Prompt 258: Do you look forward to coming “home” for the holidays? What kind of preparations does your family make in order to make you feel more at home? Is there a place that you would rather be to enjoy yourself during this typically family-filled time of the year?
A part of him whispered, “Children should not grow up here.”
As the crab spider walked in the Gutter, people parted before him. Something was odd about him, that was for certain. His extended legs didn’t move as he walked. He walked with a slow, labored step. Heel to toe, heel to toe, he walked in some kind of unheard cadence. He saw children, peering out from the dirty hostels, but his “eyes”, the ones programmed in his helmet, registered them as small thermal green and red blobs. He walked around and around, patrolling as he had been ordered.
“Hey, Mister!”
He stopped. A green blob stood in front of him. It measured 129 centimeters tall. From the timbre of voice, it was either a young male or a female. “Happy Easter!”
His gloved hand reached out to what she offered. It looked roughly egg shaped. He registered no bombing material in it. There was something organic in it however; it was covered by some sort of semi-hard shell. He squeezed it, very gently. He heard a crack of that semi-hard shell.
“You know what, the Easter Bunny’s coming tonight.”
“CLAIRE!”
He and the girl turned at the voice, that of a woman. He registered a larger blob, at 181 centimeters. Its thermal array showed both fear and anger. The blob moved toward him, and scooped the smaller blob to it, so that it was covered initially. “Don’t pay her no mind, sir. She’s a little slow in the head.”
He turned away from the blobs and continued on the patrol line. He arrived at the checkpoint, and the Fortunata stopped him. “What is this?” she demanded, and plucked the organic egg-shaped thing out of his hand. “Oh, look, a decorated egg.” She showed the egg to the people around her. He read the thermals – she was calm. He heard the pitch of the voice – it was sarcasm. He never “spoke” unless he had to, since it cost him a great amount of energy to do so. Ghost Widow had been so kind enough to give him that ability; an ability to override even the Fortunatas.
The Fortunata crushed the egg in her hand. “Who gave you this?”
He said nothing, and offered her nothing, as his thermals made him generally blind. He knew the location where the encounter happened. He walked back to that spot, making sure he went alone. He knocked – gently for him – on different shanty doors. Without speaking, he used his ability to get into people’s minds, looking for that Claire.
He found the location of that shanty, and stood outside it even while his shift finished. He did not move. Dusk fell, then pitch darkness. The gutter was lit by assorted barrel-fires, the source of many people’s heat and light down here, in the Gutter. It kept Arachnoids away – mostly. As he stood there, however, he knew it kept everything away. A rat scampered by and he blew it into pieces with a shot from his channelgun. Still, he waited.
The people in that shanty were afraid, except for the 129 centimeter tall blob of green and red. If he turned up his pickups, he could hear her mother telling her a story, her mother’s voice shaking, knowing he was outside. He registered no other blobs. And no blobs came in to see her.
He waited. At first, he didn’t know what for. Then, suddenly he moved, seemingly from beyond his own volition. He ducked into the shanty, looking around. Objects registered as gray matter most times. This time, however, he could see things clearly, but with a yellowish hue. He turned around, keeping his legs tucked in tightly. He moved, not of his own volition, looking for something in the kitchen area, and then toward the bathroom area – ah. He put one hand out, holding it over the toilet, and his other hand wrapped around an oblong plastic canister. He shook the canister, and fine white powder fell into his hand. He set that down, then picked up something else – a large piece of cotton. He wadded it into a ball as best he could, and then wet it.
Then he moved away from the toilet, and moved to the window nearby. He dipped the cotton ball in the powder, and set it on the floor. He did this repeatedly, leading a trail from the window to the kitchen table, and from there to a kitchen chair, from there to the door. He opened the door, shaking outside his powder from his glove. The last few bits of powder on the floor weren’t that noticeable anymore.
He slowly threaded the cotton ball through the opening of the door, and then closed it tight. He walked a small ways down, and turned up the pickups. He waited until dawn. He had no idea why he did it. Or what exactly he thought he was doing. He stood near the wall, and felt the sun come up. He heard the pickups, heard Claire yell:
“THE EASTER BUNNY CAME! SEE HIS TRACKS TO THE DOOR?!”
Music: None.
Comments: A lady I know from an old job used to do that with her grandchildren every year at Easter.
Words: 912