending packs a powerful punch.
Greg - no, these were planted last year. They produce for most of the season but the berries tend to be much nicer later in the season than when the June bearing plants are going. So I tend to forget about them.
Thank you. I will add it to my rather lengthy list of things I need to expand on :)
I have to say your ending was equally unexpected. Also: I am quite fond of the title 'demon of the drumkits'. I feel like he would have some interesting stories to tell.
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