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My story and poem entries for WDC's 2024 GoT challenge. |
| Giannine hoisted her jeans over her hips, internally lamenting, once again, that her size hadn't been available. She was left to wear a pair that were a size too small, which was less than ideal considering all she needed to do. Giannine had even lost two sizes in recent months, although that was why her own clothes no longer fit. She had better uses for belts than her waist, and it simply wasn't practical for her pants to be falling down, so she was left with these overly snug jeans. Before it all happened, Giannine would have given anything to be able to squeeze into the jeans she was wearing now, but that seemed so silly with all that had happened. Slipping into her freshly-found combat boots, she eased the door to her small room open and went to the living room, joining an impatient Freya who was already dressed in her perfectly fitted fatigues. Giannine could only dream of finding something that fit her so well, not only for reasons of size, but also because she couldn't have them directly issued to her by the military like Freya had done the year before. They weren't in perfect condition, but Freya did her best to maintain them despite all she had to put them through. "Are you ready?" asked Freya. "I've been waiting for ten minutes already. We have so much to do today." Giannine suppressed her sigh at Freya's military-instilled timeliness, a trait she couldn't imagine sharing but didn't want to argue over again. "I was having wardrobe problems. The new jeans didn't fit as well as I hoped." "Well, let's get a move on now that you're dressed. There are places to be." The two women stepped out of the house as quietly as they could manage, machetes in hand. The sun had gone down, giving them cover of darkness on the outskirts of what had been Toronto. The city had been in total darkness for nearly a year, but what had at first been ominous, even terrifying, had become a comfort more recently as the creatures had grown more active, more vicious. Giannine followed Freya as she led the way away from Toronto and into one of the neighbouring cities. The two of them had been planning this mission for a week, their packs stuffed to the brim with non-perishables, first aid supplies, additional weapons, and as much water as they could carry. Since the city had fallen, potable water was never a guarantee, but they had a filtration system set up in the house they were holed up in with half a dozen others. They hoped to return to their friends within ten days, but you could never be sure any more. Freya stepped more quietly as they headed down side roads they never would have dreamed of traveling on before training together in the month or two leading up to this journey. Giannine's stomach danced with butterflies at the anxiety of leaving the place they had made home, but they needed to find somewhere more permanent. They needed to find more supplies. They needed to find a place where there were fewer of the creatures hungering for their flesh and blood. They needed to find anything, anything at all to make leaving worthwhile. They walked for hours in silence before they took shelter in an abandoned single story home with a visible chimney in the back so they knew they could start a fire to heat their food on. The two women ate in silence, the anxiety of the trip weighing too heavily on their minds for amiable conversation to be an option. Giannine smothered the fire while Freya stored the few supplies they used back in their packs. "I'm still not convinced this is what we should be doing. I know we need a better place or more supplies or just to know what's out there. But it still feels wrong to leave them behind." "I know." "Then why are we going? It seems foolish." Freya smiled at her. "You know why. History gets made when you're acting a fool." Word Count: 686 Prompt: Road Less Traveled by Lauren Alaina  |
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