Decisions

Ciara and Sean followed each other’s steps carefully, as they trekked along the field track. They kept a steady pace regardless of the receding light. They didn’t really notice, but they both hummed in tune an old song by The Alan Parsons Project.

They reached their favourite spot, whence they could enjoy a wide view of the bay below. Tiny lights were sprouting everywhere, as the villagers started their nightly chores.

They sat side by side, watching the bay. Sean opened his backpack and produced a bottle of moonshine, offering it to Ciara. She untapped it, took a long swipe and passed it back, nodding appreciatively. Sean drank as well, then left the bottle on the ground between them.

They sat in silence for a while. Sean could notice that Ciara was in a foul mood. Knowing her, it was better to remain silent.

“It’s unfair,” Ciara said finally.

“What is?” Sean asked.

“The world is,” she replied, grabbing the bottle. “Look at us. Where do we go from here, eh? Look down there. No future, Sean, no future.” She drank again.

“Wow, that’s so punk,” he said. Ciara punched him in the ribs, and he pretended to be hurt. “No, seriously, Ciara. I’m not drunk enough to understand you yet.”

“Dammit, Sean, look at us. How old are you? What are you going to do with your life when you’re out of school? There’s nothing for us here. Not anymore. Everybody’s leaving.”

“What do you mean?” Sean asked. He dreaded her answer.

“I’m leaving, Sean,” she said, confirming his fears. “I don’t know, perhaps I’ll roll a die and choose a random destination. Anywhere but here. I feel lost in this hole of a town.”

“This hole is your home,” Sean said, taking up the bottle. “It’s always been.” He drank too.

“Oh, yes? Well, I won’t miss it, I assure you.”

Silence built a wall between them again. Ciara grabbed the bottle and shook it. Without looking at her, Sean took out a second one from his backpack and passed it along. They sat again in silence.

Down below, the lights flickered. Out in the sea, the white, red and green beacons of the last fishing boats marked their path as they slowly entered the bay.

“I’m sorry, Sean,” Ciara whispered.

“What for?”

“This. I didn’t intend to be bitching like this. It’s just… I don’t know. I look at my parents, and they are the same, the do the same things their parents did. And their parents and grandparents and so on. Nothing has changed.”

“There’s television now,” Sean said. Punch. “Ouch!”

“I want something else. I want to study, Sean. I want to do something with my life.”

“Oh. You never told me.”

“I’m telling you now. At least, I want to find a job and do something else. I don’t want to stay at home doing the chores and taking care of the children, waiting for a fisherman husband to be back. Forever.” Like my mom, she didn’t need to add.

Ciara drank. Sean did as well. He extended his hand and touched hers, gently, with his fingertips.

For the first time, she didn’t pull away.

A shooting star flashed for a second up in the night sky. They stared at it.

“May I come with you?” Sean asked.

~~~~

This is my accompanying entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: August 1–7, 2016 on the Writer’s Discussion Group in Google+. I am responsible for creating the prompts for the Exercise, so I don’t take part, but I still like to write a story each week.

The prompt was a classic: I rolled the story cubes and the story had to be inspired by the images. However, this week I somehow forgot to write my story until Sunday. In the end, after a flase start, I brainstormed the images and ended up going for subtle meanings for some of the cubes.