Maius 5th, 4593 AP: Diary of Alyss Enberdale
People are bad at describing things. My aunt fought in the first war, and she told me it was like being an ant on a running track. Sometimes you wander around doing ant things, and sometimes a trampling horde of foreign creatures run atop and leave you untrampled by chance as your fellows are smashed.
I fought in the second war, and it wasn't much like anything. It was like nothing. It was war and war is only like itself. It's surviving, and then at some point, you realize to survive youâve ended someoneâs life and you donât even feel bad about it. And you feel bad for not feeling bad. And then everyone tells you youâre acting strange, but theyâre the ones that took normal people and exploded things in their face and made them kill people whose faces they never see and they tell you youâre acting strange.Â
They called it combat fatigue like I drank too much disgusting coffee and didnât sleep right at 9:30 that night and acted grumpy the next day. I donât have a better word. I like my aunt's word better. Shell shock. Not professional enough for the military, but it's better for me.Â
My CO recommended me for leave after the incident. Thatâs what they call it in the military, an incident. You canât describe it. I told my aunt that and she told me you can, if you give it time. They gave me a few months. A few months to see if I was dangerous or useful and when I was neither they threw me away. I can describe how I feel. I feel like gum. Old gum. The war was a mouth that chewed and chewed and chewed until all my flavor leeched away, then it spat me on the sidewalk. Iâm on the sidewalk to this day. Iâm a spot on the sidewalk.
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Here, at the end of summer, roses and wildflowers bloomed one last time before autumnâs cold. Nicolette crouched among them on the side of the road, rooting for the husks of cicadas that had already mated and died. She had figured out long ago that clients didnât appreciate knowing the true origins of their patience tea, though that didnât stop housewives and schoolteachers from buying it in cans that they pretended to their husbands were coffee.Â
Her apron pockets full, she stood and began to make her way back through town, past the over-decorated municipal hall, through Main Street with faded advertisements for meats, butter, and milk. At 7:40 on a Sunday, the whole town was empty, the entire populace segregated away in one of the two churches.Â
Most respectable citizens sat in the Imperial Cesarian Church, a stately building of thick walls and plaster statues. They called the congregation of the newer Alastrian Church ârabbleâ and âunculturedâ, while the Alastrians called the Cesarians âesotericâ and âunwelcomingâ. The Cesarians were quite sure the Alastrians didnât even know what esoteric meant, but it was a moot point trying to teach those who did not want to learn.Â
Nicolette was fairly sure she did know what esoteric meant, and that the Alastrians were using it correctly, but as neither group took any notice of her beyond buying her charms and teas, she kept her thoughts to herself, and simply nodded when members of either church attempted to impart their wisdom in her earshot. No one cared what she had to say anyway.Â
The last two story building marked the edge of town proper, with the pavement petering to a stop a few feet further. Still, the chipper, clean one story homes continued. Nicolette, as was her habit, paused here, her toes right at the end of black pavement. Daisyâs home sat clean and peach-colored three houses down. Her father should have returned from his business trip last night, smelling like bus and cigarette smoke. Maybe he hugged her with his briefcase in his hand. Maybe he went right to bed. Maybe Daisy had stayed up for him later than usual, worrying with a cup of tea in her hand. It wouldnât have been Nicoletteâs tea, Daisy always said it made her sleepy. It would have been raspberry, maybe, or chamomile.Â
But Nicolette wasnât welcome there anymore, father or no father, and so she turned to the right and made her way through the alley between the last store building and the first house. This road wasnât even gravel, but dirt. A small crevasse made by spring rainwater meandered its way from one side of the road to the other, forcing Nicolette to hop across it twice before it escaped into the houseâs fenced yard. She walked past the houses on the other side as well, slightly more dilapidated than the first, and through an empty lot of gravel to the backside of her own house. Houses on this row, those that were inhabited, tended toward small and grey-brown. Most didnât have a large padlock around the low front gate. Nicolette didnât bother unlocking it, but stepped up over a cinderblock and slid down the other side, holding her skirt taught. The yard grass had turned brown months ago. The only living thing in the yard besides Nicolette herself was half of a heritage rosebush. It had been her motherâs, and Nicolette did her best to keep it alive.Â
Her door was locked as well, this one a shiny, new lock. Nicolette lifted the key from around her neck and twisted it into the hole. Her mother had never had to lock the door. People knew better than to come over uninvited. But this lock was to keep the inside from coming out.Â
Inside, Nicolette faced the wall, listening to the thump, drag, thump.Â
âHi, Mama.â She said softly. She turned, and faced her motherâs clouded eyes.Â
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This is the first snippet I've posted in a long while, and I would especially appreciate feedback! The chapter heading section is a part of one of the MC's diary, written in first person, and the actual chapter is third person from the other MC's perspective. This is meant to introduce both at the same time, and as the book continues, the reader will get insight into Alyss' past while the plot continues in the main chapter with Nicolette in the present. Thoughts, likes, dislikes and others appreciated!
Tagging for eyes, I don't do this often so please excuse the intrusion! @thetruearchmagos @sam-glade (thank you for your advice by the way) @thewriteflame @autumnalwalker (I'm counting this as a WIP extract) @pheita @chauceryfairytales @dyrewrites @thewriteflame @teacupsandstarlight @theathenverse @sergeantnarwhalwrites @winterandwords @hessdalen-globe @writeblrsupport @jacqueswriteblrlibrary
