003. Strangers
Title: Strangers
Rating: PG, maybe.
Words: 809
She was with her Mum in the candy shop, trying to decide between peanut butter and caramel, when the smell caught everyone’s attention. They smelled it before they saw it, and were still in that in-between stage, not knowing if it were a barbeque or if they should worry, when an older girl, a teenager, saw the small crowd - Ginny and her mum, the shop owner, three boys a few years older than Ginny - making their way hesitantly toward the door, glancing at each other, asking silently “What is it?” and rushed in. Her face was black, she was coughing and crying. “The school,” she said. “The school is on fire.”
“Oh sweet Jesus” said the shop owner, a nice lady who always wore pastels and decorated aprons, who smiled sweetly every time the bell on the jangled to warn her someone was entering the shop. “The pageant…the Easter pageant - how many children are there?”
The girl didn’t answer. “My brother- Danny-” Her voice cracked. “I was in the washroom. They made me leave. I shouldn’t have left. Please, will you help? It’s on fire!”
Ginny hadn’t noticed her mum move, but suddenly Molly had her arms around this stranger. “It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright,” she said, and the girl’s sobs lessened just a bit. “Show me where the school is.” Blond plaits wagged as the girl nodded, and Molly turned. “Ginny, come on. Hurry, now.”
Outside, the smell had already seeped into everything, but now they could see it, too. It was grey and looming in the sky, covering everything. Red flames licked the windows of the brick building, and people milled all around, some watching, some trying to help, some arguing, some holding children close to their sides and weeping. Water sprayed forth from spigots but though more white steam rose up, the flames didn’t seem to fall. “I’m going to see what I can do, alright?” Ginny’s mum asked. “Watch Ginny, won’t you?”
The girl nodded, glancing at Ginny in that moment, her eyes wide but almost unseeing. Like she hadn’t noticed this strange woman’s daughter. Like she didn’t even know she was agreeing to something. Like Ginny was something foreign, odd, unreal. The girl looked away, though, staring again at the red and orange and black that wasn’t black, but that’s what everyone says smoke looks like, even though it’s not true, and Ginny couldn't be sure. The smoke was grey and blue and thin, nearly imperceptible though it was all around them, making Ginny’s lungs ache and itch. Sure, the smoke right above the crimson brick was dark and thick, but that wasn’t how she saw it. Not from her meter-high vantage point.
It looked like death; the tendrils of smoke curling around them all, in their mouths and throats, holding them back, holding them still. It looked like tragedy; people running forward, getting pushed back, crying and screaming and reaching out. It looked like loss; red hair that was really more orange (Ginny never understood why they called it red; they called blood red, too, and her mum’s hair didn’t look anything like blood) getting further and further away, harder to see through the smoke that pricked her eyes. It looked like emptiness, even though there was noise all around, an acoustic blur of shouts and calls and hollers and whispers and crackles and rushes.
“Your name’s Ginny?” said the girl, and Ginny turned, surprised to be acknowledged. She nodded. “I’m Joan.” The words were awkward, hollow; Ginny faked a smile, since she wasn’t sure what to say, or if to say anything. Joan seemed to accept the plastic grin, and kept talking. Probably trying to keep herself sane, but Ginny didn’t know it; she just listened to empty words while a confused expression scrunched up her forehead freckles.
“My brother’s name is Danny. Do you have any brothers?”
Ginny nodded. “Lots. Ron, ‘n Fred ‘n George, ‘n Percy, ‘n Charlie, ‘n-” She cut off, as Joan’s lip began to tremble.
“I- I dunno what I would do if I l- lo- lost Danny. M- my mum lives in London, and my dad’s at w- work. He has to come out!” The older girl was sobbing now, and Ginny patted her hand in a comforting fashion, unable to envelop her like her mum had. She wondered, though, silently, how somebody could lose a brother. ...It wasn’t as if they were invisible, or quiet. And what about dinner? Even if they were gone for a little while, they always came home for dinner. Ginny patted Joan’s hand, and bobbed from foot to foot, all the while looking through the smoke for her mum. Her mum would be back soon, she knew. Back soon, and then they could go home, to family and comfort and none of these strange people crying for silly reasons.
Rating: PG, maybe.
Words: 809
She was with her Mum in the candy shop, trying to decide between peanut butter and caramel, when the smell caught everyone’s attention. They smelled it before they saw it, and were still in that in-between stage, not knowing if it were a barbeque or if they should worry, when an older girl, a teenager, saw the small crowd - Ginny and her mum, the shop owner, three boys a few years older than Ginny - making their way hesitantly toward the door, glancing at each other, asking silently “What is it?” and rushed in. Her face was black, she was coughing and crying. “The school,” she said. “The school is on fire.”
“Oh sweet Jesus” said the shop owner, a nice lady who always wore pastels and decorated aprons, who smiled sweetly every time the bell on the jangled to warn her someone was entering the shop. “The pageant…the Easter pageant - how many children are there?”
The girl didn’t answer. “My brother- Danny-” Her voice cracked. “I was in the washroom. They made me leave. I shouldn’t have left. Please, will you help? It’s on fire!”
Ginny hadn’t noticed her mum move, but suddenly Molly had her arms around this stranger. “It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright,” she said, and the girl’s sobs lessened just a bit. “Show me where the school is.” Blond plaits wagged as the girl nodded, and Molly turned. “Ginny, come on. Hurry, now.”
Outside, the smell had already seeped into everything, but now they could see it, too. It was grey and looming in the sky, covering everything. Red flames licked the windows of the brick building, and people milled all around, some watching, some trying to help, some arguing, some holding children close to their sides and weeping. Water sprayed forth from spigots but though more white steam rose up, the flames didn’t seem to fall. “I’m going to see what I can do, alright?” Ginny’s mum asked. “Watch Ginny, won’t you?”
The girl nodded, glancing at Ginny in that moment, her eyes wide but almost unseeing. Like she hadn’t noticed this strange woman’s daughter. Like she didn’t even know she was agreeing to something. Like Ginny was something foreign, odd, unreal. The girl looked away, though, staring again at the red and orange and black that wasn’t black, but that’s what everyone says smoke looks like, even though it’s not true, and Ginny couldn't be sure. The smoke was grey and blue and thin, nearly imperceptible though it was all around them, making Ginny’s lungs ache and itch. Sure, the smoke right above the crimson brick was dark and thick, but that wasn’t how she saw it. Not from her meter-high vantage point.
It looked like death; the tendrils of smoke curling around them all, in their mouths and throats, holding them back, holding them still. It looked like tragedy; people running forward, getting pushed back, crying and screaming and reaching out. It looked like loss; red hair that was really more orange (Ginny never understood why they called it red; they called blood red, too, and her mum’s hair didn’t look anything like blood) getting further and further away, harder to see through the smoke that pricked her eyes. It looked like emptiness, even though there was noise all around, an acoustic blur of shouts and calls and hollers and whispers and crackles and rushes.
“Your name’s Ginny?” said the girl, and Ginny turned, surprised to be acknowledged. She nodded. “I’m Joan.” The words were awkward, hollow; Ginny faked a smile, since she wasn’t sure what to say, or if to say anything. Joan seemed to accept the plastic grin, and kept talking. Probably trying to keep herself sane, but Ginny didn’t know it; she just listened to empty words while a confused expression scrunched up her forehead freckles.
“My brother’s name is Danny. Do you have any brothers?”
Ginny nodded. “Lots. Ron, ‘n Fred ‘n George, ‘n Percy, ‘n Charlie, ‘n-” She cut off, as Joan’s lip began to tremble.
“I- I dunno what I would do if I l- lo- lost Danny. M- my mum lives in London, and my dad’s at w- work. He has to come out!” The older girl was sobbing now, and Ginny patted her hand in a comforting fashion, unable to envelop her like her mum had. She wondered, though, silently, how somebody could lose a brother. ...It wasn’t as if they were invisible, or quiet. And what about dinner? Even if they were gone for a little while, they always came home for dinner. Ginny patted Joan’s hand, and bobbed from foot to foot, all the while looking through the smoke for her mum. Her mum would be back soon, she knew. Back soon, and then they could go home, to family and comfort and none of these strange people crying for silly reasons.