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Nex del Vida -> Fair Weather Friend (10/25/2008 18:13:43)
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Marie's Story: (Possibly) Chapter One
This is yet another Institution-esque piece. It chronicles the life of Marie Fairweather, who is the sibling of Martin (the main character of Institution.) She does not yet exist in the book, and may never be mentioned; in fact, it is very likely that she does not exist. This piece does not have anything to do with the Institution. Rather, it is a snippet of Mundane life, with no mention of the Arcane.
Marie sat quietly, looking at the tiny spider. Its eight slender legs pumped, carrying it quite fast for such a small creature. If she looked closely, she could see eight gleaming eyes. She let it climb up onto her hand, then transferred it to the other one when it started climbing back to the ground. It had made its web between a jagged rock and the ground, just outside of the worn road where the residents of this city—AP233, standing for Area of the People 233—walked to and from the enormous artificial fields on the other side of the huge metal gates that dictated the border of AP233. She would have picked it up and moved it, but she didn’t want to disturb its web. She decided that she was going to make sure never to step on it, and she would tell her parents and Martin not to either. If it ever builds a new web, I will make sure it builds it farther away from the road. She let the spider crawl onto the ground and back to its web. She sighed and stood up, dusting off the back of her faded green dress and blowing her eye-level bangs out of her eyes. Mommy’s going to give me a haircut when I get home.
She began walking home among the gray buildings and dusty streets. A few people passed her, on their way to the market or the house of a relative. She had only wandered a few block from her home, so she found the crumbling building within minutes and walked through the door. She climbed the stairs to the third floor, then pushed open the door—only the very luckiest families could afford locks. Crime was high, and many people had taken to hiding their valuables, or even keeping them on their person.
Her mother, Alice Fairweather, was standing in the kitchen, a rag in her hand, staring out the small window and down into the street. Her back was to Marie, but she knew that if she could have seen her mother’s eyes, they would have been glazed over. Her mother often had these spells. They lasted only a few seconds, and Mrs. Fairweather was completely immovable and inattentive during them. Marie had once asked what her mother was thinking about, and the response had been “Stories. I’m thinking of stories.” Upon further investigation, Marie found out that Alice’s father had told her tales of a world without gray walls, a world where families could go to fields or “beaches,” whatever those were, at any time. He had spoken of an unregimented society (Marie did not know these words), one where people did not have strict schedules tomorrow. Her grandfather had said that children did not go to school once a week for eighteen hours, as was the custom today, but rather five times a week, for six hours a day. Imagine, having that much time in school… I don’t think I could stand it.
Marie looked away from her mother and went to find Martin. Perhaps he’d let her play with his marble. Probably not, though, she thought. The marble was his prized possession, and he had only let her play with it once.
He was sitting in his room, rolling a ball made of packed dirt and clay for his scruffy little dog. He would gently spin it across the floor, and the dog would scamper over to it and pick it up carefully. It would walk back across the floor to Martin and place the ball on the floor with the utmost care.
Martin rolled the ball a little too hard, and it smashed to pieces against a wall. The ten-year-old sighed and leaned back, taking notice of his five-year-old sister. “Come in, Marie.” She walked over to him and sat down, legs crossed. “How are you?”
“Fine. I found a spider who made a web near the road, so when we go to the fields don’t step on it.” She looked at him warily, unsure whether or not he would make fun of her.
“Okay.” She could tell that he didn’t particularly care, but at least he was humoring her. “Anything else?” She considered asking him for the marble, but saw how tired he looked. His room was adjacent to the apartment of another family, one who fought constantly and violently, and they often kept him up. Marie had taken to sleeping on the couch or with her parents rather than in what used to be their shared room, and the change had stuck. Martin, for reasons she could not see, chose to stay.
She shook her head and stood up. Alice had resumed cleaning the table, and looked around when Marie entered the kitchen. “Time for a hair cut, young lady.” She dropped the rag on the table and walked over to the sink. Pulling a pair of shears from a drawer, she put Marie in a chair and began snipping.
“School tomorrow, Mare. You excited?” ‘Mare’ was Alice’s pet name for Marie, ever since their apartment block had been shepherded to a museum and shown pictures of the animals of yore. They had seen birds of all kinds—not just the small, grey twitbats that flitted from roof to roof—and large animals too, their favorite of which had been the majestic stallion and his mate, labeled “Mare.” The statues were poorly made, and they could see the seams where the plastic had been welded, but the paint was still faintly glossy, and the eyes shone like they were real. Marie wished that more animals were still alive. The Nucleocaust had wiped most of them out, though, and what beasts remained tended to be scraggly, small, and tough.
Marie took a moment to study her mother’s hands. They were wide, flat, and quite ugly, the nails squarish and yellow. Alice herself was nothing special to look at, though according to Daddy she had once been pretty. Years of marriage and looking after children had made her careless with her body. Of course, Marie did not know this. Alice was her mother, and so was beautiful.
“The Monks made an announcement today,” said Alice. The Monks were the government of this city, and possibly others, though no one Marie knew had ever been outside AP233. They were nicknamed that—Monks—because they barely ever spoke to the people about what was going on. They had essentially sworn a vow of silence. Nobody knew who the head Monk was, and so one tended to refer to them as a single body rather than separate beings. Their own word for themselves was “Supervisionists,” referring to the fact that they attempted to control the people’s every action, to never let them have any free time. They did this job horribly, however, and allotted an hour and a half to meal times. This was supposed to be the lunch period, but the Fairweather family ate for fifteen minutes and then dispersed to do their separate activities.
“They said that every period was going to be shortened five minutes, so as to give us more time to sleep.” Ten hours were already given to sleeping. The Monks were inscrutable as always.
The only activity that never seemed to be allotted enough time was going to the fields. Marie thought that lunch period was almost over, and field period was after that. She closed her eyes and listened to the scissors snicking through her hair.
She opened her eyes when the bells sounded. Her mother put down the scissors, satisfied with her daughter’s hair, and said, “Let’s go! Time for field period.” Marie bounced out of her chair and out the door, pausing for her mother. Her father would take Martin. Michael Fairweather had been asleep when Marie entered the house—he worked as a street-cleaner, and stooping to pick up garbage for nine hours a night took a lot out of him. He slept all day long, but always woke for field period with his son and daughter.
As they and all of the other residents of AP233 walked towards the imposing metal gates that marked the entrance to the fields, Marie kept an eye out for her spider. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve and told her not to step on it, then rushed back to her father, who had lagged behind with Martin, to say the same thing. Her parents nodded.
~ ~ ~
The field was enormous, as always. The grass was a verdant green, and the families that had gotten here before Marie were already spread out, sitting on the ground or running and playing with each other. Michael opened the satchel he had brought and took out a blanket, a book and a bright green disk. The blanket was set on the ground, and Marie and Alice sat on it and began reading the book while Michael threw the disk to Martin. The book was called “A History of Supervisionism,” and was incredibly boring. Marie didn’t like the book at all, she just liked listening to her mother’s voice. While Alice opened to where they had left off, Marie snuggled up close to her and drifted off to sleep, the sounds of her mother’s voice mingling with the music of people, happy for one hour a day.
~ ~ ~
The bells sounded again. Marie always thought that the bells announcing field period were much gentler and nicer-sounding than the bells announcing its end. She rubbed her eyes and got up, helping her mother to fold the blanket and replace it in the satchel. They began to walk towards the gate, which was illuminated by red lights. She spotted Marabelle Singer and sprinted up to her, engaging her in a conversation about school, friends, and parents. Marabelle was six, a year older than Marie, but they were fairly close and were in the same class at school. Anna Dunn walked up to them and began chattering as well, and the three girls passed through the gates talking. They kept talking until they reached Anna’s house. The girl peeled off from the group and joined her family, waving at Marie and Marabelle. “See you later!”
A few blocks later they reached Marie’s house, and she departed in a similar manner. She was the first of her family to reach the house, so she sat down at the table and thought about her spider until Alice, Michael and Martin stepped in.
~ ~ ~
After the socialization period, just before dinner period began, she ran back to the place with the jagged rock. The web hung in shambles, white streaks mashed against the ground and the rock. Try as she might, she could not find the body of her pet.
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