Liar
I ought to be working on school,
Or at least active requests.
Most sunsets are dull. Dusty, perhaps with the merest tint of orange and pink clinging close to the horizon. And yet, though the light is mangled by smog, and the breeze is too sticky to be fresh, Centenaria Charles still spends every evening staring into the molten disc of the sun as it disappears. She buries her feet in the wet sand at the edge of the coast line, and lets the water wash across her ankles, stinking of filth but still open to the sea.
Occasionally, she sees the ocean animals playing in the waves, but not tonight. Tonight, everything is strange.
The air is still, as though a storm is approaching, and the bloody horizon seems to bear that thought out. The the pierces the strange humidity seems wet in its own right, covering everything in the same vivid shades of red and orange. The whole of the world seems tinted, as though the end of days has arrived. But, of course, that would be silly superstition.
Even the baby in her too-wide stomach is still. His restless kicks are calmed, perhaps by the oppressive heat. The only motion is the constant wash of waves upon the shore. Splashing on her ankles in a spray that bears too much resemblance to blood.
The arrival of another body, settling into the empty sand behind her own, should startle her out of her reverie. No one has ever approach her during this time before. But, like her unborn child, Centenaria is too trapped by the heavy serenity of the moments to complain.
It is a woman, older by perhaps ten years than she is. Perhaps, in normal light, her hair would be some bleached shade, but at this moment, it too appears as dark and dangerous as as anything else. Her face seems burnt, and Centenaria thinks it might actually be red in plain light, as well. Her features are soft and rounded in the way that only a comfortably raised Anglo can achieve.
The woman's eyes are wide, searching Centenaria's face as well. But whatever she is looking for, as the sun sinks low, she does not find it.
The red is gone, now, replaced with shades of grey and blue. Her hair is still impossibly bright, as she moves a bare arm out, to touch the round stomach. Finally, Centenaria flinches. The calm of the strange sunset is ebbing away with the tide. But, people have been grabbing at her stomach for months now. It is not unusual, and she is not yet frightened.
"E'll be lovely. Is Mother's eyes, but not yours, my dearest friend. Does 'e 'ave a name, yet?" She recognizes the voice, but only because the accent is so foreign, and so much like her own father's. She misses her parents now, more than she ever has before.
"Daniel."
The woman shakes her head. "No, no. He will not like that." She smiled then, and her eyes drifted far away, as though recalling some long ago memory. "But if you must have your Danny, call him Dananjay. Do that for me, old friend?"
And then, she stood, and walked away. Her feet slipping silently through the wet sand as she followed the line of the shore.
Even the water seems silent, for a moment, as the strange woman's silhouette disappears along the curve of the coast. And then, the baby moves once more, finally awakened from his nap. Centenaria flinches as he stretches, crushing some part of her that isn't his to touch, and hauls her own body roughly vertical. She wants to sleep, to forget this strange sunset and the weird woman who has, somehow, named her child.
Or at least active requests.
Most sunsets are dull. Dusty, perhaps with the merest tint of orange and pink clinging close to the horizon. And yet, though the light is mangled by smog, and the breeze is too sticky to be fresh, Centenaria Charles still spends every evening staring into the molten disc of the sun as it disappears. She buries her feet in the wet sand at the edge of the coast line, and lets the water wash across her ankles, stinking of filth but still open to the sea.
Occasionally, she sees the ocean animals playing in the waves, but not tonight. Tonight, everything is strange.
The air is still, as though a storm is approaching, and the bloody horizon seems to bear that thought out. The the pierces the strange humidity seems wet in its own right, covering everything in the same vivid shades of red and orange. The whole of the world seems tinted, as though the end of days has arrived. But, of course, that would be silly superstition.
Even the baby in her too-wide stomach is still. His restless kicks are calmed, perhaps by the oppressive heat. The only motion is the constant wash of waves upon the shore. Splashing on her ankles in a spray that bears too much resemblance to blood.
The arrival of another body, settling into the empty sand behind her own, should startle her out of her reverie. No one has ever approach her during this time before. But, like her unborn child, Centenaria is too trapped by the heavy serenity of the moments to complain.
It is a woman, older by perhaps ten years than she is. Perhaps, in normal light, her hair would be some bleached shade, but at this moment, it too appears as dark and dangerous as as anything else. Her face seems burnt, and Centenaria thinks it might actually be red in plain light, as well. Her features are soft and rounded in the way that only a comfortably raised Anglo can achieve.
The woman's eyes are wide, searching Centenaria's face as well. But whatever she is looking for, as the sun sinks low, she does not find it.
The red is gone, now, replaced with shades of grey and blue. Her hair is still impossibly bright, as she moves a bare arm out, to touch the round stomach. Finally, Centenaria flinches. The calm of the strange sunset is ebbing away with the tide. But, people have been grabbing at her stomach for months now. It is not unusual, and she is not yet frightened.
"E'll be lovely. Is Mother's eyes, but not yours, my dearest friend. Does 'e 'ave a name, yet?" She recognizes the voice, but only because the accent is so foreign, and so much like her own father's. She misses her parents now, more than she ever has before.
"Daniel."
The woman shakes her head. "No, no. He will not like that." She smiled then, and her eyes drifted far away, as though recalling some long ago memory. "But if you must have your Danny, call him Dananjay. Do that for me, old friend?"
And then, she stood, and walked away. Her feet slipping silently through the wet sand as she followed the line of the shore.
Even the water seems silent, for a moment, as the strange woman's silhouette disappears along the curve of the coast. And then, the baby moves once more, finally awakened from his nap. Centenaria flinches as he stretches, crushing some part of her that isn't his to touch, and hauls her own body roughly vertical. She wants to sleep, to forget this strange sunset and the weird woman who has, somehow, named her child.