CW 46

To no one in particular,

Sweet limes and hawks.

We changed habitats this week. It wasn't necessarily something that we wanted--in fact we were kind of forced into it--but it was something that we needed. Corp.'s compound was comfortable: it was good to be able to have someone to cook our rations and clean the habitat. It was comfortable being in a cocoon. But over the last several cycles I'd been very uncomfortable. I had not slept well since the Illness and since having to kill that animal. In fact, other animals entered our habitat and I had to kill them as well. Management of the Corp. compound was less than helpful in the matter. In fact, management of Corp. operations seems like they're willing to help only so long as it's convenient for them. But that's a story for a different day. At any rate, it was obvious that we had to move. We found another habitat. A bigger and nicer one. I'm above other habitats and have a decent view of the structure, the sky and the suns. We also have a swing on the balcony of our habitat. It's not like the ones on the playground. It's a bench and it's mean to gently sway. It wasn't necessarily something that we wanted, but as it turns out, it was something that we needed. 

From the swing, I can survey the street. Life happens very differently than I imagined. There are all sorts of people plying their trade. Each vendor announces herself in a different manner. They have different songs, different tones of voices. The area is quiet enough to hear them. From my perch, I can see my neighbors. The old woman looking out of her window at the young woman climbing on the back of bike of the young man she's dating. The old couple that wakes up early to read the paper while sitting in the swing on their balcony. I can see class strata, too. The liquid calorie vendor on his bike. The ration vendor pushing his cart. The woman that goes into my neighbor's habitat to cook him a meal and then leaves. The habitat renovators who work well above ground level without safety gear. The veiled women who drag their brooms across the streets. We've somehow managed to come all this way only to force people to waste their time in order to live. The gods demand these strata. Corp. is only to happy to enforce these demands.

From my perch, I know that my position is privileged. It is what it is. This is not my society to remake. But changes are coming. The worlds are always changing, of course, but the changes seem to be happening faster.

From my swing, I spend my leave staring into space. At night, lights on the ground spoil the spectacle above, but I can still see the low-orbit shuttles transporting cargo and passengers. I can see the starships in orbit engaging their thrusters and moving across the horizon. My daughter sees them too and asks me where they're headed. I don't know. It's a good question. We look up and we dream. My little one is a bit like me: there's adventure in her. But her spirit has not yet tamed by fear of all the things that might go wrong, all the stories that we've been told about ourselves and that we tell ourselves. 

I've never tasted a sweet lime. I quarter one with a cheap knife as the suns start to set. The hawks catch a warm air current and swirl upward. 

I didn't know I needed to be here.