drabble/The Smoke StackswritingfayMarch 9 2008, 17:49:16 UTC
Title: The Smoke Stacks By: Jaya Type: Original, drabble For: Symbiosis of Words Rating: PG Warning: None Word Count: 745 Blurb: The Smoke Stacks, are five islands just out from the city. They are so named for the four large factories on them and the large Stack's the belch out black smoke during most all hours of the day and night. Only on Rest day are they silent, or mostly silent. Feeder is the larger and hilly island that was not suitable for a factory. It is mainly used as an agricultural base to feed the factory workers, set up when it was realized just how much it would cost to bring in food for all the tenant workers. However, what was not anticipated was the effect the waste dumped from the factories would have all everything around them. On accident, it was discovered that, the seaweed growing in the sluggish muck around the largest factories had narcotic properties.
Slowly the true rolling wave of the ocean faded out as the dark silhouette of the smaller of the stack’s rose above him against the night sky. The sea no longer moved, as it should instead it was sluggish and heavy like a wallow. Dark shapes bobbled slowly on the surface and he shivered. The thought that some of them could very well be body parties always went through his mind. Trying not to look seemed to only draw his eyes back to the head like shapes, and he just managed to resist the urge to peer over the side of the small rowboat when it bumped up against something larger.
Gas lamps were nothing new among the Stack’s, as they were in the city. These islands never truly slept the noise and the light was present as was the dark smoke rising from the towers of their namesakes. Rowland slowed before locking the oars into place, his calloused hands resting lightly on their smooth wood. This was the part that he hated the most when the morbid curiosity to examine the muck in which the boat sat more closely, the waiting time.
At least the breeze was blowing in from the main land still, bringing with it the clean scent of sea and land. It would shift soon, and cover the landward side of the stacks in their reeking odder. Rowland couldn’t remember what it had been like to live without the underlying taste of metal and smoke in his mouth or what it had been like to drink water that wasn’t boiled first. His mother often complained about never being clean but the ever present grim was normal in Rowland’s world.
When the gas lamps had been put in, they’d only added to the layers of grim that cover every surface from the floor, to the walls and across the ceilings. What the original colors had been Rowland didn’t know, he wasn’t sure anyone knew. Everything was a variety of grays now, growing progressively darker as the creeping dirt continued to infiltrate and re-explore its territory. Guests often came wearing white petticoats or shirtsleeves, his mother laughed at them saying they’d never come clean again. She often wondered how many skirts the women whose husbands, brothers, or lovers had been exiled to the Stack’s from the city, threw away after each visit.
Re: drabble/The Smoke StackswritingfayMarch 9 2008, 17:49:23 UTC
A flash of a shuttered lantern caught Rowland’s gaze, and his knew Charlotte had arrived. He watched intently now, until the all clear was given. Relaxing minutely, he rowed in towards the shore until the prow of the small craft crushed up into the sand. Tossing Charlotte the rope, she tied it off as he leapt onto the beach careful to avoid the slow lap of the tainted sea.
Briefly, his sister hugged him, they exchanged a whispered greetings and important news. There was enough light to see and Charlotte left the lantern near the stump the boat was secured to.
“Did you bring the coins?” Charlotte asked when she was satisfied with all he’d told her. Her keen eyes were dark in the night, but he could see the gleam in them.
“Here,” pulling the small bag from his pocket, Rowland handed it over, “How soon can you arrange it?”
“End day is best, everyone tired from working and eager for Rest day,” She fingered the coins before they disappeared somewhere into the simple skirts she’d hiked up to keep them from getting wet in the grass that rolled up and away from the beach towards the factory.
“Send word if, that does not work. I’ll tell father to assume End day, if we hear nothing.”
Charlotte nodded, glancing up at the sky, “Patrol will be coming through soon, go home.”
Leaning in Rowland kissed her on the cheek lightly, jumping carefully back into the boat, he caught the rope she threw him and pushed off with an oar. Their eyes held for a few moments before Charlotte turned purposefully away. Turning his mind and his body to the task of rowing the boat through the flotilla of waste, Rowland mostly kept himself from thinking too much, about what was beneath him. At last, the boat began to move as it was supposed to and Rowland made for home, Feeder. The large but hilly island was included among the Stack’s, and provided a great part of the food for those who worked in the four factories on the flatter islands.
By: Jaya
Type: Original, drabble
For: Symbiosis of Words
Rating: PG
Warning: None
Word Count: 745
Blurb: The Smoke Stacks, are five islands just out from the city. They are so named for the four large factories on them and the large Stack's the belch out black smoke during most all hours of the day and night. Only on Rest day are they silent, or mostly silent. Feeder is the larger and hilly island that was not suitable for a factory. It is mainly used as an agricultural base to feed the factory workers, set up when it was realized just how much it would cost to bring in food for all the tenant workers.
However, what was not anticipated was the effect the waste dumped from the factories would have all everything around them. On accident, it was discovered that, the seaweed growing in the sluggish muck around the largest factories had narcotic properties.
Slowly the true rolling wave of the ocean faded out as the dark silhouette of the smaller of the stack’s rose above him against the night sky. The sea no longer moved, as it should instead it was sluggish and heavy like a wallow. Dark shapes bobbled slowly on the surface and he shivered. The thought that some of them could very well be body parties always went through his mind. Trying not to look seemed to only draw his eyes back to the head like shapes, and he just managed to resist the urge to peer over the side of the small rowboat when it bumped up against something larger.
Gas lamps were nothing new among the Stack’s, as they were in the city. These islands never truly slept the noise and the light was present as was the dark smoke rising from the towers of their namesakes. Rowland slowed before locking the oars into place, his calloused hands resting lightly on their smooth wood. This was the part that he hated the most when the morbid curiosity to examine the muck in which the boat sat more closely, the waiting time.
At least the breeze was blowing in from the main land still, bringing with it the clean scent of sea and land. It would shift soon, and cover the landward side of the stacks in their reeking odder. Rowland couldn’t remember what it had been like to live without the underlying taste of metal and smoke in his mouth or what it had been like to drink water that wasn’t boiled first. His mother often complained about never being clean but the ever present grim was normal in Rowland’s world.
When the gas lamps had been put in, they’d only added to the layers of grim that cover every surface from the floor, to the walls and across the ceilings. What the original colors had been Rowland didn’t know, he wasn’t sure anyone knew. Everything was a variety of grays now, growing progressively darker as the creeping dirt continued to infiltrate and re-explore its territory. Guests often came wearing white petticoats or shirtsleeves, his mother laughed at them saying they’d never come clean again. She often wondered how many skirts the women whose husbands, brothers, or lovers had been exiled to the Stack’s from the city, threw away after each visit.
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Briefly, his sister hugged him, they exchanged a whispered greetings and important news. There was enough light to see and Charlotte left the lantern near the stump the boat was secured to.
“Did you bring the coins?” Charlotte asked when she was satisfied with all he’d told her. Her keen eyes were dark in the night, but he could see the gleam in them.
“Here,” pulling the small bag from his pocket, Rowland handed it over, “How soon can you arrange it?”
“End day is best, everyone tired from working and eager for Rest day,” She fingered the coins before they disappeared somewhere into the simple skirts she’d hiked up to keep them from getting wet in the grass that rolled up and away from the beach towards the factory.
“Send word if, that does not work. I’ll tell father to assume End day, if we hear nothing.”
Charlotte nodded, glancing up at the sky, “Patrol will be coming through soon, go home.”
Leaning in Rowland kissed her on the cheek lightly, jumping carefully back into the boat, he caught the rope she threw him and pushed off with an oar. Their eyes held for a few moments before Charlotte turned purposefully away. Turning his mind and his body to the task of rowing the boat through the flotilla of waste, Rowland mostly kept himself from thinking too much, about what was beneath him. At last, the boat began to move as it was supposed to and Rowland made for home, Feeder. The large but hilly island was included among the Stack’s, and provided a great part of the food for those who worked in the four factories on the flatter islands.
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