Hello everyone, this is my entry for the @teamserbia short story contest. Hope you like it!
Old, torn blouse hung on her shoulders barely covering her arms. Some years ago it must have been some color in it, maybe green or blue, but now it's washed-out gray, much like the color of the face of the owner. She held her head up high, even when it hurts her back, because it was shameful to portray any kind of weakness these days.
Two boys nearly knocked her of her feet on the sidewalk, too busy to pay attention to anything or anyone else then their new phones. They were laughing at the old widow and commenting that there is no place for people like her in this world, they are only an distraction.
Her hand was still shaking when she tried to open the door to the local bakery, a place she visited only once a month when her pension came. The sales-women already knew what to pack and did so with rolling eyes. It was tangible how much she wanted her out of the store as soon as possible. Three stale bread is all she could afford, it's always cheaper than the fresh one. That will do her for the month if she freezes them right away and eat sparingly. The rest of the money will go on medication since social doesn't cover it all.
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She came out of the bakery, pleasing the impatient lady and ridding her of her presence. When she came out the sun was blazing, burning through her worn out clothes and making her a bit nauseous, she had to sit on the sidewalk just to stay conscious. No one even noticed her battles, just walked away. But there she was, sitting like a stray dog trying to calm her breath enough to go on. In that moment big black car parked right in front of her, almost running her over without a care. A priest came out, talking on his phone and literally jumped over the women on the sidewalk on his way to the bakery. He was fat and smelled like liquor, nothing like priests used to look. His car was worth more than her entire home and possessions she earned hard-working her entire life. Is this what collage education brought her? Years of studding and even more years on under-payed jobs?
She mustered the strength to walk to the nearest bench in the shade of a big tree, one of very few that was left alive in the city. Most of them were cut down, to build some building, parking or what ever. This one was saved and amazing spot to read a book she thought. Not that she could afford new book, or that there was a place to buy them any more, but for some reason she sold everything to survive but her books. They were her get-away card for many years, even when she had to read them by the candle light during the power restrictions few years ago.
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Reading a book in the public place was something so extraordinary that passer-buys and especially children would stare for uncomfortable amount of time at her. She didn't care, as long as they don't steal it from her like it sometimes happens. This book was special and she held it tight in her hands, this is the book she read in the hospital bed while waiting for her son to be born. She remembered all the pain, being forgotten in the part of the hospital for the people who knew no doctor or nurse, or without enough money to pay for normal treatment. She delivered a beautiful baby boy and she swore she heard him cry, but the nurse whisked him away while informing her that the baby was a still born.
Even through all the pain she knew what was going on, the times were so difficult that babies were soled to the highest bitter. She had no one to talk to and they took advantage. The pain of unknown is still with her, even after 30 years. All she has now are the books that she reads imagining her son, his perfect life and smile. She hoped that he was in a better place and comforted her self with the thought that she couldn't even buy him food let along something more, like a phone or a decent school. Schools were mandatory and they say free, but you would still have to buy everything from school books, supplies, tools, clothes, shoes. Even the high education didn't mean a thing if you don't have some political connections or money, to make your way to half-decent job. She looked at her three breads for that month and thanked God that her son is not starving like she is.
Thank you all for reading and I hope you liked my short but very true version of dystopia. Good luck to everyone!
With love,
Tamara
Outstanding style!
Thank you!
Thank you @tamacvet!
Was just going through my feed and I saw this post. It's a very depressing story because I feel so much for the old lady. But I couldn't stop reading it because I wanted to know how it would end. The ending did not disappoint. At least for me. It just managed to get me out of the depression and opened up a whole new what if scenarios. Was it best 30 years ago that they took her baby from her or not? Would her life be different if she had the baby? And raised him? Would that have given her the motivation to do better? Or would they be both out in the streets staring at 3 stale breads now to be partaken by 2 instead of 1 person?