Odyssey of the City of Lights

Odyssey of the City of Lights - Book 1 - Chapter 1

I was late for work.

But that was okay; my dad was going to be annoyed, but that wasn't new.

My friend from the big city, Aaron, was stopping by today. He did deliveries to the general store, which didn't even have a name - our village was so small. When we said 'the store', it meant this place. If we meant the library, it was the schoolhouse. If someone said we would meet at the eatery, there was only one.

And I've never left this tiny birdcage.

For now, I was sitting outside with my notepad and pencil, sketching a story I was working on.

I didn't have a phone. In our village, those were for business, and the families had a house phone for emergencies. Apparently, that was a big deal a few generations ago when the elders made it okay for cell phones to be a thing. But I wasn't a business owner, and this wasn't an emergency. So, all I could do was wait. I glanced at my watch and sighed. I was for sure gonna get an earful when I made it to my daily assignments...

Looking towards the edge of the village, I watched the tractors begin their work. That meant I had to hoof it to where I needed to be when I finally did get around to working. As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, I felt a sense of longing for something more than the routine life I led.

The familiar hum of Aaron's electric truck pierced the calm of the village. Unlike our community's methane-powered vehicles, his truck had a unique sound—somehow louder and yet quieter at the same time. I watched him pull up to the delivery doors with a whine.

Aaron hopped out with a slight unevenness in his step, his prosthetic leg subtly altering his gait. His right hand, also prosthetic and usually concealed by a glove when in public, moved with surprising fluidity. That was a massive contrast to the rudimentary prosthetics used by some in our village.

As he smiled and waved at me, I was amazed by the seamless movement, almost indistinguishable from a natural limb. Pushing my notebook aside and tucking the pencil into its cover, I got up from the picnic table and made my way over to him.

Aaron was already at the back of his truck, flipping open the doors with his usual grin. "Sup, Eli. How's your day going?" he asked cheerfully.

I sighed, a mixture of envy and resignation in my voice. "It's not. Nothing ever changes here. We always do the same thing every day."

He chuckled lightly, pulling out a hand truck, which he skillfully maneuvered to the edge of the dock. It descended smoothly to the ground. "That predictability could be nice, you know. I face something different every day." He jumped down from the truck, his prosthetic leg absorbing the impact effortlessly.

I didn't respond. Just shrugged and sighed.

"And your story?" he inquired, glancing at me with genuine interest. "How's it coming along?"

I frowned, my gaze dropping. "It's not. But then again, I don't really know why I'm writing anyway."

As we walked towards the back of the store, Aaron threw me a sympathetic look. "It's about doing something creative with your life, man. Trust me, it's worth it."

I chuckled, a note of skepticism in my voice. "Creativity isn't exactly a common pursuit out here. I can't remember a day in this village that wasn't routine. Even our festivals are routine."

Aaron's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, the artificial fingers harder than I expected. "Eli, maybe that's exactly why you should write. To break the monotony, to bring something new into your world."