Story-A Day–What do you mean it’s only been a week?

Summer Art Sale 2016 storyaday  copy.jpg

Wrote a little. I’ve got to get my characters on the road…and then what happens? No idea!

Tomorrow, vacation time is over. We’ll see how the writing goes… (And I’m saving the research for June.)

In the meantime, here’s a bit of what I wrote today. Thanks for reading!

Ida sometimes wore a hat with a veil if she went anywhere they didn’t know about her tears. She wore it know to avoid attention because no one paid much attention to veils anymore. So many wore them to hide scars and depression and honesty. Few people wanted to look anyone in the eye.

She found Millie-Marie cleaning out the stable. Her hair, which she usually kept down and flowing romantically for the mourners, was pulled into a tight ponytail. She’d already washed the makeup off her face and changed her floral dress and shoes with jeans and work boots. The horse would be brought back soon, and she’d take care of all its needs.

“Whatcha need?” Millie-Marie asked without looking up. “I gotta muck out this stable before there’s hell to pay.”

“You want my help?” Ida asked.

Millie-Marie snorted, not hesitating even a second with the metal pitchfork in her hand. “You and your bucket of tears ain’t no help with straw and manure.”

“You know I can’t stop the tears.”

“It a wonder you never dry out.” She shrugged and set the pitchfork against the wall. “But anyways, I can do this in my sleep.”

“Do you sleep?” Ida wondered about this. She’d heard Millie-Marie never slept. They’d all been born with something askew, and while for her it was endless tears, for Millie-Marie it was endless wakefulness.

“No. But I still got no time for your chatter. So off with you if you ain’t got something useful to say.”

Ida took a deep breath. “Let’s get out of here. Now. Tonight. Let’s save the world.”

Millie-Marie, who was about to pick up her broom, stopped. “What the blue devil are you talking about? You lost your soppy-headed mind?”

Ida grinned. “No, ma’am. I’m as clear headed as I’ve been. We’re going to die, and you know it.”

“Everybody gonna die,” Millie-Marie replied.

“You know what I mean. We’re not getting old. We’re getting sick. Like everyone else. And soon enough some other girl will be here mucking out this stall.”

“More power to her. I don’t ever want to shovel manure again.”

“Millie-Marie,” Ida said, taking a step inside, the toes of her shoes at the edge of the pile of dirty straw. “You want to stop because you’re dead?”

The stared at each other.

Ida held out her left hand. “I got the tremor. On the way to the graveyard it started.”

“Oh, Ida…”

“And I’m not hanging about this place waiting to take orders from Crick Mortar and waiting on my siblings. I’m going out into the world and you should too.”

The front gate creaked. The funeral procession, the hearse and the horse, were coming back. “I don’t got the tremor yet,” Millie-Marie replied quietly. “It might be years.”

“Might not.”

The procession came closer. “I’m running home to get a few things. If
you want to come with me, meet me at the clock tower in a hour.”

“What about money?”

“What about it?”

Millie-Marie sighed. “Ida Ravenstar, you get the craziest ideas.”

“The end of the world does that to a girl.”

See you next time.

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