Tomorrowlands Drabble

[eredien]

The story behind the cut-tag started out as a Tomorrowlands universe drabble. I don't think it ended up going into that universe at all, especially since no one in this story actually transforms--which is rather one of the points of the universe--and much of it is directly taken from my thoughts as I drove around town this evening.

I was sitting and thinking about how so many things in modern daily life often seem extraneous to me--television and its programming, for instance, are concepts which I could happily live without (and often do).

I was also wondering my perennial wonder, which is something like this: "I've met a lot of dragons; will I ever just happen across one which I recognize, somehow? Will that be a relief?"

Tonight I added the following thought: "What would be some of the reasons why I wouldn't run across them?"

One of the more interesting reasons that turned up was "because they ran into someone else first."

She loved the ease of the turn signal. One flick with a finger, perhaps two, and a smooth pull of the wheel took her curving into a turn, up the short road that led to the shorter road of the driveway, and then the house.

She loved the ease of the turn signal, and the flat black sheen of the moon's light on the edge of the asphalt as it met the ditch, and her hair, which reminded her of lions'-mane epithets for dead conquerors when it curled.

Everything necessary, justifiable, comprehensible to the intellect. But strange, strange: the entire world a cabinet of curiosities where she had hair all over her head instead of ears on either side.

She parked, and thought, I will never meet anyone who is quite my kin, will I? Very close, sometimes, but no one will ever walk up to me in the store as I stand there with bagged lettuce in my hand and say, "calienshan," because they saw my namekeep; I will never recognize someone's tattoo as they pass me on the sidewalk and stop them with a question of a name, a  half-sure bow.

She got out of the car, then walked up the steps and fit the key to the lock. The dog did not come barking, nor the cat to trip her in greeting, but the last was unusual now. She's getting old, as the knob turned. Dog's asleep. In my bed again most likely.

She licked her lips and whistled sharp into the still, warm air of the dark house; there was no response. "Dog," she called in the hallway with the bookcase.

Something moved upstairs. "Come, Dog."

-

The lighting in the upstairs hallway had never been good.
"Brave words now that you have no claws."
The light that leaked through the bathroom window blinds glinted off the flat of the sword, gave dim outline to something impossible at the head of the stairs.

-

Her eyes adjusted. It was wearing a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and looked as human as she; a beaded feather on a white thong in its ear and a partial swatch of skin—human, tattooed with a poem that wasn't—worn as a kind of scarf gave it away.
No, I will never meet them.
"Karikrag."
It understood, and lept at her.
Finally, something makes sense¸ she thought, baring inadequate fangs and bracing herself, carpeted strange stairs underfoot.

Comments

[baxil.livejournal.com]

... Wow.

[aside, you may want to change your link to http://www.tomorrowlands.org/story/, unless you meant to link to the disclaimer.]