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tamingthemuseTitle: Lifelines
Summary: Stories are worth saving.
Prompt: #358 Cartography
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 557
A/N : First paragraph inspired by one of Hugh Howey's Wool line.
"We were sitting over at that table." Riana pointed. "I'd never laughed so hard in my life."
She looked at the piece of furniture with a soft expression on her face. Those had been the good days, back in times of peace and progress. Sometimes she regretted she hadn't made the best of those moments ; if she had known what as coming, she would have acted differently. All this time lost in boring so-called dusties, in petty arguments, in fearful wariness ... She had had time to live, and had let half of it go by on useless things. That's the wonder and horror of the old age, she thought. You finally know what's important, but you have so little time to actually get at it.
Sorred's young eyes were still on her, eager for more. The young boy's curiosity was like a wooden dipper stirring up the soup of her memories, bringing the heavier parts back to the surface. Moments of happiness, which she shared with a wistful joy, and moments of sadness, which she kept in the deepest place of her mind, away from the child's innocence. Maybe she would tell him eventually, when he would be older. For now, she simply wanted him to stay happily reckless.
"Did Falcon punish him after that ?" Sorred asked, still engrossed in her story. Riana smiled, remembering the aftermath of the events she had just told him about. "He had to, of course. Scipio had to wash the latrines for the next two weeks. He wasn't happy about it, 'course, but everybody knew he was mostly getting away with it. Falcon had a soft spot for him, as every one."
"Tell me another story, Granny", the young boy asked, a longing tone in his high-perched voice.
The thunderous alarm signaling the beginning of the afternoon shift prevented Riana to select any other anecdote from her past. With a little grunt, she got up from her chair, and took the hand of the child. "It's time to get back to work", she said softly. "I'll tell you about the time when Scipio and your father tried to build a rocket all on their own tomorrow. Now, let's get you back to your parents."
Grinning at the expect of hearing about his father, Sorred trotted alongside his grandmother, looking forward for the next day.
***
It was his granny's stories that made him want to gather all the village's stories and retraced the lives of its inhabitants. Like she had worked all her life charting space in the small Cartography offices, he wanted to spend his mapping the life of the people that had lived, loved and died in these walls. Tracing the lines of the births, the marriages, the quarrels, the events, big and small. So the young ones would know about their grandparents the way he had learn to know his granny through all the stories she had told him during his youth.
He looked at the big school notebook he had filled up with those stories with a soft expression on his face. Those had been the good days, when she had been there and he had still had a family. From when they were, his granny, his parents, he wanted them to know he hadn't forgotten them, nor anyone whoses story was written in the numerous documents he had gathered.
Those books was his way to honour their lives and legacy.
Summary: Stories are worth saving.
Prompt: #358 Cartography
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 557
A/N : First paragraph inspired by one of Hugh Howey's Wool line.
"We were sitting over at that table." Riana pointed. "I'd never laughed so hard in my life."
She looked at the piece of furniture with a soft expression on her face. Those had been the good days, back in times of peace and progress. Sometimes she regretted she hadn't made the best of those moments ; if she had known what as coming, she would have acted differently. All this time lost in boring so-called dusties, in petty arguments, in fearful wariness ... She had had time to live, and had let half of it go by on useless things. That's the wonder and horror of the old age, she thought. You finally know what's important, but you have so little time to actually get at it.
Sorred's young eyes were still on her, eager for more. The young boy's curiosity was like a wooden dipper stirring up the soup of her memories, bringing the heavier parts back to the surface. Moments of happiness, which she shared with a wistful joy, and moments of sadness, which she kept in the deepest place of her mind, away from the child's innocence. Maybe she would tell him eventually, when he would be older. For now, she simply wanted him to stay happily reckless.
"Did Falcon punish him after that ?" Sorred asked, still engrossed in her story. Riana smiled, remembering the aftermath of the events she had just told him about. "He had to, of course. Scipio had to wash the latrines for the next two weeks. He wasn't happy about it, 'course, but everybody knew he was mostly getting away with it. Falcon had a soft spot for him, as every one."
"Tell me another story, Granny", the young boy asked, a longing tone in his high-perched voice.
The thunderous alarm signaling the beginning of the afternoon shift prevented Riana to select any other anecdote from her past. With a little grunt, she got up from her chair, and took the hand of the child. "It's time to get back to work", she said softly. "I'll tell you about the time when Scipio and your father tried to build a rocket all on their own tomorrow. Now, let's get you back to your parents."
Grinning at the expect of hearing about his father, Sorred trotted alongside his grandmother, looking forward for the next day.
***
It was his granny's stories that made him want to gather all the village's stories and retraced the lives of its inhabitants. Like she had worked all her life charting space in the small Cartography offices, he wanted to spend his mapping the life of the people that had lived, loved and died in these walls. Tracing the lines of the births, the marriages, the quarrels, the events, big and small. So the young ones would know about their grandparents the way he had learn to know his granny through all the stories she had told him during his youth.
He looked at the big school notebook he had filled up with those stories with a soft expression on his face. Those had been the good days, when she had been there and he had still had a family. From when they were, his granny, his parents, he wanted them to know he hadn't forgotten them, nor anyone whoses story was written in the numerous documents he had gathered.
Those books was his way to honour their lives and legacy.
