[fic] recidivism - chapter 1: golden fish
Dec. 7th, 2010 05:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elydesiaChapter one done, wohoo! Please read and enjoy (:
Title: recidivism
Chapter: golden fish
Rating: G
Word Count: 3,412 (pre-edited)
Summary: no good story summery yet D:
Authors Notes/Disclaimer: I've done no major editing yet, but I have added and corrected a few sentences.
chapter one: golden fish
Upon the first ray of sunlight hitting the giant apartment complex up on a tall hill I rose from my bed, my eyes feeling swollen and red, and then I yawn. I blink a few times at my window, the sunlight streaming through like sunrays under the water, each and every one both visible and beautiful; golden like each thick lock on Goldilocks' sun-like hair.
Silence pours into the stuffy room from the window as fast as the sun's warmth. The clock in the living room's monotonous tick-tock was barely audible in my drowsy and dreamy world of sleep, which still clung to me like a baby koala to its mama. What is this world I wake to? Am I sure I'm even awake? Did I awake to another dream? I've never had one of those dreams before.
What was my dream again? Something about clocks...?
“Never mind that,” I mumble and tilt my head to see the digital clock next to my bed. It read 05:37. At the revelation of what time it was now I growl. I get out of bed and head for the bedroom washroom.
After my hot shower I quickly towel off and get dressed in something cool for the sticky summer's heat. From outside my bedroom I could hear Dad shout, “Lucy! It's time to wake up! Cam's gonna pick you up soon!”
“A little late, isn't it, Dad? … What time is he picking me up?” I ask as I step out of the washroom and look at the clock: 05:53.
“At six.” I roll my eyes which sends my forehead into a painful spin right above my eyes, under my eyebrows.
“When are you leaving?” I scramble around the room looking for clothes and packing them in my large rectangle suitcase which I hastily pull out from under the bed.
Hesitantly, he replies in a casual, “Right now. The main branch needs some codes to be double checked and they're too long to be sent over. Sorry.” I decide his apology is real enough, but I think he enjoys his work too much. Is there another woman at HQ?
“Yeah, sure. See you next week, Dad,” I say and zip up my luggage. I don't actually think I'll see him next week; I never know when he'll come back but I trust he'll call when he does. I swing open the bedroom door and stare at him for a moment before I push past him and head for the front door.
Daylight was steadily weighing itself down on life by the time Uncle drove up to the complex in his convertible, top down and a cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses firmly in place on his face.
“Hey, sweetie. Quite hot for this time of day, isn't it?” he says with a huge grin on his face, all of his ivory-white teeth sparkling like diamonds. His blonde hair was gelled back and his dark shades made his expression unclear. I chucked my suitcase into the backseat and then jumped into shotgun.
“You're late.” Quickly I buckle myself in and smile at Uncle, who lifts his shades to wink at me. I notice he has huge bags under his eyes and I can't help but feel like laughing a little. His voice is a little more groggy than usual, too.
“Yeah, I know, hun. Sorry, 'bout that.” He pulls away from the sidewalk and zooms speedily down the street, practically flying down the steep hill and then rocketing it toward the family's country home, a.k.a. his house.
“Are you alright? You have these huge bags under your eyes. It looks like you broke your nose or something. Did you get into a fight? Was it with Dad? Mom?”
He sighs and rubs his neck. “I haven't seen Sis for three years. Do you think I'd get into a fight with her? … She's too sentimental about that shit.”
“Oh.” I look down at my hands in my lap: they look small. The wind blowing angrily through my straight black hair felt nice and refreshing in the summer's heat.
“So when does school start back up?” he asks and spares a glance from the road at me. I feel like he's fishing around in the dark for words to say, questions to spit up in order to make smalltalk. It's only been two weeks since I was last over, but it seems like every time I visit we have to rebuild our Uncle-Niece connection. Did that mean we don't get along? I think we get along fine.
“In two weeks,” I reply and lean back in my seat, raising my arms behind my head and resting back on them. “I can't believe I'll have to go to school in this horrible heat.” Uncle began laughing, spilling some cigarette ashes on his jeans. He coughs and then spits a loogey off to the side of the car and onto the road.
I look over at him casually, my eyes half lidded and sleepy, a thin smile on my lips. “What's so funny? Aren't you supposed to feel sorry for me?”
“Ha ha ha! You're such a kid. I forget about that sometimes... I've just been reminded of it.” I frown. I've just turned seventeen. How can he still call me a kid? Just because he's so much older doesn't give him any right to call me names.
“I'm not a kid anymore, Uncle Cameron. I can white essays, count to infinity, recall what all my history classes taught me about history, and I've had a boyfriend.” I'm actually pretty proud of myself. I know I can do a lot more, which I consider to be a pretty good damn stepping stone to becoming a woman, but, really, I have no idea what makes a woman. To date, I've never met a person who could be called a woman, same with men: I've yet to meet an actual man. What makes someone a grown up? When do we actually grow up?
“Ha ha! So you think. There are a lot of things that make people act and seem like adults, Lucy, but at heart we're all children. I believe someone grows up when they truly decide to, but until they take all the responsibilities which come along with that title... I don't know, they're not adults.” I look out the passenger side, where the window would have been if the top were up, and gaze at the country scenery.
There's a definite line of where the horizon meets the earth, and their colors are blue and green with white cottonballs of cloud floating peacefully by. No famine, no war, no thinking. Ah, how easy it must be to be a cloud.
While my father and I live in a luxurious apartment in the city, on a hill, my uncle lives alone in the family's old country house. Whenever Dad has to leave the city for work I get dumped with Mom's older brother until he comes back - however long that takes.
Mom divorced Dad five years ago and then, three years ago, left the country to peruse her passion for cooking. She is now a traveling chef and works all over the world in the most popular restaurants, occasionally sending letters to me with good recipes for me to try, not that I have a talent in cooking.
I look back at Uncle. “You didn't answer my question: are you all right?” My brows are a little scrunched and I feel the tips of my lips dipping down gently.
Once again, he laughs. “Yes! I'm fine! Actually, I feel great. I worked until late last night on my latest invention - well, I can't claim it as mine, exactly, since my great-great-grandfather was the one who invented it. It was his schematics I found in the attic the other night. I was utterly amazed! I think he made one.”
“Uh, Uncle? What is it?”
“A time and space machine!”
“What?” Last time he said he invented some on such caliber he exploded the Government's Building of Science. I close my eyes and shake my head. “Oh, no. Not again, Uncle Cameron...”
“No, no, no!” He was hasty with his denial. “I believe great-great-grandfather Alexander, who was also a physicist and botanist, built it! And fully completed it! I plan on using it tonight.”
I look at Uncle with scrutinizing eyes. When exactly did he go crazy? “Are you sure it'll work? I mean, those kinds of things... are kind of impossible. If it does, I'm glad, but I don't want our house of history to be burnt down.”
“There's no such thing as impossible, sweetie!” Uncle cheered and sped the car faster.
«break»
After the grand feast of a dinner was eaten and its dishes cleaned Uncle and I crept down into the basement, a.k.a. his laboratory, to gaze upon the machine he had recreated.
Loud squeaks came from the stairs into the basement. I went down first and when my eyes met with the old-looking machine I fell instantly in love. Its oldness, it's color and style, its capability to actually look like it was going to work. But, generally, it looks like a customized early 20th century wardrobe, a whole bunch of techno bits welded and bolted and nailed onto it. The machine has a steampunk air to it.
“It looks amazing, Uncle!” I shout as I jump down the final steps and ran to the tall-standing time and space machine. “What's it powered by?”
Uncle explained to me as he stepped closer to me, and the machine: “Originally by an oil-to-electricity generator, but I modified it to be powered by an ordinary electrical outlet. See here?” He walked around it and showed me the power chord by which the machine got its power juices.
“Say, what exactly does the machine do, Uncle? Exactly.”
“Excellent question,” he replies and starts typing into an ivory keyboard on the side which looks like it had once belonged to a pretty typewriter. “This is, according to our ancestor, the 'Dionysus Time and Space Traveler'. From his notes and my guesses, it takes you not only to a different time, but to a different realm by divvying up your atoms and broadcasting it to another machine. It works similarly to a radio or television. Nothing in the fabric of space or time can mess with the machine, so no matter what dimension one will always belong, following the general time frame.”
“Give me an example.”
“Sure. For example, I finished building this machine this morning, so across all the dimensions, no matter which one, one of these machines will have also been completed this morning. Whenever it's destroyed, so will the ones across all other dimensions. Who knows how many more times it will be created in the future, but I know, for certain, one was completed in the past.”
“The one by our ancestor, right?” My eyes grew wide with a fire of curiosity and enthusiasm. I generally used like Uncle's inventions; when I was young he used to build me toys in his spare time. But they only worked half the time, the other half of the time it'd explode or randomly combust. One of the trees outside was lost this way.
“Bingo.”
“I can't wait for you to try it!” I shout. Where is he going to go? What is it like to travel like this?
Suddenly a new gleam appears in Uncle's eyes. His eyes stray away from the keyboard and onto me. “Lucy, do you want a whole new life?” My bright smile slowly fades as I think about this new life. “Do you want to start a new life on the other side of this machine?”
All my history could be forgotten with just a simple – or, rather complicated – method of travel, of escape. Why couldn't running from one's problems always be this easy? But running from problems isn't exactly the best way to deal with them. But, to imagine it: a life without the hitch of a past. Out of everyone I would meet, no one would have to know about my parents, my filtered past of recidivism.
Slowly, I nod my head. This seemed to be the very sign Uncle was looking forward to. At once he presses 'enter' on the keyboard, grabs my hand, and then opens the door. “We're goin' in!” he shouts as he first pushes me into the machine and then climbs in himself, closing the door behind him.
A million different sounds blow past my ears. A billion different images fly past my eyes, soaking me in what seemed to be the culture and lifestyle Uncle and I were traveling to. Everything was confusing, nothing made sense. What was I seeing exactly? What is this? Nothing made sense!
And then all of a sudden the world stopped and I was in the machine again. Everything was quiet, my head felt like rolling off my head and onto my feet. I didn't bother to ask whether it worked or not: I know it did. With heavy, sore feet I drag myself to the machine's only door and push it open. I glance behind me to see Uncle Cameron unconscious and in a heap on the floor, but I don't really care, I just want out. I turn my eyes to outside the strange machine and see a brown haired young man on the floor, his eyes wide and frightened. Who is he? Could he be Alexander?
“I'm... Lucy...” was all I had the energy to say and I take a step forward only to fall to the ground, exhausted.
I can barely keep myself awake to see what was around me, so with the command of, “Sleep,” I gladly did so.
«break»
Painfully I wake up to an unfamiliar bedroom, in unfamiliar clothes, and in an unfamiliar, not to mention uncomfortable, bed. My body feels stiff and my head throbs like when I tripped and smacked my head into the sidewalk two years ago. “Where am I?” I mumble and get out of bed. It takes a few seconds to keep my balance.
All five windows have drapes hung on them. I shuffle slowly to one of the windows, pulling aside the drape ever-so slightly, revealing an amazing sight:
From the bedroom window I have a clear cliffside view of a city and its port and then most of the infinite sea. Cars below in the city drove fast and in many; they made the streets look as if they were flooded with streams of golden water that refused to leak into the blue and dirty sea, its own golden ripples flooding the city in bliss and beauty. Every now and then a set of red lights appears like little red fish dipping their heads above the golden waves as if inspecting the buildings surrounding them.
During my amazement and intense gazing there was a gentle knock at the bedroom door. I hear a male say, “Miss Lucy, are you awake yet?”
Reluctantly I peel myself away from the golden view and answer the door, saying, “Yes, yes.” On the other side is a pretty blonde youth with a tray of food in his hands. “Ah, hello,” I greet. He's wearing a crisp dress shirt, dark brown slacks, a vest and tie, and suspenders. What year was it? Where am I, again? Although the fashion is foreign to me it suited his features and made him look somewhat handsome.
“Good evening,” he says and makes his way in. He sets the tray on the desk beside the door and looks down at me with curious eyes. “You,” he says and I feel my body go stiff with a gentle tingling. I suddenly remember how exactly I got here: through a machine in someone's basement. Where's Uncle Cameron?
“Yes?” I ask quietly, my voice half stuck in my throat like some large gumball. The young man sighs and droops his shoulders.
“I'm just glad you're in good condition. When Nicholas came and got me he was quite scared. It was very hard to calm him down, and when I went down there myself... well, it was hard to calm myself, too.” The youth's eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed, his arms crossed in a thinking position.
“Excuse me, but where is my uncle? Uh, the other man?”
“Oh, yes. He's fully awake now. He's the one who helped to change your clothes. I was going to do it but he insisted, claiming he was family. Is this true?” I nod my head and thank Uncle for changing me instead of this handsome stranger.
“Um,” I start, feeling a little awkward. I suddenly want us to sit down but he showed no signs of wanting to sit. “My name's Lucy. What's yours?” The young man raises his hand to the back of his neck and scratches it before looking down at the cooling food.
“My name's Edgar Rose. I work at Restaurant Dionysus with my guardian Nicholas Burrows.” He looks nervous. What could possibly make him nervous? I can take a shot in the dark and say it's the early 1900s, and from that I know of that time period men were the ruling gender with the ability to not buckle to the presence of a female. What, does he have no backbone?
“I see.” I stand in the middle of the small room, my eyes ogling the room and its contents, especially Edgar.
He suddenly turns around and says, “You should get some rest. Mister Cameron is exhausted but he's still working on the machine you two came out of. You should eat this and then go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in the morning. It'll be Sunday so the café's closed. We can all sit down and have a talk.” When he's done he opens the door and leaves in a rush.
Feeling like I've just been rejected, I slowly sit down at the desk and eat the food. It's vegetable and beef stew with two slices of warm toasted bread.
«break»
In the morning the early light pierces through the drapes, the image somewhat reminding me of yesterday's early morning scene. I wish all my mornings were as easy. I sit up and look at the room, noticing my suitcase stashed at the foot of the bed. When did that get there?
There's a knock at the door. It's not as gentle as last night so it's safe to assume it's not Edgar. I climb out of bed and meander to the door. Before I open it I ask, “Who is it?”
“It's Uncle Cameron, is this Sleepy-Head Lucy speaking?”
“Uncle Cameron!” I fling open the door and jump on him, both of us crashing to the hardwood floor. “It works! It works, Uncle! Wherever we are, we're here! We're somewhere! Where are we?”
He explodes in one of his notorious laughing fits and later gets up, picking me up, too. “We're in Chroma City, 1925.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Still in Chroma?” I ask. We didn't travel too far, did we?
But Uncle shook his head. “No, no. We don't know for sure, yet. Treat this world with weariness. Let Nicholas and Edgar guide you.”
“Me? Why me? Won't you be going out, too?” I lean over and look at the two men behind him. There's Edgar, the blonde one, so the other must be Nicholas. I look back up at Uncle. “What am I supposed to do?” Uncle didn't say anything, instead he pulls me over to the sofas and pushes be down into the single reading chair.
“Now that you're here,” Nicholas starts, “Edgar can go to college on a regular basis. While he's gone, you fill in for him as the waiter – in this case, waitress. When he comes home he will help you until closing. Your uncle will work in the basement...” He sounds strange, as if he were being forced to repeat lines he's previously memorized.
I sigh and nod my head. Uncle will work further on the machine? Why? If he messes up not only will this beautiful restaurant on a cliff be destroyed, so will our way back home.
---
Please don't forget to comment! I appreciate all criticism toward my work.
Title: recidivism
Chapter: golden fish
Rating: G
Word Count: 3,412 (pre-edited)
Summary: no good story summery yet D:
Authors Notes/Disclaimer: I've done no major editing yet, but I have added and corrected a few sentences.
chapter one: golden fish
Upon the first ray of sunlight hitting the giant apartment complex up on a tall hill I rose from my bed, my eyes feeling swollen and red, and then I yawn. I blink a few times at my window, the sunlight streaming through like sunrays under the water, each and every one both visible and beautiful; golden like each thick lock on Goldilocks' sun-like hair.
Silence pours into the stuffy room from the window as fast as the sun's warmth. The clock in the living room's monotonous tick-tock was barely audible in my drowsy and dreamy world of sleep, which still clung to me like a baby koala to its mama. What is this world I wake to? Am I sure I'm even awake? Did I awake to another dream? I've never had one of those dreams before.
What was my dream again? Something about clocks...?
“Never mind that,” I mumble and tilt my head to see the digital clock next to my bed. It read 05:37. At the revelation of what time it was now I growl. I get out of bed and head for the bedroom washroom.
After my hot shower I quickly towel off and get dressed in something cool for the sticky summer's heat. From outside my bedroom I could hear Dad shout, “Lucy! It's time to wake up! Cam's gonna pick you up soon!”
“A little late, isn't it, Dad? … What time is he picking me up?” I ask as I step out of the washroom and look at the clock: 05:53.
“At six.” I roll my eyes which sends my forehead into a painful spin right above my eyes, under my eyebrows.
“When are you leaving?” I scramble around the room looking for clothes and packing them in my large rectangle suitcase which I hastily pull out from under the bed.
Hesitantly, he replies in a casual, “Right now. The main branch needs some codes to be double checked and they're too long to be sent over. Sorry.” I decide his apology is real enough, but I think he enjoys his work too much. Is there another woman at HQ?
“Yeah, sure. See you next week, Dad,” I say and zip up my luggage. I don't actually think I'll see him next week; I never know when he'll come back but I trust he'll call when he does. I swing open the bedroom door and stare at him for a moment before I push past him and head for the front door.
Daylight was steadily weighing itself down on life by the time Uncle drove up to the complex in his convertible, top down and a cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses firmly in place on his face.
“Hey, sweetie. Quite hot for this time of day, isn't it?” he says with a huge grin on his face, all of his ivory-white teeth sparkling like diamonds. His blonde hair was gelled back and his dark shades made his expression unclear. I chucked my suitcase into the backseat and then jumped into shotgun.
“You're late.” Quickly I buckle myself in and smile at Uncle, who lifts his shades to wink at me. I notice he has huge bags under his eyes and I can't help but feel like laughing a little. His voice is a little more groggy than usual, too.
“Yeah, I know, hun. Sorry, 'bout that.” He pulls away from the sidewalk and zooms speedily down the street, practically flying down the steep hill and then rocketing it toward the family's country home, a.k.a. his house.
“Are you alright? You have these huge bags under your eyes. It looks like you broke your nose or something. Did you get into a fight? Was it with Dad? Mom?”
He sighs and rubs his neck. “I haven't seen Sis for three years. Do you think I'd get into a fight with her? … She's too sentimental about that shit.”
“Oh.” I look down at my hands in my lap: they look small. The wind blowing angrily through my straight black hair felt nice and refreshing in the summer's heat.
“So when does school start back up?” he asks and spares a glance from the road at me. I feel like he's fishing around in the dark for words to say, questions to spit up in order to make smalltalk. It's only been two weeks since I was last over, but it seems like every time I visit we have to rebuild our Uncle-Niece connection. Did that mean we don't get along? I think we get along fine.
“In two weeks,” I reply and lean back in my seat, raising my arms behind my head and resting back on them. “I can't believe I'll have to go to school in this horrible heat.” Uncle began laughing, spilling some cigarette ashes on his jeans. He coughs and then spits a loogey off to the side of the car and onto the road.
I look over at him casually, my eyes half lidded and sleepy, a thin smile on my lips. “What's so funny? Aren't you supposed to feel sorry for me?”
“Ha ha ha! You're such a kid. I forget about that sometimes... I've just been reminded of it.” I frown. I've just turned seventeen. How can he still call me a kid? Just because he's so much older doesn't give him any right to call me names.
“I'm not a kid anymore, Uncle Cameron. I can white essays, count to infinity, recall what all my history classes taught me about history, and I've had a boyfriend.” I'm actually pretty proud of myself. I know I can do a lot more, which I consider to be a pretty good damn stepping stone to becoming a woman, but, really, I have no idea what makes a woman. To date, I've never met a person who could be called a woman, same with men: I've yet to meet an actual man. What makes someone a grown up? When do we actually grow up?
“Ha ha! So you think. There are a lot of things that make people act and seem like adults, Lucy, but at heart we're all children. I believe someone grows up when they truly decide to, but until they take all the responsibilities which come along with that title... I don't know, they're not adults.” I look out the passenger side, where the window would have been if the top were up, and gaze at the country scenery.
There's a definite line of where the horizon meets the earth, and their colors are blue and green with white cottonballs of cloud floating peacefully by. No famine, no war, no thinking. Ah, how easy it must be to be a cloud.
While my father and I live in a luxurious apartment in the city, on a hill, my uncle lives alone in the family's old country house. Whenever Dad has to leave the city for work I get dumped with Mom's older brother until he comes back - however long that takes.
Mom divorced Dad five years ago and then, three years ago, left the country to peruse her passion for cooking. She is now a traveling chef and works all over the world in the most popular restaurants, occasionally sending letters to me with good recipes for me to try, not that I have a talent in cooking.
I look back at Uncle. “You didn't answer my question: are you all right?” My brows are a little scrunched and I feel the tips of my lips dipping down gently.
Once again, he laughs. “Yes! I'm fine! Actually, I feel great. I worked until late last night on my latest invention - well, I can't claim it as mine, exactly, since my great-great-grandfather was the one who invented it. It was his schematics I found in the attic the other night. I was utterly amazed! I think he made one.”
“Uh, Uncle? What is it?”
“A time and space machine!”
“What?” Last time he said he invented some on such caliber he exploded the Government's Building of Science. I close my eyes and shake my head. “Oh, no. Not again, Uncle Cameron...”
“No, no, no!” He was hasty with his denial. “I believe great-great-grandfather Alexander, who was also a physicist and botanist, built it! And fully completed it! I plan on using it tonight.”
I look at Uncle with scrutinizing eyes. When exactly did he go crazy? “Are you sure it'll work? I mean, those kinds of things... are kind of impossible. If it does, I'm glad, but I don't want our house of history to be burnt down.”
“There's no such thing as impossible, sweetie!” Uncle cheered and sped the car faster.
«break»
After the grand feast of a dinner was eaten and its dishes cleaned Uncle and I crept down into the basement, a.k.a. his laboratory, to gaze upon the machine he had recreated.
Loud squeaks came from the stairs into the basement. I went down first and when my eyes met with the old-looking machine I fell instantly in love. Its oldness, it's color and style, its capability to actually look like it was going to work. But, generally, it looks like a customized early 20th century wardrobe, a whole bunch of techno bits welded and bolted and nailed onto it. The machine has a steampunk air to it.
“It looks amazing, Uncle!” I shout as I jump down the final steps and ran to the tall-standing time and space machine. “What's it powered by?”
Uncle explained to me as he stepped closer to me, and the machine: “Originally by an oil-to-electricity generator, but I modified it to be powered by an ordinary electrical outlet. See here?” He walked around it and showed me the power chord by which the machine got its power juices.
“Say, what exactly does the machine do, Uncle? Exactly.”
“Excellent question,” he replies and starts typing into an ivory keyboard on the side which looks like it had once belonged to a pretty typewriter. “This is, according to our ancestor, the 'Dionysus Time and Space Traveler'. From his notes and my guesses, it takes you not only to a different time, but to a different realm by divvying up your atoms and broadcasting it to another machine. It works similarly to a radio or television. Nothing in the fabric of space or time can mess with the machine, so no matter what dimension one will always belong, following the general time frame.”
“Give me an example.”
“Sure. For example, I finished building this machine this morning, so across all the dimensions, no matter which one, one of these machines will have also been completed this morning. Whenever it's destroyed, so will the ones across all other dimensions. Who knows how many more times it will be created in the future, but I know, for certain, one was completed in the past.”
“The one by our ancestor, right?” My eyes grew wide with a fire of curiosity and enthusiasm. I generally used like Uncle's inventions; when I was young he used to build me toys in his spare time. But they only worked half the time, the other half of the time it'd explode or randomly combust. One of the trees outside was lost this way.
“Bingo.”
“I can't wait for you to try it!” I shout. Where is he going to go? What is it like to travel like this?
Suddenly a new gleam appears in Uncle's eyes. His eyes stray away from the keyboard and onto me. “Lucy, do you want a whole new life?” My bright smile slowly fades as I think about this new life. “Do you want to start a new life on the other side of this machine?”
All my history could be forgotten with just a simple – or, rather complicated – method of travel, of escape. Why couldn't running from one's problems always be this easy? But running from problems isn't exactly the best way to deal with them. But, to imagine it: a life without the hitch of a past. Out of everyone I would meet, no one would have to know about my parents, my filtered past of recidivism.
Slowly, I nod my head. This seemed to be the very sign Uncle was looking forward to. At once he presses 'enter' on the keyboard, grabs my hand, and then opens the door. “We're goin' in!” he shouts as he first pushes me into the machine and then climbs in himself, closing the door behind him.
A million different sounds blow past my ears. A billion different images fly past my eyes, soaking me in what seemed to be the culture and lifestyle Uncle and I were traveling to. Everything was confusing, nothing made sense. What was I seeing exactly? What is this? Nothing made sense!
And then all of a sudden the world stopped and I was in the machine again. Everything was quiet, my head felt like rolling off my head and onto my feet. I didn't bother to ask whether it worked or not: I know it did. With heavy, sore feet I drag myself to the machine's only door and push it open. I glance behind me to see Uncle Cameron unconscious and in a heap on the floor, but I don't really care, I just want out. I turn my eyes to outside the strange machine and see a brown haired young man on the floor, his eyes wide and frightened. Who is he? Could he be Alexander?
“I'm... Lucy...” was all I had the energy to say and I take a step forward only to fall to the ground, exhausted.
I can barely keep myself awake to see what was around me, so with the command of, “Sleep,” I gladly did so.
«break»
Painfully I wake up to an unfamiliar bedroom, in unfamiliar clothes, and in an unfamiliar, not to mention uncomfortable, bed. My body feels stiff and my head throbs like when I tripped and smacked my head into the sidewalk two years ago. “Where am I?” I mumble and get out of bed. It takes a few seconds to keep my balance.
All five windows have drapes hung on them. I shuffle slowly to one of the windows, pulling aside the drape ever-so slightly, revealing an amazing sight:
From the bedroom window I have a clear cliffside view of a city and its port and then most of the infinite sea. Cars below in the city drove fast and in many; they made the streets look as if they were flooded with streams of golden water that refused to leak into the blue and dirty sea, its own golden ripples flooding the city in bliss and beauty. Every now and then a set of red lights appears like little red fish dipping their heads above the golden waves as if inspecting the buildings surrounding them.
During my amazement and intense gazing there was a gentle knock at the bedroom door. I hear a male say, “Miss Lucy, are you awake yet?”
Reluctantly I peel myself away from the golden view and answer the door, saying, “Yes, yes.” On the other side is a pretty blonde youth with a tray of food in his hands. “Ah, hello,” I greet. He's wearing a crisp dress shirt, dark brown slacks, a vest and tie, and suspenders. What year was it? Where am I, again? Although the fashion is foreign to me it suited his features and made him look somewhat handsome.
“Good evening,” he says and makes his way in. He sets the tray on the desk beside the door and looks down at me with curious eyes. “You,” he says and I feel my body go stiff with a gentle tingling. I suddenly remember how exactly I got here: through a machine in someone's basement. Where's Uncle Cameron?
“Yes?” I ask quietly, my voice half stuck in my throat like some large gumball. The young man sighs and droops his shoulders.
“I'm just glad you're in good condition. When Nicholas came and got me he was quite scared. It was very hard to calm him down, and when I went down there myself... well, it was hard to calm myself, too.” The youth's eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed, his arms crossed in a thinking position.
“Excuse me, but where is my uncle? Uh, the other man?”
“Oh, yes. He's fully awake now. He's the one who helped to change your clothes. I was going to do it but he insisted, claiming he was family. Is this true?” I nod my head and thank Uncle for changing me instead of this handsome stranger.
“Um,” I start, feeling a little awkward. I suddenly want us to sit down but he showed no signs of wanting to sit. “My name's Lucy. What's yours?” The young man raises his hand to the back of his neck and scratches it before looking down at the cooling food.
“My name's Edgar Rose. I work at Restaurant Dionysus with my guardian Nicholas Burrows.” He looks nervous. What could possibly make him nervous? I can take a shot in the dark and say it's the early 1900s, and from that I know of that time period men were the ruling gender with the ability to not buckle to the presence of a female. What, does he have no backbone?
“I see.” I stand in the middle of the small room, my eyes ogling the room and its contents, especially Edgar.
He suddenly turns around and says, “You should get some rest. Mister Cameron is exhausted but he's still working on the machine you two came out of. You should eat this and then go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in the morning. It'll be Sunday so the café's closed. We can all sit down and have a talk.” When he's done he opens the door and leaves in a rush.
Feeling like I've just been rejected, I slowly sit down at the desk and eat the food. It's vegetable and beef stew with two slices of warm toasted bread.
«break»
In the morning the early light pierces through the drapes, the image somewhat reminding me of yesterday's early morning scene. I wish all my mornings were as easy. I sit up and look at the room, noticing my suitcase stashed at the foot of the bed. When did that get there?
There's a knock at the door. It's not as gentle as last night so it's safe to assume it's not Edgar. I climb out of bed and meander to the door. Before I open it I ask, “Who is it?”
“It's Uncle Cameron, is this Sleepy-Head Lucy speaking?”
“Uncle Cameron!” I fling open the door and jump on him, both of us crashing to the hardwood floor. “It works! It works, Uncle! Wherever we are, we're here! We're somewhere! Where are we?”
He explodes in one of his notorious laughing fits and later gets up, picking me up, too. “We're in Chroma City, 1925.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Still in Chroma?” I ask. We didn't travel too far, did we?
But Uncle shook his head. “No, no. We don't know for sure, yet. Treat this world with weariness. Let Nicholas and Edgar guide you.”
“Me? Why me? Won't you be going out, too?” I lean over and look at the two men behind him. There's Edgar, the blonde one, so the other must be Nicholas. I look back up at Uncle. “What am I supposed to do?” Uncle didn't say anything, instead he pulls me over to the sofas and pushes be down into the single reading chair.
“Now that you're here,” Nicholas starts, “Edgar can go to college on a regular basis. While he's gone, you fill in for him as the waiter – in this case, waitress. When he comes home he will help you until closing. Your uncle will work in the basement...” He sounds strange, as if he were being forced to repeat lines he's previously memorized.
I sigh and nod my head. Uncle will work further on the machine? Why? If he messes up not only will this beautiful restaurant on a cliff be destroyed, so will our way back home.
Please don't forget to comment! I appreciate all criticism toward my work.
