â€œâ€™Scuse me, is this the sunbound dock?â€
Harrison started and nearly dropped the bouquet he was holding. He hadnâ€™t heard the woman approach. â€œUhâ€¦ yeah, it should be.â€
â€œThanks. Is this seat taken?â€
He shook his head mutely in response. Vibrant. It was the first adjective that popped into his mind, and it stayed there as she sat down and pulled out a compact. Every movement was sure and determined, as if she knew precisely what action she planned to take and followed through every time. He watched in awe.
â€œAre you going to Prime?â€
The unexpected question reminded him of his manners, and Harrison quickly averted his eyes. Prime was the first colonized planet in this system, and by this point it was entirely city, filled with excitement and flashing lights. â€œAh, no. Not all the way.â€
â€œThatâ€™s a shame. Nothing else interesting along this flightpath.â€
Harrison was shocked at her casual attitude. He couldnâ€™t imagine saying such things to a stranger. â€œI, uhâ€¦ I guess not,â€ he agreed lamely. Serenaâ€”the intended recipient of the flowersâ€”lived on one of the residential planets in the system, zoned to keep it from growing too congested but with regulations that prohibited any sort of bad neighbors.
â€œCanâ€™t see the point of suburbs, personally.â€ The woman pulled out a red lipstick, applying it expertly, even while speaking. â€œIf I want a city, Iâ€™ll go to the city. If I want the country, Iâ€™ll go to one of the outer farmworlds instead. Trying to compromise, trying to have everythingâ€”it doesnâ€™t work. In the end you wind up with nothing at all. Not worth it, really.â€ The thick chemical smell of the lipstick pressed against his senses, and Harrison found it impossible not to notice how smoothly it went on as she rubbed her lips together, never taking her eyes off of the mirror.
What he said was: â€œThatâ€™s a very interesting point of view.â€ What he meant was: Serena never wears lipstick.
â€œI like to think that all of my points of view are interesting.â€ She capped the lipstick and rummaged in her purse for a moment, coming up with a light green compact that she offered to him. â€œHere you go.â€
Harrison blinked. â€œUhâ€¦ what?â€
â€œItâ€™s makeup. For your black eye.â€ She turned and looked at him for the first time. The whoosh of air signaled the approach of the next ship on the outbound dock, and she raised her voice to speak over it. â€œYour skinâ€™s about the same tone as mine, and this is the foundation I use to cover things like that. I figured you might appreciate it.â€ She inclined her chin, indicating the bedraggled roses. â€œAnd so will she.â€
Two ship gongs sounded, one from the transport pulling into the station and one from the trnsport that would arrive momentarily to whisk this woman away. Harrisonâ€™s cheeks flared red. He hadnâ€™t realized the bruise on his face was that obvious. â€œWhat do you mean, â€˜sheâ€™?â€ he asked, quickly trying to change the subject.
â€œThe woman you brought those flowers for.â€
The station was filled with noise and clatter, filtered through the air systems. On the opposite dock, passengers were unloading, but Harrison didnâ€™t pay attention. He picked up the roses. â€œActually, I brought them for you.â€
365tomorrows launched August 1st, 2005 with the lofty goal of providing a new story every day for a year. We’ve been on the wire ever since. Our stories are a mix of those lovingly hand crafted by a talented pool of staff writers, and select stories received by submission.
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