I wrote two days’ worth of words for my only attempt at Nanowrimo in 2016. Here is that attempt, the beginning of what I wanted to be a novel in verse about a girl in a post-apocalyptic America trying to get North (if I remember correctly).
So we might not be alone after all
– she thought adjusting her binocular’s focus
on a thin thread of smoke climbing
in a windless sky
She found the thread
in the unbroken fabric of the afternoon
followed it down to where it spooled around
a campfire surrounded by three sitting adults
and two children running after each other
She hadn’t seen anyone in – her brow
furrowed in thought watching them eat and
lounge around the fire – a long time
she finally decided was an accurate enough
measure for her own reckoning
(Who’s
asking anyway? She asked herself idly)
And in so thinking she lowered her binoculars
blinking in the sudden distance she swung
off her branch and down to the forest floor
where the smolders of her own fire waited
for the final scattering of their ashes
She kicked the dirt over them careful not
to get any in her boiled-clean water
She grabbed her pack from its hiding place
in the pit of the tree she’d climbed
She bent down to tighten her boots
Poured
carefully the water from the pot into
the bladder she had with her
Swung the pack
over her shoulders feeling the familiar heft
And began her day’s walk toward Florida
Below, in the clearing in the valley, where smoke curled
around the fire like rope stored on the deck of a ship
rocked by a gale, Jared ate the last of his oats from the
mess kit his grandfather had used as a Boy Scout. As the
spoon scraped the bottom of the shallow metal bowl he pursed
his lips and thought about where they should go today or
what they should do. The old highway followed the ridge
line south from here to the river where they might be able
to catch something, but on the other hand was probably
watched by somebody fishing for prey other than {trout} this
morning. The children were too small to try climbing the
mountains to the east or west, and Jared didn’t think much
of going backward, so north was out too. He knew Sharon
would back him up in that even if Garth tried again to steer
them all back home, toward the known problems, no matter how
bad they were.
Let’s head south today, he said to the middle-aged fire.
Garth looked up from his lap and sniffed, probably
considering whether to suggest heading back. Instead he
said he’d get the tents down. Sharon was watching the
children hiding from each other around a felled tree with
growth coming out of the top like a fence. Did you hear me,
Jared said tentatively, like he didn’t want to intrude on a
prayer. Yes, she said and stood and walked toward the
children.
She got halfway between the fire and the log and called out,
What are yall doing over there? Bill answered with a laugh
as he jumped up to grab the saplings growing out of the
trunk and pull himself through to land on Fran’s back, who
had been looking at the wood ears near the ground but now
let out a grunt as she moved her hands to brace their fall,
landing hard on her elbows and hitting her head. The event
startled Bill so badly he began to cry, and by the time Fran
pushed him off her so she could check the bump on her head,
Sharon had run to the trunk to swing him up in her arms to
begin soothing him. She looked down at Fran rubbing her
forehead, frowned, and said You should be more careful
playing with him, he’s too small for such rough-housing.
—
Fran glared past her mother’s glare
to the ridge ringing their camp bathed
in autumn
It was beautiful she thought
the trees climbing the mountains
like a slow fire
the leaves like embers
of a new generation climbing
to the sky to find their resting places
under a new wind in a new time
She wished she could remember life
before they were like those leaves
when her family was a tree in a cul-de-sac
at the end of a paved road
when life
was like a river and things flowed
naturally one into the other
instead of the fire it had become since
she could remember anyway
Anyway –
she thought anyway we’re in the fire now
and I don’t think there’s a way out of it
She suddenly noticed a faint curl of smoke wending its way
out of the trees at the ridge’s spine. Mouth agape, she
thrust her finger toward it and Sharon turned to see, but
she couldn’t make it out in the still-gray sky behind the
ridge. She turned back questioning, and Fran said simply,
Smoke, her gaze still fixed on the word, her finger like a
compass pointing north. Garth and Jared were looking too,
having noticed the tableau before them, and even Bill
seemed half-interested, as he had stopped bawling.
Fran said again, louder: Smoke. And she began to smile,
because smoke meant fire, and because fire meant someone
else, someone who wasn’t grim or moody or annoying or
unfair, someone who didn’t know all her jokes already or
laughed because they knew they were supposed to, someone who
could widen the boundaries of who, and therefore what, she
knew. So she pointed, and smiled, and said Smoke. And
Jared said,
– she thought adjusting her binocular’s focus
on a thin thread of smoke climbing
in a windless sky
She found the thread
in the unbroken fabric of the afternoon
followed it down to where it spooled around
a campfire surrounded by three sitting adults
and two children running after each other
She hadn’t seen anyone in – her brow
furrowed in thought watching them eat and
lounge around the fire – a long time
she finally decided was an accurate enough
measure for her own reckoning
(Who’s
asking anyway? She asked herself idly)
And in so thinking she lowered her binoculars
blinking in the sudden distance she swung
off her branch and down to the forest floor
where the smolders of her own fire waited
for the final scattering of their ashes
She kicked the dirt over them careful not
to get any in her boiled-clean water
She grabbed her pack from its hiding place
in the pit of the tree she’d climbed
She bent down to tighten her boots
Poured
carefully the water from the pot into
the bladder she had with her
Swung the pack
over her shoulders feeling the familiar heft
And began her day’s walk toward Florida
Below, in the clearing in the valley, where smoke curled
around the fire like rope stored on the deck of a ship
rocked by a gale, Jared ate the last of his oats from the
mess kit his grandfather had used as a Boy Scout. As the
spoon scraped the bottom of the shallow metal bowl he pursed
his lips and thought about where they should go today or
what they should do. The old highway followed the ridge
line south from here to the river where they might be able
to catch something, but on the other hand was probably
watched by somebody fishing for prey other than {trout} this
morning. The children were too small to try climbing the
mountains to the east or west, and Jared didn’t think much
of going backward, so north was out too. He knew Sharon
would back him up in that even if Garth tried again to steer
them all back home, toward the known problems, no matter how
bad they were.
Let’s head south today, he said to the middle-aged fire.
Garth looked up from his lap and sniffed, probably
considering whether to suggest heading back. Instead he
said he’d get the tents down. Sharon was watching the
children hiding from each other around a felled tree with
growth coming out of the top like a fence. Did you hear me,
Jared said tentatively, like he didn’t want to intrude on a
prayer. Yes, she said and stood and walked toward the
children.
She got halfway between the fire and the log and called out,
What are yall doing over there? Bill answered with a laugh
as he jumped up to grab the saplings growing out of the
trunk and pull himself through to land on Fran’s back, who
had been looking at the wood ears near the ground but now
let out a grunt as she moved her hands to brace their fall,
landing hard on her elbows and hitting her head. The event
startled Bill so badly he began to cry, and by the time Fran
pushed him off her so she could check the bump on her head,
Sharon had run to the trunk to swing him up in her arms to
begin soothing him. She looked down at Fran rubbing her
forehead, frowned, and said You should be more careful
playing with him, he’s too small for such rough-housing.
—
Fran glared past her mother’s glare
to the ridge ringing their camp bathed
in autumn
It was beautiful she thought
the trees climbing the mountains
like a slow fire
the leaves like embers
of a new generation climbing
to the sky to find their resting places
under a new wind in a new time
She wished she could remember life
before they were like those leaves
when her family was a tree in a cul-de-sac
at the end of a paved road
when life
was like a river and things flowed
naturally one into the other
instead of the fire it had become since
she could remember anyway
Anyway –
she thought anyway we’re in the fire now
and I don’t think there’s a way out of it
She suddenly noticed a faint curl of smoke wending its way
out of the trees at the ridge’s spine. Mouth agape, she
thrust her finger toward it and Sharon turned to see, but
she couldn’t make it out in the still-gray sky behind the
ridge. She turned back questioning, and Fran said simply,
Smoke, her gaze still fixed on the word, her finger like a
compass pointing north. Garth and Jared were looking too,
having noticed the tableau before them, and even Bill
seemed half-interested, as he had stopped bawling.
Fran said again, louder: Smoke. And she began to smile,
because smoke meant fire, and because fire meant someone
else, someone who wasn’t grim or moody or annoying or
unfair, someone who didn’t know all her jokes already or
laughed because they knew they were supposed to, someone who
could widen the boundaries of who, and therefore what, she
knew. So she pointed, and smiled, and said Smoke. And
Jared said,