brigit's flame - june: week 1, "fugue refugee"
A short one-shot for BF's June contest. Wrapping my mind around this prompt (Fugue, Refugee) was hard. Let's hope the following weeks become a lot easier. :)
Awakening face down in a field of flowers that smell of ash and iron, ears throbbing with drones of thunder, she digs fingers into dirt. Brittle nails claw dry cypress needles.
Days of wandering evaporate strength from her limbs. Acid burns her throat. Her stomach twists and tightens. She flops on her back, body trembling when smoke expands in her lungs.
She watches as flaming metal cuts the clouds. Like asteroids falling to earth, wherever they touch will burn.
There is scuffling. She turns her head to see a girl, her cheeks smeared with dirt. The sky throws shadows against her too angled figure, casting hollows as bones flex painfully beneath skin. Her hair is clumped with resin. When she smiles, her bottom lip splits and bleeds.
The girl meanders like a common house fly, swaying as though the weight is too much for her ankles to bear. She drops to her knees, air popping from her joints, and retrieves a slung canteen from her shoulder. With shaky hands, she pours water into the lying woman’s mouth.
She asks to be called Lillz, saying she needs a friend to reach high places. Wasting no time, she untwists a handkerchief and reveals lumps of stale biscuit. The grin never leaves her face.
Lillz treads the perimeter of an abandoned home. The doors are boarded shut. She slows at the sight of bush husks and peels them away. Barbs prick her fingers. She doesn’t stop, but shouts in glee when the tangles are gone, revealing a rusted vent.
“I knew it was here!” Lillz grabs a stick and works it beneath the screws, popping them off one by one. “Follow me.” She crawls inside, small enough to fit between the aluminum sheeting.
The woman bangs her shoulders against the siding as she clanks through the vent. When she emerges, Lillz is studying labels behind glass. An electric hum fills the room. Lillz presses her cheek against the surface. “It’s cold. We’re lucky.”
She asks how Lillz knew about this place, why they’re here.
Lillz looks away and motions to a handle she can’t reach. “Can you?” The woman opens the door. Lillz pulls out silver cans and deftly cracks one open. Her shoulder blades knot beneath worn shirt fabric; she pauses to pick at the tab.
“Mum showed me. Sometimes the food trucks don’t come for a while, or they get lost along the way. But we still need to eat.”
She takes in the girl’s sleight frame and asks her age.
“I’m eleven, I think. We stopped celebrating years ago.”
Her family?
Lillz shakes her head. “I don’t have siblings. Dad died when I was a baby-in the wars. He was Navy.” She tips her head back and takes a gulp.
The woman reaches for a can and runs her fingers along the rim. She looks around. They’re in a modernized kitchen that’s smeared with grease and soot: signs of abandonment. Walking to an opposing counter, she notices picture frames. First a man in uniform, then a mother and child.
She touches her face. Fingers shaking, she asks what happened to Lillz’ mother.
The girl takes a slow breath and throws out the can; her moves are instinctive. “I woke up one day and she was gone.”
What did her mother look like?
Lillz turns toward the woman, catching both their reflections in the glass door. Her hair is ragged and dirty blonde; the two have matching blue eyes. “A lot like you.”
Awakening face down in a field of flowers that smell of ash and iron, ears throbbing with drones of thunder, she digs fingers into dirt. Brittle nails claw dry cypress needles.
Days of wandering evaporate strength from her limbs. Acid burns her throat. Her stomach twists and tightens. She flops on her back, body trembling when smoke expands in her lungs.
She watches as flaming metal cuts the clouds. Like asteroids falling to earth, wherever they touch will burn.
There is scuffling. She turns her head to see a girl, her cheeks smeared with dirt. The sky throws shadows against her too angled figure, casting hollows as bones flex painfully beneath skin. Her hair is clumped with resin. When she smiles, her bottom lip splits and bleeds.
The girl meanders like a common house fly, swaying as though the weight is too much for her ankles to bear. She drops to her knees, air popping from her joints, and retrieves a slung canteen from her shoulder. With shaky hands, she pours water into the lying woman’s mouth.
She asks to be called Lillz, saying she needs a friend to reach high places. Wasting no time, she untwists a handkerchief and reveals lumps of stale biscuit. The grin never leaves her face.
Lillz treads the perimeter of an abandoned home. The doors are boarded shut. She slows at the sight of bush husks and peels them away. Barbs prick her fingers. She doesn’t stop, but shouts in glee when the tangles are gone, revealing a rusted vent.
“I knew it was here!” Lillz grabs a stick and works it beneath the screws, popping them off one by one. “Follow me.” She crawls inside, small enough to fit between the aluminum sheeting.
The woman bangs her shoulders against the siding as she clanks through the vent. When she emerges, Lillz is studying labels behind glass. An electric hum fills the room. Lillz presses her cheek against the surface. “It’s cold. We’re lucky.”
She asks how Lillz knew about this place, why they’re here.
Lillz looks away and motions to a handle she can’t reach. “Can you?” The woman opens the door. Lillz pulls out silver cans and deftly cracks one open. Her shoulder blades knot beneath worn shirt fabric; she pauses to pick at the tab.
“Mum showed me. Sometimes the food trucks don’t come for a while, or they get lost along the way. But we still need to eat.”
She takes in the girl’s sleight frame and asks her age.
“I’m eleven, I think. We stopped celebrating years ago.”
Her family?
Lillz shakes her head. “I don’t have siblings. Dad died when I was a baby-in the wars. He was Navy.” She tips her head back and takes a gulp.
The woman reaches for a can and runs her fingers along the rim. She looks around. They’re in a modernized kitchen that’s smeared with grease and soot: signs of abandonment. Walking to an opposing counter, she notices picture frames. First a man in uniform, then a mother and child.
She touches her face. Fingers shaking, she asks what happened to Lillz’ mother.
The girl takes a slow breath and throws out the can; her moves are instinctive. “I woke up one day and she was gone.”
What did her mother look like?
Lillz turns toward the woman, catching both their reflections in the glass door. Her hair is ragged and dirty blonde; the two have matching blue eyes. “A lot like you.”