Author's Note: Hi all. This is another one shot from the 100 Women prompt table, this time "Poverty" and "Wealth".
I've received some lovely reviews lately, so thank you for that. I usually try to reply to reviews, but it won't let you do that if the reviewer isn't a registered site user. Therefore I acknowledge them here. ^_^ As for those asking, yes, my other chaptered story WILL be continued, hopefully very soon. I've been tangled up in a non fan-fic writing project since the end of last summer, but have no fear. New chapters are a'coming.
Poverty
Money hadn't so much as flickered in Sally's brain. She sat in the town square, easing red woolen fabric under the needle of her sewing machine, thinking of nothing more than how the color burned her eyes if she stared at it for too long. Not far from her workspace, the Mayor circulated through the townsfolk, clipboard in hand. He was followed by the small mummy child, carrying a drawstring pouch. It wasn't until the corpulent official stood right before her, that Sally realized what was happening. Payday. She'd never before done anything for the town, or holiday, that would earn her an income of her own, but here it was: The one and only potential benefit to making Jack's Sandy Claws costume.
"Sally...Sally... Yes, here we are..." The Mayor mumbled to himself, scribbling on his list. The linen-wrapped boy by his side rummaged in the pouch, extracting a single golden coin. He placed it on the edge of Sally's machine with a firm "clack".
Sally had never in her short existence possessed one of those coins. It shimmered against the dark wood of the sewing machine table, glowing like a tiny sun. The image of a pumpkin adorned the coin's surface, its curling vines framing the circumference. Sally imagined how it would feel in her hand: Heavy and cool, with the possibility of more than one actual, full meal. She'd been practically starving since she left the doctor. Or, a coin like that could be one full meal, and one bolt of warm fabric. The thought of being not only fed, but warm too, felt close to absurd fantasy. She'd barely had a real blanket, even before heading out on her own. The bustle of the town square reflected in distorted animations on the coin's surface, as Sally's mind continued to ponder. One full meal, one whole bolt of fabric, or perhaps one smaller meal, a few yards of fabric, and the tiny spool of silver thread she'd seen at the witches' shop. The last plan wasn't exactly practical. She was tempted to put it out of her brain immediately, but then, there were still two weeks until the holiday. She would get paid again, at least once, possibly twice. With all of the worry of Christmas, and the ever present gnawing of being entirely alone in the world, it would be lovely to have something small and special like a new spool of thread. Something delightful, serving no other purpose than to make her happy. She'd never had anything like that. Sally imagined sitting down to eat real food; food she didn't even prepare herself. While she ate, she would gaze at her spool of silver thread.
The garish red suit of Jack's would lead to no good, of that she remained certain, but at least there was this one possible windfall from the chore. She reached slowly toward the coin.
"Ah, just a moment, boy, hang back..." the Mayor said, adding another notation to his list. "This one goes to the Doctor. It follows, as Sally is his creation, of course."
"I'll take it home to him." Sally said quickly, her hand paused in mid-air above the coin.
"No Trouble, my girl! No trouble!" The Mayor said cheerfully, dismissing her offer. "We're headed over there presently, anyway. There's no need for you to trouble yourself, keeping track of it. Take care, now! Remember, Jack's counting on you!"
The mummy boy slid the coin back into the pouch, where it landed with a muffled jingle atop the others inside. The boy trotted away behind The Mayor, to the next name on the list.
Sally stared at the empty spot on her machine table for a full minute, before returning her attentions to Jack's red suit. Her stomach made a cold whirring noise behind her stitches, and she did her best to ignore it.
oOo
Wealth
Six year old Nicholas Skellington lay on the floor of his family's tower library, and concentrated on being as silent as possible. His mother was working with numbers at a small desk in the corner. She'd told him he could only stay if he didn't disturb her. Being silent; completely, stone, still, silent, was something of a game in itself. Eye sockets closed, Nicholas focused on the quick metallic clacks of his mother's adding machine. When the clacks finally paused for longer than a few seconds, he looked up. The Pumpkin Queen pushed the small device to the back of the desk, folding a length of its paper ribbon into a drawer.
"Are you finished?" Nicholas ventured.
"I am." she said.
"Why do you always have to do the numbers?" asked the skeletal boy, rising from the floor. He made his way to his mother's side and slumped his bones against her shoulder.
The better part of a decade earlier, a yet to be queen Sally passed the time one afternoon, making a three columned list: Wonderful. Terrible. Curious. Mere weeks after the night that changed everything, she'd awoken with the urge to see her new life plotted out before her. That urge, she thought, fell under the "curious" heading, or as she'd written it: "kuryus". Since the list was for her own eyes only, it hardly mattered if her reading and writing weren't yet as advanced as she might have liked. She knew what she meant, and that was all that mattered.
Naturally, most things fell easily into the wonderful catagory. Warmth was wonderful. Food was wonderful. Jack? Obviously, wonderful. And curious. He fit handily in both catagories. Love itself did the same, as did sex, feather pillows, and multiple hot water taps. Talking all night long was wonderful. All of the sudden attention in town qualified as curious, verging on terrible. Jack's house was curious, especially the way the tower would shift almost imperceptibly in strong winds. There were purely terrible things too: Town gossip topped that list, followed by insecurity. After ages praying for change, she now felt petrified by the very idea of it. After all, if change could sweep in overnight, turning everything to gold, it stood to reason that it could all disappear just as swiftly. Gold. That word lit uncomfortably in her brain. Curious.
Jack was wealthy. Unfathomably so, at least to Sally's mind. It stood to reason of course, he was the King of Halloween. He'd never known hunger, or spent a night huddled in a doorway. When Sally speculated about stocking the neglected pantry closet, he agreed wholeheartedly, producing a handful of sparkling coins from his suit pocket without a second thought. Misreading Sally's quiet astonishment, he quickly delved into a nearby cabinet for still more, before admitting with chagrin that he actually had no idea how much pantry essenitals cost, as he'd never paid it any mind. The kindly Mrs. Corpse gifted him with meals out of concern for his bachelor's existance, and naturally the town tavern always held a table. Though he spent and gave plenty, he didn't keep track, nor count a single coin. There was hardly a worry they might run out, and it wasn't as if he didn't have enough to fill his brain, what with Halloween planning, haunting inspirations, and candy inventories.
Thus it was, faced with her love's puzzling, yet somehow charming flightiness in this specific area, that Sally smiled and said gently: "Let me do this for you." And she did. While words were a ticklish challenge, she had a natural head for numbers and organization. In no time, she had Jack's accounts untangled, even if the amounts involved made her head swim now and again. She eventually grew accustomed to it.
"I keep track of the numbers because someone has to." Sally said lightly to her son. "You'll need to learn these things too, before too long."
"Dad doesn't do that stuff." said Nicholas.
"No, because I do it, but you're not always going to have me, you know. Someday you'll be out in the big world. You'd better be able to keep track of your own things, at least until you find someone clever to help you."
The boy made a gagging sound and slid down under the desk, as his mother laughed quietly.