One Weird Day

Weather Forecast - Part 1

An oldie but a goodie...my first story from when I just started writing in 2013!

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The Weather Forecast

--- 2050, June ---

There's a large green carpet on the floor of the make-up room. It's so soft and fluffy I can imagine myself lying on grass, the yellow lamp over my head serving as the midday sun. Rational and self-respecting adults shouldn't be lying on the floor like this, and if anybody comes in and sees me... but nobody is going to come in. Not yet. It's just that the carpet looked so inviting. Bury myself in the soft pile and fall asleep...

Lying on my side, I examine the fibers, stroking them gently. Muffled voices can be heard from the other side of the door. The live broadcast will begin in a few minutes, but they still won't bother me. The whole crew is in the studio right now, the host is being made up on set, and I have this room all to myself, although I'm not using it properly. They'll have to smoke me out of here before the show begins.

That assistant girl is about to walk in. Having brought me a glass of water a few minutes ago, she feels braver than the others.

The former assistant resigned the other day. People don't work with me for long.

Three. Two. One.

As the doorknob turns, I quickly sit up. Sitting on the floor is still more acceptable than lying.

"Can I bring you anything else?"

I admire the approach. Not "Why aren't you on the set yet?", but just a polite offer of another glass of water.

"Nothing, thank you."

I stand up and walk out. People go quiet; some of them look away, others stare. Every night they fill the corridor, but some keep pretending they just happened to walk by, minding their own business, nothing to do with me.

The assistant strides past me, trying to keep up. She is wearing high heels and I am in sneakers so the competition is not quite fair.

"Can I ask you a question?" she says. "A little one..."

"Not now," I reply. "After the show."

"Of course, sure..."

After the show the crowd will push her aside so we won't have a chance to talk, and her question will lose any meaning anyway and will remain unanswered. Well, it does have an answer, but I wouldn't like to give it away. She's a nice girl and I hate breaking hearts, although I do it every day. It's much easier to be cruel to huge faceless mankind than to specific people. Especially skinny ones with big eyes like hers.

The host greets me briefly as I take my place, but there's no time for conversation—the commercial break is over, and we are live.

"Thank you for staying with us." He addresses the cameras, and then, half turning to me, "Hello, Selia. How are you doing today?"

"Not bad."

"Optimistic, as usual." His face switches to a professional expression, with its complex mix of expectation, irony and readiness to become serious in the blink of an eye. Whatever I say, he will match it. "The next five minutes are all yours. What are you going to tell us about?"

I stare at the camera focused on my face. I'll decide as I go along, but simple stuff is always good to start with. I make myself comfortable and say:

"Let's talk about the weather."

--- 2045, October ---

It's the end of the week, and everybody is trying to sneak home as early as possible. Around 5 pm the corridors are empty and computer screens go blank. I can hear the door slam every now and then, as the last employees escape to freedom.

I'm the last one here—have a lot of work to do, and I prefer to finish it now rather than continue next week. But by 6 pm my head refuses to keep up. I go and make some coffee, then sit by the window in the small cafeteria, staring at the darkness outside. When you look out on evenings like this, it seems pitch black, and the prospect of going out feels rather intimidating. But once you get outside, it's suddenly not so dark, there are street lamps along the road and there's nothing to be scared of.

Or so it seems. But I've been afraid of dark since I was a child. I was also scared of muraena fish and the tree that grew in front of our house. Fears are rarely rational.

Giving the coffee a chance to work, I return to my desk, but I barely have enough energy to go through my mailbox, so I just give up and reach for my handbag.

I climb into the car and lock the doors – there have been rumors that there are muggers around here who follow people to parking lots and attack them as they open their cars, so you can never be too careful. Driving slowly to the street, I notice the security man waving at me; at first I wave back but then realize that he's just reminding me to turn my lights on. Oh, how stupid. I blush and hastily switch the lights on. I'm so tired my brain feels numb.

It's just a matter of minutes before my life changes forever, but I know nothing of that yet. I stop at a red light and rub my face to wake myself up, listening to an old song playing on the radio.

The light turns green. A white Subaru to the right of me starts up with a roar; I slowly speed up and move into the same lane.

--- 2045, October ---

The car turns over and slides down the slope upside down. I seem to be moving in and out of consciousness over and over within seconds; quickly unfasten the safety belt and try to get out. The car stands on its side, rocking slightly, the driver's door is blocked, so I stand on it and try to open the window on the other side, but then realize that the whole windshield is smashed so I can get out easily. I seem to be in shock and feel nothing but the urge to get outside as soon as possible.

I crawl out and find myself under the light of a street lamp. Notice some kind of stains over my hands, either dirt or blood, but feel no pain. Someone is yelling, I can see two or three cars parked at the roadside and people are running towards me. Bending down, I manage to walk a couple of steps before one of them reaches me, a guy with a mustache. He grabs me by the shoulders for support, although I can stand well enough by myself.

"Lie down!" he shouts. "You may have injuries! You need to wait for assistance, don't move!"

"We need to get away from the car," I say, trying to avoid him. "It may explode."

In movies they always do.

I manage to dodge him, but then, somehow, I find myself sitting on the ground surrounded by people. One of them is the owner of that white Subaru that was swerving from lane to lane all the time; at first he looks scared, but then starts screaming at me: "What kind of driver are you!"—though it was he who hit my car. The others start to yell at him. That's good. I can't defend myself right now.

A woman sits down next to me and says: "You're bleeding," and I look at my hands again, but she reaches out with a tissue and wipes something off my forehead.

"That's OK." I say.

"Yes, yes." she replies. "What's your name?"

"Selia."

"It's going to be all right, Selia," she says, suddenly looking all blurry. "Don't sleep," she says. "Don't sleep!"

I look away and see polar lights in the sky, and suddenly everything around seems to be covered with snow ...

TO BE CONTINUED...