broken filters] zakky
Nov 8, 2013 0:15:54 GMT -5
Post by Wonder on Nov 8, 2013 0:15:54 GMT -5
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[/size]I've begun to become disconnected from the ground around me - walking around the farm, I no longer feel the flakes of dirt slithering through the souls of my feet. There is no energy that seeps in with each passing step, the world has gone a little bit fuzzy. Perhaps it's the rubber underneath of my shoes stopping the process, the harvesting of energy by my toenails, but I'm somehow doubtful. Even if I threw them across the fields, I could dig the soles of my feet into the ground and come up with nothing but dirty toes. Just imagine the shit I would get in with Ma, she would give a good darn beating if I trudged into the house dragging black all across the floors, that she would.
But the complete detachment from the ground around me is concerning, never had I walked through the district whilst feeling nothing. The rough gravel was merely bumpy as opposed to angry and vengeful, the smooth roads were just flat as opposed to smooth and calming. There were subtle differences in the way the world worked when one became aware of the harsh realities that the earth wasn't there to feed you endlessly. I'm not a crop, feasting on the eternal sunshine, relying on the bits of soil that surrounded my planted feet to soak up nutrition. P-Photo.. Photosynthesis! They'd taught us that in school, that's the process in which plants went about doing what they do, grow.
Always growing, never stopping to sit, always positive. The ones that shrivel, they just give up - quitters. No excuse as to why a growing crop should die unless the farmers lazy, everyone wants to grow, to move further on up in the world, sometimes people just need a little bit of help to get there; a bucket of water, a bit of fertilizer, I've seen Pa use some hedge clippers to trim off the obscenely larger bits of the plants that hinder the process. Each root sinks itself into the ground, harvests and builds communities of it's own, twisting and turning with other plants feeding of the same general bit of soil - all of this was what it took to keep on going up. A connection to the earth and community to help you to keep growing.
Today, I feel grey. Ma leaves a couple of coins on the counter, the clatter of the silver on the table top shoots through my ears, the sound of value. It wasn't everyday that she trusted me to go and buy her stuff, but it's clear from her disheveled appearance that she'd raided the liquor cabinet again last night, probably drank the last couple bottles of wine before Pa could get in from the fields. Dark lines surface under her eyes, a perpetual darkness, sinking her right back into herself, her hatred further showing through her body - I can tell she hates to ask me a favour before she even asks it. Trevor's peeking through the kitchen doorway, his meagre figure is easy to hide, his pale skin isn't, but he hates to enter in the kitchen when Ma is such a state.
"Cormac, get me a pack a' cigarettes and a good bottle of wine for tonight," she grumbles in her hungover stupor. I'm not even sure she gave me enough on the table for all that she's asking, but even giving me any compensation is better than having to pay it entirely out of pocket. "None o' that white shit this time, ya hear, we ain't no fancy house - we drink ta get drunk - not to be all," groaning she stumbles towards the kitchen door, "fancy."
"Yes ma'am." I can't help but to wonder if she's still drunk in the way she waddles, or she'd fallen on her hip again last night. "Where do you -" expect me to get this? The end of the sentence is lost with the slamming of the kitchen door and the nervous treading of Trevor as he comes to get his breakfast. Today, I feel grey. Disconnected from the world as a whole. Had been this way for weeks really, ever since that puff of Ma's cigarettes. Perhaps cheating the Gods above meant that I could no longer be apart of the earth - eternally punished for a moment of frustration and ineptitude. The drunken feeling of red; I would take it any day over the bland feelings of grey.
I'd bought Ma booze many a times before, but never had I bought cigarettes - I suppose, maybe it was time to learn ifI was going to go and take up the habit myself. They were supposed to be illegal contraband of sorts, so how did she get them so frequently? The liquor shop clerk shrugged me off as an immature child without answering my question, just another person thinking I was a hooligan, great. What else was new? The day flashed by, walking round the market bit of town asking around to see if any of the lower class shopkeeps had any idea where to go and get some - they didn't, the Peacekeepers poked their heads in my direction a couple times to see what I was up to - but ultimately I left the market empty handed.
The walk home was brutal and unrewarding, a bottle of red under my armpit and an empty hand jingling the few bits of change I had left from my earlier purchase. Grey and foreboding, perhaps tonight I would see black before I even got to eat my supper, Ma smacking me right upside the head for not obeying her orders. I'd sported some black eyes in the past, it was nothing new, but still I would rather be clean for once - for once. Grey. The orchards pass me on my left, calling out with their colourful patches, beautiful and welcoming, the fields out back were nothing like these. Every patch of grass was beautiful in it's own right, even the workers, the small girl plucking around on her own business - she was beautiful too. Content.
Everything seemed so perfect there, and back home was so dry. My feet lurch forward, I can feel the nerves shatter through me, but I make sure to cling on to the wine bottle to not break it. "Hey - uh," I mumble through chattering teeth, "Hey!" Shouting to the girl over the orchard fence, "Do you, well do you know where I can pick up a pack of cigarettes?" Shout it, Cormac, that'll get you arrested for sure. Dumb. But hey, the detention centre may just be better than here.
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