(This was done on a dare from a friend. I own none of the characters which follow. I give all credit to the awesome members of Steam Powered Giraffe for giving me the inspiration. It is a work in progress even though it's listed as 'complete', so any pointed-out typos, adjustements, suggestions, corrections, etc., I would be happy to recieve. Thank you. )
The sky was a clear blue, cloudless and the hue of cornflowers from horizon to horizon. The sun a golden illumination high overhead, pouring down warmth and making the rippling waves of tropical blue-green shimmer, the occasional shadow slipping through the unearthly clarity. A sinuous black-bodied shark sliding serpentine in pursuit of an ever-shifting cloud that turned from a large dark blot to a hundred tiny points scurrying in all directions. In the shallows little fish fed from a dainty hand held just at the level of the water. A noise, a hissing sort of sound, high-pitched and faint, but somehow very wrong, brought the owner of that hand to lift her head. Long strands of deep coppery brown hung down across her back and breasts. She dove forward, the sun glinting off of the aquamarine scales of her tail as she set herself zooming forward along the lagoon's edge to where the soft sand of the shore gave way to large iron gray rock at the island's edge, thick with ferns and wild trees. She drug herself up onto a flat stone at the water's edge, humming to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair, basking in the warmth of the sun against her flesh. Behind her, she could hear the rustle of wild beasts and birds set to flight as that hiss sounded again, louder this time. She turned quickly see a great black ape swinging through the vine draped branches his cry high pitched and sharp, a piercing sound akin like metal grinding upon metal, that made her dive off of her rock in fear.
THUMP.
She cracked open one eye to get her bearings. She lay with her cheek against the hard wood of her bedroom floor. Her legs had become twisted tightly in the sheets, which still were tucked in at the foot of her bed, which served as both blessing and curse. IT had spared her from falling completely out of bed, but pulling herself up and extricating herself proved a little harder. As she lay half way out of the bed, another screech rose. Awake now, she recognized it as the brakes of a train. Not that unusual, but certainly it had taken her from a very pleasant dream. A glance at the clock on the wall marked it had was thirty-seven minutes past three in the morning. Too early to rise for the day, too late to think she would easily fall back to sleep again. A glance toward the other bed, wondering if the noise had woke Hazel, but no, the form within was still slumbering. Curiosity brought her to the window, which allowed a very good view of the western horizon and the distant town. Not of where the train had gone though. To do so, she had to open it and lean out a bit. It was not often trains stopped here, especially at so late an hour. She could see the white cloud of steam and hear the grind of metal, though this was less a sound of stopping, and more a sound of something starting up. A glowing cyan cloud spread out as the steam from the engine cooled and settled like fog across the scene, making it impossible to see anything clearly. More lights appeared, casting shadows in the mist of people and shapes far too large to be human milling about. She sat, perched on her windowsill, fascinated for several minutes. Eventually, the train's engine began to chug again and it pulled away and vanished into the darkness. The cloud settled. the lights fading, and the noises faded to a barely audible sound of hammer to steel.
"Mary Evelyn Mickleson! You come away from that window this instant!" her sister hissed from her side of their bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, her neatly bobbed hair tied beneath her kerchief to keep it from getting rumpled in the night. She held the blankets up against her neck. "What if someone should see you, hanging out there in your nightgown." she dropped her voice to a barely audible, but wholly disgusted whisper. "People will think you're some kind of... dollymop!"
Mary turned and gave her sister a look that spoke volumes of how ridiculous that accusation was. Who'd be out at this far from town, searching their house for whores doing business? She also wanted to point out that it would be a sadly desperate sort of drunkard who'd even consider her worth the propositioning, but she didn't want to start an argument. "Fine." She'd not mention what had drawn her attention, as it pleased her to have that for herself, if only for now.
She harumphed and wriggled down into the covers as though it were mid-January and not a balmy August. "Letting in the cold night air like that, we'll catch our deaths." Turning her back on her sister, she jerked the covers up so hard the other end slid up to her knees and it took several seconds of kicking and wriggling to get the blankets back in place. Eventually, the creaky bedsprings silenced and a huff of frustration and a calming inhale in time turned to slower, deeper breaths. Mary cast a last longing look toward the spot now grown silent and dark. she sighed and closed the window, drawing the curtain.
There would be no hope of sleeping now. Taking care not to wake Hazel, she gathered her clothes and dressed save for her shoes, which she carried in hand as she made her silent way down to the kitchen. She passed her father's room, his snoring nearly enough to rattle doorknobs, and proceeded down to the kitchen. The stove lit, she hummed lightly as she collected her apron from the hook in the mud room. Sliding her arms through, she tied it about her waist and set about completing her morning chores early so her day would be her own. The daily bread baked, the kitchen cleaned and dishes washed after, the cow milked, the eggs collected, the downstairs fireplace scooped and cleaned, the floor swept and the dusting completed, she began breakfast. By the time her father rose and made his way down, he had warm bread and butter, eggs and ham steak, fried potatoes and black coffee sitting beside his copy of yesterday's paper. He offered her a good morning kiss on her cheek, then sat with a groan and a chuckle.
"Getting too old. Pretty soon I'll have to give up stairs altogether and sleep on the sofa like I used to when your mother was in a pique." He chucked again, though it was heavily woven with sorrow. He had lost her four years ago, but the pain was a wound that never fully would heal.
"Oh, pish, Father." She chuckled and added a bit of milk to his coffee, stirring it as she stood beside him. "You're as hale as a horse." She bent and pressed a kiss to his bald pate and stepped back.
"Well, I wonder if perhaps it's not time to consider giving up the farm. The town is growing closer by the day you know. Pretty soon we'll be living so close to the neighbors we can see the smoke from their fireplace." He glanced up, his bushy brows lifting. "Did you press my shirt and trousers for tonight, Mary?"
"Indeed I did. Hung them up and shut them in the parlor to keep Winston leaving it coated in cat hair."
He made a sour face as he lifted his coffee, the cat was a menace, but it kept the mice down. He watched Mary bustling about tidying up the kitchen and sighed softly. Since their mother had died, the girls had been tasked with taking care of him. Hazel was the one who saw the house was its most beautiful. She was the one who kept the flower garden out front winning ribbons, and did all the sewing and mending. Mary did the cooking, tended the back garden to keep them in vegetables, and handled the masculine work of doing the house books, paying the bills, and keeping the farm in order. He had never been blessed with sons, and when his Caroline had passed, he had lost all care for life for several years. Mary kept the farm from being lost completely, but much of it had been sold away for lack of ability to work it. He mused over the knowledge it would not be long before his girls were married away and had homes of their own. He'd take in some boys perhaps, city lads. Orphans who needed a home and some good country air to grow up strong. Perhaps he'd even agree to marry the Widow Pearce who ran the boarding house in town. He found her company pleasant. He was even planning to perhaps run into her casually at the fair tonight. Hence his choice in wardrobe. It wasn't his Sunday best, but it was his second-nicest. What did Hazel call them? His glad rags? He wanted to look his best for her.
"What are you smiling about, Father?" She chuckled from the sink, the dishes nearly done.
"Hmm? Oh..." He lifted his coffee again. "I was just thinking about the fair. Shame that we've got no animals worth taking to be judged."
"Well, there's always next year. Besides, Hazel has her flowers, and they always do well. " Biting her lip, she took up the dishrag and began to dry the skillet. "Speaking of the fair..." She began, moving to hang the skillet back in its place on the wall over the stove. "I was thinking I might walk up there this morning. If you don't mind?"
He thought it over as she untied her apron and hung it up. He took in her appearance. She was wearing a simple lavender gingham dress. The fashion was for it to be a bit loose, which he did not mind frankly, it hid her figure. He thought the hem to be higher than he liked, but at mid shin, it was far from scandalous. The collar of white matched the cuffs of her elbow-length sleeves and the band that marked the dropped waist. Her hair was put up with her mother's comb, held off her neck in the imitation of the chopped-off look that bright young things like Hazel had taken to wearing. She certainly didn't look as if she was dressed to sneak off with a boy or the like, and Mary was the more sensible of his children. "I suppose there is no harm in it so long as you stay out of the way and don't make a bother of yourself." He dug into his breakfast wrinkling his nose in playful protest when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him another kiss to the top of his head.
"Thank you, Father. I will stay out from underfoot best I can." She lifted her hat from the peg and settled it atop her head, checking her reflection in the mirror, the brown eyes bright, and her cheeks flushed in excitement. A wave and smile flashed toward her father and she stepped out into the early morning sunshine, letting the door close behind her.