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Green Market Ch 1-2

Green Market Ch 1-2

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Published by: stumbleupon on Aug 15, 2012
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Green Market / Andi BrunettChapter One----------x----------
1. Remembrance
The Green Market opened soon after the Great War at the end of the last century. I cannot say if this was a thing that was good, or a thing that was bad. It merely was. With our planet's ecologyexploding into new territories and life filling niches never before imagined, it could not have beenotherwise. No one has ever questioned why it came into being, or who was the first to open a stall. TheGreen Market does not work that way. It isn't a flea market of tents pushing lotions onto thriftyshoppers intent on finding a good sale. I used to visit those sites in my former life, and I can tell youthis: the Green Market is no shopper's haven. Purchasers of the Green Market's products go about theirbusiness under the auspices of one community understanding -- Buyer beware, for there are no refunds.Before the Great War... Before the air itself betrayed us... Before the trees took back their beautyand left us with only rocks... Before the dirt itself imploded... I was a simple wife and motherstruggling alongside my neighbors to get through the days having fed my family. We celebrated thechange of seasons with festivals and banners on our doors welcoming each new sign of autumn orspring. We traded in goods and services, electronics and motor vehicles, paper monies not worth thatupon which they were printed. We had an understanding. We worked together, alone, each wrapped upin our own personal dramas with little knowledge of what happened on the other sides of our fences.We lived. It was a good life.I only rarely miss it now. My children are long gone, my husband having taken them after thewarnings began. I stayed behind, but I cannot now fathom why. Did someone need something of me?That must be so. How else could a mother coldly send her family away? I must have thought I wassending them to safety. Nowhere is safe now. We all reside behind our eyes, watching for growths and1
Green Market / Andi Brunettanomalies to wipe us out one by one. As far as I know, I am the last who can recall time before theGreat War. No one living now even knows there was ever anything else. I am not supposed to be alive.I should have passed many hundred years ago. I blame my longevity on the changing air. It haschanged us all. For better or worse, it has changed us all. But for a change to be recognized, one mustbe able to examine a before against an after, and there is no one but me to offer such perspective. I findit my duty to report these changes before my life, too, is gone, whatever day that might be.When we speak of the Great War, we say the words with a fearful reverence, in tones we mightadopt when discussing a god. There are many gods now, but none who walk the earth with us. Iremember in my childhood learning of the one God, but now He has left us, or He is letting us play ourparts unassisted. If He watches, He is not saying. And so we pray but not with any hope of our criesreaching any ears. We pray by placing our hands over our hearts, by saying things like, "May the godsfind this pleasing." Or sometimes we pray with a curse, "May the gods spit on your soul." We prayempty wishes that go only as far as our exhalations. We do not pray with our tears, and we do not praywith our souls. I know I used to do this. Whether I recall correctly, or merely want it to be so, I cannotsay.There are many things I cannot say. I cannot say what caused the Great War. It might have beenthe wrong words, or the wrong ideas, clash of cultures, fists that turned into bombs. I cannot say howlong the Great War lasted, because to me it still hasn't ended. When my companions speak of the GreatWar, they mean it in the great distant past, but for me it is only yesterday and last winter and today andmaybe tomorrow, too. I wish I could say it has ended, but I see it around me every waking moment,like a long dream into which the one God cursed me to live forever. But He is gone, I feel this insidemy own breast, and so I can only say, there are many things I cannot say, and His name is only one of them, even if I could remember it.2
Green Market / Andi BrunettWe visit the Green Market because we need what the artists sell. They have become our dailybread. We do not speak of such things with one another, and wait until no one is watching to slip outinto the last forest. We turn our eyes away, sliding them to the dirt so we do not have to engage inconfrontation. We all do it, but if we say it aloud we would have to admit to ourselves what harms arebeing wrought at our own hands. The Great War stole much more from us than just land and sky. Itstole our integrity and our honesty and our spirits. And of course our one God, may he ever rest inpeace.----------x----------
2. Emandine
Emandine gazed sadly over the distance of bleak desert and wished for the jungles of home ---her childhood days of verdant green leaves and grassy undergrowth. This new, brown land was dry, toodry, and the dust peppered across her face, settling into what Hank lovingly referred to as her smilelines. They turned her shiny, pink skin to a dull, sickly greenish shade of sad.Bless Hank for not calling them wrinkles, Em thought, and added savagely to herself, even if we both know that’s what they are.Em was getting older; the whole planet seemed to be aging more quickly now that she had leftthe lush gardens and watery plant life for this stark landscape. And what good had the move done themin the end? Dot was still slow to recover from the mysterious illness that had firmly gripped her mind.Ah well. For Dot I would live here forever. The thought, while sincere, gripped her insides in avice that made shivers threaten her thin frame. Dot might be Emandine's life, but the desert was not.The desert was her death, her enemy, her poison. Em suddenly realized she would die here, in theseoverly warm sands, unless something changed.3

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