Morning all. It seems the internet is steady today instead of intermittent. Still have flooding, but now w can see the maps showing the flooding and where to avoid. It is one of those times where the radio being filled with national and international news doesn’t help much. While the local news from my childhood was always a mix, I do miss the way they used to cover local weather events with the intensity usually reserved for wars. I only miss it when things ae happening locally weather wise, but still it would be nice to have that as the emergency alternative when things like flooding occur. We could have an Avenger’s Assemble style local weather reporting team. Normally they could go about their days doing whatever, but then the signal goes out and suddenly every flooded street in your neighborhood has it’s own on the spot reporter. I know, probably not feasible, but these are the things I think about before coffee. For now, let’s jump into the morning prompt.
I like the set up. No clue whet the story is, but I thin I can use this in another story so I don;t know that I need to figure this one out.
Wednesday, July 31st: The grass looked unnaturally green.
The grass looked unnaturally green. He stared at it, mesmerized for a moment. ‘Can’t be real,’ he thought to himself. He bent down and touched it. It felt real. He plucked a blade and stood, bringing it to his nose. It smelled real.
He realized he might look odd and casually dropped the hand holding the clipped bade of grass down, tucking it into his pocket. ‘Nothing to see here folks,’ he thought. ‘No one wondering if the grass is real.’
He looked around to see if anyone was watching. he could see no one, but that didn’t mean he was unobserved. In this neighborhood, he expected someone was always watching. ‘If it isn’t a person it will be a camera.’
This wasn’t the sort of place one could wander un observed.
As he looked for anyone watching him, he took note of all the dry, brown and crispy lawns that surrounded the vibrantly green one of the Garrison House. Even the trees looked dry and droopy. A light breeze kicked up blowing in his direction. It looked almost as though the loose limbs of the dry trees were reaching out to the green lawn, begging for help.
He shook the thought away. Movement caught his eyes and he turned, relieved beyond all measure to see Anderson’s car driving towards him. He was supposed to meet him here and introduce him to the family.
Anderson pulled up and parked along the street. He slipped out of his vehicle. “Sorry, sorry, got held up, meant to be hear earlier.” he said. He barely looked in George’s direction, hand already waving away his own excuses. Anderson, who went by his last name because of the plethora of John’s in their association, was known to be both tardy and forgetful. The former was a result of the other. Anderson tended to get involved in something and forget completely that he was supposed to do anything else. The fact that the anything else he forgot was always something for another person was not lost on George.
Anderson was always on time if it was a project of his own.
It was not something George ever pointed out, but knowing this was something more for him than for Anderson, he made sure to arrive late himself. It meant he was only standing around a few moments rather than the half hour he should have been had he arrived when they scheduled to meet.
His own timing varied depending on who he was meeting. These days George keenly felt that time really wa an artificial construct. If he was meeting Anderson at 2 pm, he knew to arrive at 2:30 to be on time. By contrast if he was meeting Devon at 2pm, he knew to arrive no later than 1:30 or he would be left behind.
‘it’ only for a short while longer,’ he thought. While no one admitted it, he knew part of the timing was to help keep him in his place, showing him that even if he earned a spot here, he wasn’t one of them. They dictated how things worked, including timing. His acceptance of their unspoken scheduling decrees earned him a modicum of acceptance within their group. He wasn’t one of them, but he could be tolerated. Soon he would be free of them. But for now, he needed one last thing.
Ten til Midnight 