Sunday, November 1, 2009

NaNoWriMo'09, Words 471-1014

Roci did not know how old he was. He knew about the same number of children were bigger than him as were smaller than him. He'd been told he was too big to cry, was big enough to help clean, but not big enough to mow the lawn.

Roci wasn't sure how he felt about growing bigger. He really did want to mow the lawn, but he knew that soon after he grew that big, a guard would come to take him from the compound.

Roci had heard different things about this future. Most of it he had heard from Niti, always in a high, piercing hurried voice; always when she was frustrated with him. The guards will whip you every day if you act so dumb; they will beat you very bad if you don't do what you are told. This future didn't sound much different than the present, but Roci also knew he'd have to work each day for all of the day; and he didn't feel ready for that, yet.

Roci thought he liked his life right now just fine. He liked his small cleaning jobs: especially the windows. He would climb up and down the little ladder and push it around, and squirt the cleaner all over the glass, and then look for the patterns in the streaks before carefully wiping them off. In the beginning he would get into trouble for using too much cleaner, or staring too long at the streaks, or leaving a few at the top or the bottom or in the corners of the glass. But he'd done it right every time for a long time, now.

After cleaning the glass, he would always go out into the thick grass, to think. He would sit in the grass with his legs crossed, and make up stories about the world he'd seen in his streaks. It was a wispy white world with sharp peaks and cliffs, falling water; and unseen creatures living mysterious lives in its midst.

Roci liked to play with the other children. He liked to run and yell and help make up games. But the grass was; the grass was like his portal to endless other worlds. He'd found so much just pushing through that grass, at different points and at different times. He was never surprised to find a wonderful surprise on the other side of the tall blades.

So Roci had been surprised to find the beautiful, big cat in the grass; he had been awed by the wonder of it; but he was not surprised at the wonder. Roci stroked the cat's big soft toe, switching his gaze between it and the compelling deep grey eyes in the broad blue-grey face. The cat turned its paw slowly over. Roci tapped the black pads on the underside of the paw.

Did you climb over the fence? he said to the cat. No, said the cat.

How did you get here? The cat looked upwards, as did Roci.

Did you come from the sky? The cat merely gazed at Roci, who decided it had come from the sky indeed. It was what Roci wanted to believe, as well.

Tell me a story about the sky. Please?

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