~ 1 ~

26 4 1
                                    

The stones are cold. The man at the market insisted that these boots would keep your feet warm. He is a liar. I can hardly feel my toes. I suppose everyone has to lie in order to sell anything. Or, they could just make the products better. I know first hand supplies are scarce so I shouldn't complain. At least they are warmer than the boots I had last winter. I was in constant fear of losing my toes. But, at least I have warm socks. My mother is an excellent knitter, so I have more socks than I know what do do with. A cart passes by, the horses hooves clomping on the stone. How cold must their feet be?

I can hear the ticking. One can always hear the ticking. The clock that sits on the gate that holds the dome over our kingdom shut. Always ticking. Never stopping. Never sounding for the hour. Its needle thin hands caress every number every day without rest. The gears are visible behind the glass face. They tug and push and mesh in unison without a malfunction. Whoever crafted this wanted it to last.

As I pass a stand, my hand slips over a battery or two and some copper wire. No one sees as my fingers thread them into my pockets. I am not a thief, nor do I ever wish to be called one. But I know what is needed to get by, and I know what other don't use will help my family. My father is a Gearsmen. Gearsmen make clocks and watches and other gadgets and gizmos. My father is the best in the kingdom. He has even made special projects for the royal family. I tinker a bit, but I don't believe I could ever be as fabulous as him.

The biweekly bazaar is a great place to find spare parts. So many millers and venders that nobody will notice a few missing wires or cogs or chains. I do buy some items. Woolen yarn for my mother, a whole sack of gears for my father. They are shining white silver. The same color as my hair. Well, if my hair wasn't always covered in soot. I look more like an orphan because of my grimy appearance. But what with factories pumping out smoke and me climbing on to the tops of buildings, it is hard to stay clean. If there is one thing these boots are good for, it is climbing.

Behind a man who is selling melons-Which are entirely out of season-is an alleyway that I sneak into. He doesn't even notice me. Once back in the alley, I make my way to the pipe covered wall. One for water. One for gas. One for sewage. One for air. These interwoven pipes are my ladder. I can see the fading chalk marks I scratched into the pipes that were not safe to stand on or grab, for sometimes they could be hot. The clank of my boot on the metal makes me smile. I pull myself up, twisting over and under and between the webbing of pipelines. I shimmy up the last bit that leads to the roof. I have to kick my leg up to the building's top first before I can fully pull myself over. I grab the bricks with my hands, the rough surface adding more callouses to my fingertips. I push off the pipe and it creaks. It always makes that sound, so nothing to worry about.

Once safely on the rooftop, I dust off my hands and my skirt. I take the hood down from my cloak and let the black snow hit my hair. Only one factory produces such ashes. And yet, no one knows what they are making. They just pump out dark clouds from their little spouts. I watch the dark cloud. It looks like a demon about to devour the factory district. How I wish I could get over there and climb the black cloud factory. It has the highest point in the kingdom. The view would be spectacular. From here, I can see a lot, but I want to see more. I want to see all of it.

I glance up. The sun has passed over the center of the dome. The dome is metal, aside from its glass center that lets us see the sun and some of the stars. It always leads me to wonder, looking out the glass, what were they so afraid of that they closed our kingdom in?

I reach into my pocket and pull out the fob watch. There is a dial that shadows up on the glass, but I like my watch. My father made it for me when I was three. Its face is yellowed but inside I can see the gears and cogs still turning. They move like spiders making a web. To me, there is nothing more fascinating than these types of mechanics.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Oct 05, 2015 ⏰

Add this story to your Library to get notified about new parts!

SpiderWhere stories live. Discover now