the first thing any good story needs is a storyteller. isn’t that right? something to contextualize it, somewhere to ground yourself. a universe to inhabit for the time it takes.
so hush, and listen to the nightbirds and the crickets, listen to the frogs, listen to the crackle of the fire and listen to my voice. the folks who own this field- they won’t be back in town for a few more weeks yet. we’ve got the run of the place.
lean in over the flames. they dance in my eyes, throw the flowering tattoo that runs up my arm into a black-and-white dance.
this is going to be worth a few mosquito bites, promise. let me tell you about the wolves.
so anna’s working for this shipping company. ain’t been out here too long- family’s from the carolinas, least as far back as you can go before they’re from somewhere in europe. came out here to get away from some bad blood between her and the rest of them.
the name of of company? you know, i’d really rather not. in one sense, it really doesn’t matter, and in another… i’d much rather speak them out of existence than call them down on our heads, you know? they answer to the same name all their kin do in the end, anyway.
so anna’s working for this shipping company, driving a truck. last-mile stuff, mind. not cross country. and they’re like every other business that can last- cancer, in and out. they hurt folks real bad, and they’re the only game in town when it comes to paying for your school, or your apartment, or your kids. for anna, it’s just trying to keep on her feet. one month to the next.
it’s tight. i bet you know.
so anna works, and keeps it together, and ignores the pain.
she was never the best at making friends back home- but that’s the thing. ‘back home’ means she doesn’t have the energy or time or wherewithal to talk to people. out here, things are actually looking up. least when it comes to that.
Morning comes with dragging nails and pinprick needles. The sun bleeds knives through the sliver around the curtains, and the alarm blares out some tinny mockery of birdsong, loud enough to wake her. Loud enough to get her to drag herself from her nest of blankets and shut it off. More restless dreams, lately. Not exactly nightmares, but they don’t exactly leave her settled, and they- it’s just been hard to sleep, is all.
Breakfast is a granola bar- she’s late if she stops to have something better. Luckily, Charlie’s been giving her rides the past couple weeks. It’ll probably be enough until she can get something else, not use it all up so quick. The rusted sedan in the driveway, and she can see Charlie through the glass, still a little frosted-over from last night. It’s been cold for spring.
“You kinda look like you spent the night hanging out with a leafblower with a bad attitude.” Charlie grins at her from across the console. Anna groans, leaning back into the seat and closing her eyes.
“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”
The other girl puts on her best wounded face, pulls out of the driveway. It’s a second before she glances over at her again.
“More bad dreams, then?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“…what, so you’re just gonna lay there and not share?” Genuine concern creeps back into her tone. “No pressure if you still like. Think you can pick up a few more minutes on the way there.”
Anna takes a bite from her granola bar, not opening her eyes.
“…Honestly wouldn’t really know how to tell it properly. Doesn’t feel like a story the way most of my dreams do. It’s just…feeling, mostly. Like… this ache, for something, like I’m lost, or I’m looking for something. But I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for. Tried journaling about it, but- it didn’t really help.”
“…Well. I guess you’ve got to ask if that actually like. Holds water. You feel lost?”
She shrugs, turning over to rest her head against the window. “I guess? But- that kinda just seems like the human condition.”