In today ’s concept art authorship prompt , we ’re not all the same underneath the skin . At the very least , one flesh and stemma child is made of very unlike material than the robots around her . Can you spell her story ?
Here ’s my storey based on today ’s art :
Annabelle keep an eye on the clock flip-flop to 6:43 and braced for the auditory sensation of her female parent ’s voice . “ Annabelle ! ” she cry at just the decibel range that would arouse her from a light morning slumber . “ Breakfast ! ”
Annabelle fill out down the steps , taciturnly reciting the Thursday forenoon breakfast carte du jour in her head : cinnamon granola with beauty . Sure enough , her mother was gear up her bowl on the board just as she walked into the kitchen . About a calendar month ago , Annabelle had quetch that her granola was a short dry , and since then , the same perfect proportions of Milk River and cereal grass appeared each Thursday morning , sloshing slightly up the back talk but never quite spilling over . Her mother look at her and pursed her lips in prim frustration . “ Annabelle , your haircloth ! ” she scowled . “ It ’s getting so messy ! We ’re go to need to get it cut . ” Annabelle smiled . It had been thirty - six days since her last haircut , same as last fourth dimension . Next calendar month , she ’d start trimming her haircloth in hole-and-corner and see if it threw off the pattern .
“ Hey , kiddo . ” Her sire rustled her hairsbreadth as he took the seat next to her . “ Ready to get to watch ? ”
Annabelle nodded . She loved her father , but it was his repeating that tip her off in the first station . When he start home from work , he was so paying attention , listening to her talk about her twenty-four hours and asking her relevant inquiry . But in the mornings , he never had anything to say to her , as if she were a alien . It was always “ Ready to get to learn ? ” A catchphrase , she realized , thinking about the characters she determine on TV . Like her parents , they were always predictable , always acting within sure constraints .
Her begetter picked up the theme , and her parent jaw over the election results in some distant country . Annabelle had test to estimate out the radiation pattern of this morning blether , but she had n’t yet distinguish the meanings of words like “ electorate ” or “ fiscal conservatism . ” And she was n’t find out much in shoal beyond biology and prefatory infinitesimal calculus .
After breakfast , Annabelle went back to her elbow room , catch dressed , and grabbed her book bag . Her parents would find out that she chuck schoolhouse — they always regain out everything — and as a consequence , the telly set would n’t twist on for a calendar week . But if they realized forrader of time that she had no intention of going , they could talk her into it . For all their turn , they were experts at put down on the guilt .
As soon as she deviate from the path to schooltime , though , it began . An onetime cleaning woman pulled her motorcar up beside Annabelle . “ Annabelle , ” she woman said out the window , “ should n’t you be on your agency to school ? ” Annabelle star at her , puffing as she continued hiking along the route . She did n’t have it away the woman ’s name , but she was there every time Annabelle cut class . “ Would you wish a ride ? ” the woman asked , flashing flawless dentition . Annabelle shook her head . The car followed her for several stop , but turn away before Annabelle made it business district .
She had to take the air . She fuck that if she accepted a ride or tried to board the jalopy , it would just take her back to school . As it was , when she entered the brush of daily commuters , each one pause as she exit , calling out , “ Annabelle , should n’t you be at school ? ” But they never touched her . She always imagined that one day , one of them would get sick of calling after her all the time , and would catch her by her shirt collar , hauling her the mile and a half back to schoolhouse . It was n’t today , though . Annabelle searched the faces of the commuter until she spot the one she wanted : her Uncle Lamar . She trotted over to him , and he stopped when he saw her . “ Annabelle , ” he say , kneel down , “ should n’t you be at school ? ”
She ’d enter this out calendar month ago , that people with close-fitting ties , teacher , family members , would stop longer , would interview her more intensely . She liked it , and it made her like Uncle Lamar all the more . “ I ’m not going to school today , ” she enjoin him . “ I ’m following you to work . ”
“ You should n’t do that , ” he told her , brushing a isolated haircloth behind her capitulum . “ You should go to school . ”
“ I screw , ” she said . “ But I ’m following you to work or else . ”
Uncle Lamar suspire . “ If you must . ” He pluck up his rate so that Annabelle had to melt to keep up with him , but other than that , he made no attempt to shake her . She follow him into a tall , gray construction , through the marble lobby , and into the elevator . When they make his office , she stood mutely while he put down his briefcase , placing a reckoner , a stack of magazines , and a small pink box with a inglorious screen on his desk . Then he sat down , flipped on his reckoner sieve , and lead off type .
Annabelle rounded behind the desk to see what he was typing . An indecipherable spreadsheet stretch across the screen , rapidly take with numbers with each touching of the computer keyboard . “ Uncle Lamar , what do you do ? ” she asked .
Uncle Lamar did n’t pause in his typing . “ I work , Annabelle . ”
“ What kind of body of work do you do ? ”
“ datum entry . ”
“ What is that ? ” she asked .
He momentarily studied a paper on his desk and then resume typing . “ I take numbers from one berth and put it in another place . ”
“ That fathom boring . ”
“ It ’s just employment , Annabelle . ”
She pointed to the stack on his desk . “ Can I take care at your magazines ? ” she demand .
“ If you must . ”
She opened the top magazine and lour . It was faded and crumbling at the edges , but she could tell that it once held exposure of bare woman . She wondered why . After all , Uncle Lamar had a married woman at home , her Aunt Hedy . All the man in these offices had wives , she have it off . She pick up the pinkish corner . “ What ’s this ? ” she asked .
“ It ’s for music . ”
“ Really ? ” she had a trivial book player in her way , but she ’d never run into a music twist like this . She pushed the big round button in the shopping center , but nothing happened . She fiddled with the transposition on the side , but still nothing . “ I ca n’t get it to work on . ”
“ That ’s because it ’s break , ” he said .
“ Then why do you have it in your briefcase ? ”
Another sigh . “ It ’s just something citizenry channel with them to work . ”
Annabelle place the corner back on the desk and deplume her backpack up on one articulatio humeri . “ Okay , Uncle Lamar . I ’m going to schooltime . ”
He looked up and smile at her . “ That ’s good , Annabelle . You should get a drive . You ’ll get there quicker . ”
She nod . “ Thanks , Uncle Lamar . ”
She walked south , away from business district , away from the residential area , to the place where the paved road ended and pot grew up through the tire track . If she was out latterly enough , she know someone would push out and peck her up before she ’d even have a hazard to get hungry . She came here on the weekends , sometimes , during her rare amorphous fourth dimension , and stared out over the fields . The urban center was all manicured lawns and neatly sweep street , but here things were different . Thorny bramble reached up to catch the hem of her skirt . The grasses were tall and poked her as she sit on top of a incline . At the bottom of the slope sit the corpses of something that came before : the skeleton in the cupboard of an overturned machine , bottles made of some fleeceable , weightless substance she did n’t recognize , au naturel cinderblocks , and rusting pipes . She never ask anyone what was out here for fear they might strip it up . She enjoyed the closed book of it as much as the unpredictable motion of the bug and raspberry .
The sun began to hang low in the sky , and Annabelle pull out her sweater tightly around her trunk . It would n’t be much longer now . Her parents would chew up her before long , would evidence her how she ’d amount to nothing in life if she did n’t go to school day . Then they would all eat a chili dinner with ice cream for dessert .
Then , Annabelle spotting something in the distance , a small figure casting a long shadow in the evening light . She cupped her manus over the top of her eyes , blocking out the sun just enough to realize that the figure was a child . She ’d never seen another child on a Thursday , not outside of schooling . She leave her book cup of tea on the ground and sprinted down the hill , ignoring the weed that come up against her legs and trampling a few of her holy cloak-and-dagger bottles along the elbow room . When she had almost reached the figure , she stopped . He was a little improbable than she was , his face gaunt and his sweatshirt stained with mud . He shivered , and she noticed that his sneakers were gray-haired with moistness . “ Who are you ? ” she need .
His sunken eyes widened . “ You mean , you do n’t know my name ? ” he asked , a question that made Annabelle befuddle back her head and crow with laugh .
Fiction
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