This was my second assignment for A215. I got another 2:1 mark which I was pleased with.
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I had been perfectly
settled on a hillock, surrounded by clipped clumps of grass whose
green scent tickled my nose when the noise of the morning bell
startled me out of my reverie.
'Oh no,' I
blurted. The distant noise was the sign that everyone else was to
vacate their bed and thus end the best portion of my day. It
was not their fault, of course, there were close to two hundred of us
crammed into the farm compound that comprised my entire world and so
many people generated an awful lot of noise. I did not let this stop
me holding it against my fellows. I did not like them and they did
not like me. I liked quiet. But I let myself grow distracted
and missed the chance to get back before the day truly started.
Ostensibly my job
was to check on the new lambs and dump buckets of cereal into troughs
to supplement the ewes diet. And I had certainly done those things as
evidenced by the clumps of snagged wool on the hem of my rough spun
dress and the pungent smell of barley mash that lingered on my hands.
This was not what took up my time. Instead I had gotten caught up by
the murky orange glow of the distant city which faded as the sun
rose. It was only visible before sunrise as while no-one lived there
now, or so we were told yet still the glow of electric light was
there by night.
I could only
vaguely remember how electricity appeared up close. When I was very
small I'd owned a bedside lamp that lit up with a mere touch - no
spark of flint or match needed; no gas, or oil nor wax candle
required. But all I could really recall was the way I could flail out
my small hand until I painfully smacked it against something solid
only to be rewarded with light that drove away killer clowns or
giant spiders or whatever my overactive imagination conjured up. The
form of the lamp itself had not stayed with me only the instantly
available light.
My other vivid
memory of electricity was from the night we fled the city, The
streets had not been dark when my mother pushed me onto the van that
brought me to the compound. It was the last time I saw her, she
looked oddly sallow in the orange light and I'd been sleepy and
confused. But it was the clearest memory that remained of her. When I
pointed out the glow of the city to the Elders they only said the
lights were set on some great timer - that no-one need remain to
turn them on and off. I found this rather farfetched but some deep
buried glimmer of common sense prevented me from saying so out loud.
Perhaps some part of me knew that questions would have produced
answers I would not like and thus I had not asked and allowed myself
a sliver of hope. It was the same thing that drew me to the murky
orange light reflected on the clouds each morning, my mother could
still live. The city was still there - why should there be no-one
left?
The dissonant
clanging cut off abruptly an indication that everyone had risen and I
picked up my pace. Before I was chosen for the task of early morning
animal feeds, my reluctance to drag myself from my bed made the
morning bell seem interminable and not won me any friends. The duty
I'd been assigned when leaving the schoolroom and commencing
adulthood, dismayed me utterly for some time. And still did on
occasion - most often when I was shook awake to start the day an hour
before sunrise. It was only when I realised that being one of the
first awake gave me the chance for an hour or two alone every day I
settled to it. In the overpopulated compound, any possibility of
solitude was rare and I valued it.
The duty also
awarded me the privilege of no longer having to sleep in the
dormitory block which was not to be sneered at. The smallest of the
dormitory’s held twenty four people and the largest nearly forty.
A night in there was one long chorus of snoring, creaking beds,
farting and mumbled complaints about the same, punctuated by those
who talked in their sleep or the occasional swear word that was
inevitable when anyone had to find their way to the washroom in the
pitch dark. I did not miss it.
My new room for as
long as I had early morning feed duty was a small cubby on the side
of the kitchen, with six single beds. It was always warm as it shared
a wall with the back of the oven. It was assigned to female visitors,
Enna the cook and myself. Visitors were rare though and as there
were times Enna found herself otherwise occupied, there were nights
when I had the whole room to myself. Even when there, Enna
slept like the dead and so no-one poked me in my sleep and admonished
me to stop snoring! It was almost like privacy - a concept I only
ever read of in books. There was none to be found here.
My position on the
path gave me a good view of the farm compound as it came to life -
steam rose from the bathhouse and mingled with the constant dark
smoke from the kitchen chimneys. I was not excused the rest of the
day's chores because I'd been out feeding the flocks but in truth I
normally had little to do after that though I made myself look busy
lest more work be found for me. But if I arrived after everyone had
eaten I would go without breakfast, the same as everyone else so I
did not slow my pace. Though being late but not last had it's own
advantages as a flash of yellow caught my eye and I ducked behind the
barn, knowing what that signalled.
The kitchen door
banged open to discharge a stream of teenage boys. The slaughter
house boys led by Rhys, who won the acclaim of the other boys his age
with various acts of petty bullying and feats of disgustingness
involving ingesting raw meat. I had read that could give someone
worms and I fervently wished them on Rhys but he remained annoyingly
healthy. I had never had much fondness for the slaughter house
workers, for my duties encouraged to me to be rather more attached to
the animals that we raised. And even when I dismissed this as petty,
I knew as well as anyone that we raised the animals for food, there
was the rather more unpleasant personal fact that they smelled of
their work. A miasma comprised of dark iron scent of blood and the
fresh dung of voided bowels followed them around so thickly you could
almost see it. Even work animals and barn cats who were not fated for
the slaughter shied away. But my disregard for them had never been as
returned as vehemently as it was currently.
Their newly
acquired low esteem for me was the result of an attempt I made to be
helpful to the weavers. I had located a recipe for dye using onion
skins in the scant library of books and booklets that weren't used
for schooling. I had found other's before but all had been rejected -
we could eat beetroot and feed carrot tops to the pigs and wasting
good growing ground on something that could not be eaten would never
be countenanced . But onions skins were abundant and were of no use
to anyone and the weavers had been pleased - everyone's clothing was
faded and old. It comprised entirely of what we could make with the
wool we produced and oft repaired hand me downs that people arrived
in. Even new clothing made from plain spun wool was a dull grey that
showed every speck of mud from the fields and more disturbingly gore
from the slaughter house.
While my enquiring
mind often drew disdain from those who were not similarly inclined
this had been exacerbated because the slaughter gang had been the
first to have their clothing treated on account of their having the
worst stained clothing. I was not entirely unreasonable, as pleased
as I had been with my discovery, I could perhaps allow that the
rather lurid yellow colour that onion skin dye produced was not that
much of an improvement. But it could hardly be undone now no matter
how much Rhys glared and made threatening gestures. And the colour
did give me an significant advantage - it was so bright that, even I
with my eyes made weak with my bookish habits, could see one of them
coming from near anywhere on the compound farm land. When they had
almost reached the slaughter house door I put two fingers to my
mouth and attracted their attention with a piercing whistle. When
they glanced at me I waved jauntily at them before I slowly picked my
way to the kitchen door through the accumulated mud and manure of the
yard. But I did not need to hurry even with this provocation I knew
they would never give chase so publicly. Besides I didn't think Rhys
would really hit me. Someone in his life before here taught
him it was wrong to hit girls and that seemed to have stuck with him,
everyone had something from their previous life they clung to. At
most I would end up having some bit of gore from the slaughter house
flung at me, and well that would wash off. In response Rhys shook
his fist at me but this only caught the attention of a gaggle of
youngsters who were being led in a group to the schoolhouse.
"Rhys, Rhys,
you long streak of piss," the boldest of them called only to be
given a clip round his ear by Kara, the teacher. I laughed loudly at
the chant which I had not heard before only to be given a
disapproving look by Kara. This would be seen as encouraging bad
behaviour but I did not care - when I reached commencement and been
assigned a duty I had asked if I could apprentice to Kara. The Elders
had not objected but Kara had. She said I did not want to teach - not
really. That no-one liked me and I just wanted an indoor job and
access to the books in the school house. Perhaps that had been part
of the appeal but I liked to learn - surely I could have
wrangled that into liking to teach. Anyway I blamed her bitterly
until I acclimatised to farm life and then found the benefit of my
morning duties. I was not entirely without resentment even now for
most of the books I loved to read were held in the schoolroom - now
forever out of my reach. If I lived in the city – the way it was
before, there would have been lots of jobs where I could stay indoors
and read all day. But I did not live there and Kara blocked my only
avenue to indoor reading work here. So I encouraged bad behaviour
from her pupils - it would be her job to correct it. No-one else
wanted to be her apprentice so she had to do it on her own. Well
serve her right, I thought, resolute in my spite. She had not wanted
my help.
I slipped into the
kitchen and snagged one of the few remaining plates of scrambled eggs
and took a seat under Enna's watchful eye. I had not cut it too
finely though so she didn't shout or glare at me. Though I noted she
poured me a helping of coffee rather begrudgingly. If I had been too
late she would have gotten my share and while Enna, as cook, got to
eat as much as she wanted, coffee was always in scarce supply. I
leant down to the mug and sniffed deeply. I always liked the smell
better than the taste. So I pushed it back at her in a gesture of
peace. It was better to be on her good side and she whisked the mug
away without a word of thanks. I dug into my breakfast – the eggs
had cooled and become congealed and rubbery. I wrinkled my nose, and
regretted my choice to give away the coffee, the bitter taste would
have washed away the unpalatable egg.
As little as I
liked my breakfast, it set my next task firmly in my mind and I
headed out to the hen house. The chickens milled about underfoot as I
scattered food for them and collected the eggs that I would have to
deliver to Enna. It was when I reached into one of the wooden nesting
boxes that I found the treasure nestled under two fat brown speckled
eggs. A book, a thick one, with a torn cover marked with bird
droppings. Scrawled in front was an anonymous inscription in a
childish scrawl that clearly indicated it was meant for me. 'I luvs
Yello' I read with a barely suppressed laugh, it was unexpectedly
nearly as much of a thrill as the book. It didn't even matter that I
could not prove Kara wrong without being caught with a stolen book.
Someone liked me after all!
(2262 words)
Commentary
The first choice I
made when starting my story was in the character I wanted to build it
around. One of the prompts was unapologetic and one of the characters
I had created in week 5 was an unapologetic teen who was resentful of
having to live a simple life. I decided to write in first person to
show better show her unapologetic attitude and rather selfish
disregard for the other characters who were really dealing with the
same issue, yet show some of her own thoughts and feelings in order
to keep her if not likeable at least relatable. (Anderson, 2006,
pp102-103) This also allowed her to remain unnamed in the story,
which I wanted in order to show her distance from the other
characters. I don't specify she's a teenager, but instead give hints
that's she's recently come of age and attempted to write in a young
voice.(Neale, 2006, pp126-128) Her main antagonists are a group of
boys she dismisses as teenagers despite being the same age and also
assigned to work. She also doesn't speak except one exclamation when
alone so I had to show her personality via her train of thoughts and
via the interpretation of other characters. As most of the the
glimpses are via the characters opinion of what the others think of
her, I added the scene where she thinks of her rejection from teacher
apprenticeship so we could have paraphrased quotes from the
character Kara, who is antagonist towards the main character to
provide some support for the character's opinion of what her fellow
compound dwellers think of her. (Anderson, 2006, pp78-79)
I developed the
setting - a dystopic future where a return to simple life was
mandatory to keep the character in this mind set - she has no options
and cannot set out to do something new and I used flashbacks to give
hints of how this had came about instead of spelling it out. In the
end the natural disaster that forced people to abandon their cities
is less important to the story than the circumstances they now live
in so I didn't want to dwell on it too much. (Neale, 2006, pp126-128)
I also wanted to use
an enclosed world as discussed in Chapter six (Anderson, 2006, p.95)
- the compound is a kind of institution and created some of the
jargon that went along with this as well as rules for my character to
chafe against - which allowed me to show the rules instead of just
having them spelt out. (Neale, 2006, pp126-128) I decided to give the
ending a positive note, and reveal despite her earlier thoughts, the
character is quite pleased to find she's won someone's attention. But
then she is rather single minded - as teenagers can be. When I had
written the story I had it read by a friend who likes this genre who
pointed out I used 'had' a lot along with an adjective and I didn't
need it and this allowed me to save words for more sensory detail.
(Neale, 2006 p.49)
(514 words)
