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This time when someone knocked from the other side, I looked up. It was the natural reaction, one that my grandmother before me and her grandmother before her had gotten from her grandmother who’d come way before them, so they could survive.
It was the boy. He looked significantly more alive. The special gift in the coffee canister had helped. He waved at me. With his little mouth, he blew at the fortified glass so it fogged up. With his bony index finger, he wrote THAKS. He didn’t know how to spell yet.
I hoped he’d live long enough to learn the correct spelling of that word and many more words. So I smiled, nodded, and finished watering the little yellow flower with my beautiful copper watering can.
Soon, in the home dome, I’d send another bottle of water via the non-incinerator. I was Nora Haynes, the woman who did what she had to do. Keeping the ritual of sanity alive. Carrying us through Eternal Summer.
© 2022 Ithaka O.
All rights reserved.This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.No part of this story may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.
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