Watching the Shop at noon

Watching the Shop at noon Sept 12, 2009 15:42:51 GMT -5

Post by phunke on Sept 12, 2009 15:42:51 GMT -5

yeah baby when the sun comes up

The weary eyes of Adelaide Fulten snapped open.
Morning.
What time is it, she asked herself.
Time for a new day, came the answer.
Unacknowledged thoughts passed sluggishly across her mind while she dragged her body out of bed. These thoughts held only one common thread: horses.

Addy glanced out of her window. Her family's fields were painted a rusty orange by the ascending sun; the horses were already out grazing, front legs splayed nonchalantly to allow for the downward reach of eager mouths, propelled by hungry stomachs.
The girl's own stomach was already growling. She pulled on some loose wool breeches and a sleeveless top. There was no need for a coat; warm summer breezes were still wafting around her part of District 5 at this time of year.

Thoughts had begun to fully articulate themselves in the girl's mind.
Today I will ride Comet, she told herself.
I will ride him down the path behind the houses that has logs to jump over, she told herself.
Comet will enjoy the ride and he can have a rest while I grab lunch at that shop in the square, she told herself.

And with those decisions made, she reached up with slender arms and twisted her short red hair into a bun, tying it with a strip of fabric she kept in her room. She moved over to the table and took the slightly stale roll her parents had set out for her, trying to ignore the large chunk of equine flesh set out for sale to the butcher. Addy tried to ignore the sick feeling in her gut.
Being in a family who was in the business of horse slaughter had its ups and downs.

Her pace quickened as she made her way through the alfalfa field, heading towards a small wooden structure. Her black, well-broken in riding boots crunched on the cut-off stalks. Her riding breeches, though originally off-white, were now beige. In fact, her whole clothing ensemble bore the look of heavy wear. It had gotten so dirty, so frequently, that the dirt was no longer merely a coating; it had been ingrained into the fabric itself, so that washing no longer had any effect. The girl was average height for her 14 years, but quite thin. Not for want of food; Addy's parents saw to it that their family always had stew or bread or at least some alfalfa. Six years ago, the girl, very small and fragile-seeming back then, had sworn off eating meat. That was a rather stupid thing to do, seeing as vegetables were not always readily available, but when one has a traumatizing experience, the effects are unavoidable.

Addy began to slip into the memory of watching a horse get killed when she was eight years old.

Shivering, the teenager extracted herself from her memories.
I am fourteen, she told herself.
I am fourteen now and I have accepted the slaughter my family commits to make a living, she told herself.
And then she was at the wooden structure. Six years ago, it was a simple three-walled shelter. Now it had an attachment on the side. A stall.
Addy avoided the original Killing Place, going around to the stall with her eyes closed and her breath held. Once out of the reach of Death's stench, she opened her senses again.

Comet, she called, with excitement mounting in her voice.
A red nose, nostrils dilated, pushed over the stall door.
The gelding surveyed her with innocent interest. She reached out a hand and stroked his nose.
Comet was not an extremely tall horse. His body was lean, not emaciated, with stringy muscles and no fat. The opposite of what horse slaughterers want.
And yet he was Addy's, and he was all Addy's, and no one elses.
She threw her arms around his neck as he nibbled at her hair and as she breathed in his scent and he smelled like dust and hay and sweat and warmth.
And she knew his jugular was pulsing with life.
She pulled back a little and looked into his eye.
His big brown kind eye, widened with intelligence.
Comet shoved his long nose between her arm and her body.
Grateful for his comforting warmth, the girl took a rope bridle off of a small hook by the gelding's stall and slipped it over his head.
She led him out of the stall, to a stump.
With the quick, unthinking motions of one who has performed a certain action many times, Addy swung her leg over the horse's back.
And they were off.
Her bareback seat was solid with many years of practice, and she steered the excited animal deftly on a path running through some thin woods towards the center of town. They went flashing behind a few of the Peacekeepers' houses, occasionally flying over logs and ditches.
The girl and the horse, together, were truly alive.
For a mile they galloped and jumped and then slowed to a steady canter. A few more miles went by, and they reached the town square.
Though Comet had long ago gotten used to the bustling crowds and the loud noises, there was nothing today.
No crowds, or people shouting as they haggled with vendors.
No shopkeepers yelling out sales.
The Reaping, Addy thought.
They are all still dispirited by the taking of Tributes, she thought. As well they should be.
Ignoring the large screen which was currently showing a girl climbing a willow tree, Addy dismounted her horse.
He settled to graze in a nearby meadow, sides heaving and dark red with sweat.
Meanwhile, the teenager entered a shop.
She was already hungry, eager for lunch.

Hello, she said.