Apel
Brigit's Flame, January week 1, "Utopia: Inception". About 589 words, no warnings.
They say that after the Great Crash, the “digital world” humanity had created was wiped out, along with all the knowledge stored in the “cloud” - though there are still clouds in the sky, so I’m not sure what they’re talking about. At any rate, we had to rebuild society from the ground up. The buildings and the people survived mostly fine, though some of the doors were sealed shut. The glass was unbreakable, and all that’s left inside are the skeletons of the people trapped in the buildings.
Oh, sorry, I should really be more positive for my future self when I write in you, Diary. I doubt I’d want to hear about that sort of thing. Mother always said I had negative tendencies. But I call them more … realistic. Factual. After all, we’re practically at the bottom of the society that was rebuilt. We’re not the Wareless - though Dad threatens to turn me out to them if I don’t behave - but we’re not much better. We’re part of the Spoons. We handle all the agriculture, the digging and the planting and most of the harvesting. Well, my brothers and father do that; I help Mom in the kitchens, cleaning the fruits and vegetables. Actually to be quite frank, she’d tell me not to lie. Mom does the cleaning, and I watch the pot. I make sure the heat stays even under it, that it doesn’t boil over when the food gets tossed into it, and stir it so everything cooks evenly. Dreadfully boring, it is. So I imagine what life would be like if I were anyone but a Spoon.
If I were a Wareless, sure no one would care about me. But then, at least I could do what I want to do, and no one would tell me “Watch that pot!” or “Go dig up some potatoes!” - I don’t even like potatoes! I could spend all day wandering the town, daydreaming and imagining, free to go where I would, eat what I could find, even meat that was cooked over a fire instead of boiled in a soup.
If I were a Fork I could prepare the meals, and I could card the wool, even shear a sheep or two. I wouldn’t have to get my hands dirty in the mud; they would be full of ink instead of the charcoal I currently use to write. Ink may not wash out as easily, but at least it doesn’t get into everything as badly as charcoal.
If I were a Knife, I could be part of the elite hunters, sneaking around the woods, bringing in the meat that everyone relies on. Or if I couldn’t stomach killing the animal, maybe I could help slice it up. On second thought, I think I’d stick with the crafting. Carving tools out of wood, carving the different forks and spoons that everyone else uses, and forging my own knives out of metal.
“Apel!” Mother always interrupts me before I can think any further about being in a different class. It’s my name, but the way she says it sometimes … well, I’m glad that Dad makes up for it by calling me “the Apel of his eye”. I’d write more, but the candle is getting low, and Mom hates it when I “waste the candle to write” in the night, but when else am I supposed to do it when she’s always on me to help out in the kitchen or around the house? Signing off for tonight, until next time!
They say that after the Great Crash, the “digital world” humanity had created was wiped out, along with all the knowledge stored in the “cloud” - though there are still clouds in the sky, so I’m not sure what they’re talking about. At any rate, we had to rebuild society from the ground up. The buildings and the people survived mostly fine, though some of the doors were sealed shut. The glass was unbreakable, and all that’s left inside are the skeletons of the people trapped in the buildings.
Oh, sorry, I should really be more positive for my future self when I write in you, Diary. I doubt I’d want to hear about that sort of thing. Mother always said I had negative tendencies. But I call them more … realistic. Factual. After all, we’re practically at the bottom of the society that was rebuilt. We’re not the Wareless - though Dad threatens to turn me out to them if I don’t behave - but we’re not much better. We’re part of the Spoons. We handle all the agriculture, the digging and the planting and most of the harvesting. Well, my brothers and father do that; I help Mom in the kitchens, cleaning the fruits and vegetables. Actually to be quite frank, she’d tell me not to lie. Mom does the cleaning, and I watch the pot. I make sure the heat stays even under it, that it doesn’t boil over when the food gets tossed into it, and stir it so everything cooks evenly. Dreadfully boring, it is. So I imagine what life would be like if I were anyone but a Spoon.
If I were a Wareless, sure no one would care about me. But then, at least I could do what I want to do, and no one would tell me “Watch that pot!” or “Go dig up some potatoes!” - I don’t even like potatoes! I could spend all day wandering the town, daydreaming and imagining, free to go where I would, eat what I could find, even meat that was cooked over a fire instead of boiled in a soup.
If I were a Fork I could prepare the meals, and I could card the wool, even shear a sheep or two. I wouldn’t have to get my hands dirty in the mud; they would be full of ink instead of the charcoal I currently use to write. Ink may not wash out as easily, but at least it doesn’t get into everything as badly as charcoal.
If I were a Knife, I could be part of the elite hunters, sneaking around the woods, bringing in the meat that everyone relies on. Or if I couldn’t stomach killing the animal, maybe I could help slice it up. On second thought, I think I’d stick with the crafting. Carving tools out of wood, carving the different forks and spoons that everyone else uses, and forging my own knives out of metal.
“Apel!” Mother always interrupts me before I can think any further about being in a different class. It’s my name, but the way she says it sometimes … well, I’m glad that Dad makes up for it by calling me “the Apel of his eye”. I’d write more, but the candle is getting low, and Mom hates it when I “waste the candle to write” in the night, but when else am I supposed to do it when she’s always on me to help out in the kitchen or around the house? Signing off for tonight, until next time!