Nihilist

Cherries and a Promise

Fwoom. The passing car narrowly missed Esmer Somers as she attempted and failed at crossing the street once more. She knew that it was foolish, coming to the market during this time of the day, but her father had to pitch his new airship design to a luxury passenger line. If his design was created, thousands of people could pass between Wolfsgate City and other lands, making the trek to exotic places such as Boca de Lupa and Eilsafeth.

Esmer’s sable toned leather boot edged out onto the cobblestones once more in an attempt to return to her house with her life and a package of summer cherries. She jumped back quickly as a black machine that resembled a demented cat chugged past, whipping her hair into her face.

The cars weren’t something wholeheartedly new, but they were still something Esmer couldn’t get used to. Their large black frames loomed over the cobblestones as they belched out acrid smoke into the purified atmosphere of Wolfsgate. There were carriages, too. There always had been and always will be. But even carriages made it impossible to traverse the crowded streets.

Esmer Somers was not made to be a city girl.

As the setting sun drooped to kiss the sky-scraping towers of Wolfsgate, Esmer sensed a lull in the traffic and harnessed this opportunity to make it safely across. Bag of cherries in hand, Esmer strode purposefully towards the other side of the street, her heels clicking almost inaudibly in the hustle and bustle of life’s goings on. Despite her oh-so-courageous attempt at pulling a chicken little and making it to the other side, her trip was stopped short. Or more accurately, cut short. 

A strangled sound escaped Esmer’s throat as the human missile barreled into her rib cage. The screech of a car and the crash that followed was terrifying. Esmer could hear the metal of the frames buckling and the tires rupturing in their futile attempt to stop. Her arms clawed the air, desperate to keep from falling on the glass strewn street, but that attempt was in vain. 

With an ‘oof’ she landed, glass crunching against her stiff wool jacket and cotton dress. A smattering of stings erupted in her hands and the back of her neck as she blearily fluttered her eyelashes.

“Oh…shit.” Esmer heard someone curse as a weight was lifted from her chest. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” the voice muttered hurriedly.  

Esmer opened her lips and, with some difficulty, spoke. “I hope your mother knows that she has not raised a civil tongue.” She admired the irony. For once, she was not the one swearing.

The voice above her paused and then laughed. “My mother has worse things to take care of than my speech habits.” 

Esmer coughed, a horrible hacking sound. She was sure that a rib was broken and if the stinging in her hands was any indication, she had acquired some glass, too. Through blurry eyes she could see him look left and right before speaking to her.  

“Okay lass,” he spoke with a thick Irish intonation. “Let’s get you home.” Esmer felt two rough hands slip underneath her coat and lift her from the ground.

Home? Esmer wondered. But I’m on an airship…

As Esmer and the boy retreated from the crash site, a bag of cherries lay forgotten in the street, pulled along by an unseen wind.