642 Things to Write About: The Year 2100

For the next week, we’re going to be doing something different on the Pencils Blog. In addition to pencil news and updates, our staff will be writing short stories using prompts from 642 Things to Write About, the most popular book in the Pencils.com Bookstore.

This story, by John Steiner, is based on the following prompt: 

It’s 2100 and the world is running out of fresh water. Describe a typical day.

The air latch lifted and the door of the bean-shaped pod bared Grem Kitcher to the atmosphere.  Dust dried out her barely-open eyes as she lifted herself out of the sleeping pod.  She stood in the pod and looked about – everyone in her habitation row had risen and gone about their day.  Grem left the habitation room for the airlift where she would grab her bicycle from its assigned position among the bike racks.

She reached her bike, swiped her identification card through the security receptacle and lifted the bike out of its lock.  It was already 8:45 – she was going to miss collection day at the Herod Estuary.  If she were late, her family would be lucky to receive even a contaminated tank.

Grem made it to Herod, sweaty and panting, at 9:10 with five minutes to spare.  She shoved her bike into the closest slot at the security receptacle and sprinted towards Collections.  Her stride was broken by an unseen rock.  She tumbled over, her head landing on the dusty ground right at the foot of the line.

“Ha ha ha!  Stupid,” shouted a high-pitched voice further up the line.  Grem dusted herself off and held her head at half-mast.

The large man directly in front of her with a dampened olive-colored t-shirt and pasted-on black hair turned at looked at her with a barely-perceptible smirk and an uneasy stance.

“I see you here every week and every week you’re rushing to make it on time.  I’m pretty sure the State taught meant you to take collection day a little more seriously.”

Wide-eyed, dazed and dehydrated from the tolling bike ride, dash, and fall, Grem stared and did not reply.  She wondered how, exactly, this man spotted her out among the ten-thousand thirsty citizens assigned for Tuesday Collections.  Snapping out of it, Grem realized she had stared back at the man for the better portion of a minute.

She forced out a friendly response.  “Heh…How do you recognize me?”

The men opened his eyes up, looked down and then back up.  “I’m always on the edge of on-time.  You’re always on the edge of late.  Plus, it’s hard not to notice that mess of hair sticking up past everyone’s head.”

Grem scratched the moppy bun of hair tied and clumped to the top of her head.  It stuck up half a foot above her head, adding height to her already lanky figure.  Ever since the State Hydration Council had banned private showering months back, Grem resigned to wearing her hair up in a bun.  She was deathly afraid of public showers – even at the weekly rate that they were open to each civilian.

I can’t wait to get my rations and take a sip of water away from this creep, Grem thought.

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