The Prod

[part of SoCS]

If Inni had to guess who broke in, she’d say it was the lout down the road. The tall one with the ragged dreadlocks who looked like he was starving. The one who hid behind the bales of hay any time someone even walked past.

She’d had enough of people pinching her stuff, and she was going to sort it out right bloody now! Her arms swung high and hard as she marched down the long dusty driveway of her small farm. The swirl of dusties followed her like the steam from a train.

The old house, condemned according to Pete, once belonged to the only people Inni liked in the community – apart from Pete, of course, but he was a relly, and that didn’t count, did it?

The timber steps were almost rotted all the way through, the porch worse, but Inni stepped up and leaned in to rap on the door.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the deep voice said. “If you want to see me, come out back.”

Inni spun around but saw no one. Looked up. A vid screen. A security camera on each side of the porch, each disguised as webs, with the eye-hole in the very centre. Just like a terranius trap-door spider.

Careful steps backward and a tight grip on the rail and she was back on terra firma. The air rushed out of her lungs in a gush.

“You here about your stuff?”

Inni reached out her hand to the very tall, very dark, very fit young man. His hand stayed by his side, and she let her fingers change shape until she was pointing at the camera on that side of the porch.

“Did you see who it was?” she said.

“Yep. Wanna guess?”

“No, wanna know!” Bloody hell, why did people do that?

“Because you have expectations of others that you don’t have for yourself.”

“What?”

“You said-”

“I didn’t say – I thought!”

“Same thing, in my world.”

Oh, shit. What had she let herself in for?

“My name is Inni,” she said as she stretched out her arm again.

He stepped back.

“And this is the part where you tell me your name and we shake hands and pretend to be courteous.” Bloody hell, just how long had this guy been out of the world of social structures?

“A long time,” he said.

“And speak to what I said, not what I thought!” Inni yelled. “I’m not a Denaiad, even if you are!”

“How do you …” he stepped forward. “Doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer and put his warm, slightly calloused hand in hers. “My name here, for this journey, is -”

Black clouds erupted overhead. Lightning struck the air between their hands, extended to the earth and erupted energy back upwards.

Inni felt herself fly backward through the air, waited for the crash landing. It didn’t come. Two large hands gripped her by the shoulders and gently lowered her to the ground.

“Apparently, I’m not allowed to give you my real name – even if you do know what I am – so you should call me Avi.”


copyright Cage Dunn 2017 – a piece of Stream of Consciousness #SoCS Aug 2017 – https://lindaghill.com

the house

 

 

 

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