This story is part of Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors, a climate-fiction contest from Fix.
* * *Canvas
It’s early in the morning, but Neya and I are already racing to be the first one to lace up boots and tool pouches and then step out into the Alley. His leather boots are identical in make and wear to mine, but my canvas pouch is a deep blue to his sun-bleached bag, and my harvest scissors are always kept sharp. If I had my brother’s forearms, maybe I wouldn’t mind letting my tools go dull every now and then either. Builders can be such showoffs.
“Hey, do you have the list?” Neya asks, barely audible.
I do a double take, then shake my head. “Nice try getting me to slow down,” I say, punctuating it with the knot at the top of my left boot, confident this was my race to win. “No, I’m being serious,” he laughs and holds up his hands. “Time out?” “Okay, okay.” I also lift my hands from boot-tying and meet his concerned gaze. “I watched you borrow a quill from Grams yesterday, so I assumed you wrote it all down.”
“I know I’m the oldest, but why d... Read more