The Parables

Griffin - Precinct Seven

Griffin - Precinct Seven

Staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, I sigh. I have a day off work and I can't find anything interesting to do. In the kitchen, I can hear my Mother bustling around and preparing lunch. Then there's the sound of Father shouting orders at her. I can almost imagine his usual laziness: sitting on a chair, feet propped up on the table as he barks orders at poor Mother. I sigh.

Sitting up, I glance out of the window. It's raining. Again. Grumbling, I stand up and grab my bag. I leave the room, and on my way out, I poke my head into the kitchen. Just like I predicted, Father is sat comfortably in his chair, his feet perched on the kitchen table. He watches Mother carefully, keeping a beady eye on everything she does. I smile half-heartedly.

"I'm going out." Mother turns to look at me as if I were mad.

"In the rain?" She nods at the window. The water droplets on the window drizzle down the panes, clearing a view of the street, large puddles scattered here and there, growing quickly from the heavy rain. 

 gulp. "Yep. Right now. Bye." Before I can hear an answer, I pull my hood over my head and leave the house.

Trudging down the street, I notice how I'm the only crazy person venturing out in the weather. Most windows have been patched up and doors are tightly sealed; I'm glad our windows haven't been broken. I keep my eyes peeled for any passers-by, but my luck runs out. I move quicker.

Turning right, I head down the next block. I'm glad I'm not working today. The copper minefield would certainly flood. What with the large lake in the centre, below the sandy hills, all of us would drown to our deaths. I shudder at the thought and rethink how glad I am. Copper mining is not the best industry to be working in.

Reaching the end of the street, I stop in front of the bakery. I put my hand into my trouser pocket and jangle the coins in there. Four...no, five coins. Good. I push against the door and walk in, instantly greeted by the delicious, wafting aroma of freshly cooked bread. I rub my hands together, creating a warmth that melts my frozen body.Stepping forward, I eye the counter. Rolls, loaves, iced cakes, biscuits, pies and pastries catch my eye as I search for something to take home. Precinct Seven's baker, Salem, stands behind the counter, wearing a white hat and apron splattered with dough and cake batter.

"One loaf, please. White, not brown."

"Two pounds." Salem puts the bread loaf in a paper bag. I put the coins on the counter and take the paper bag. Suddenly, my eye catches something.

"How much are those biscuits?" I point to a tray of biscuits, shaped like flowers. They're decorated with coloured frosting and multicoloured sprinkles.

"Half pound each."

"I'll have four." I hand over another two pounds. Salem nods, and bags up four biscuits. One has blue frosting, with silver balls; another has red frosting, with gold lustre; a third has purple frosting, with swirls of pink and brown buttons and the final biscuit has orange frosting and yellow dragees.

"Thank you." I take the bag of biscuits and put it in with the loaf bag. Salem nods at me and disappears back into the kitchen behind the counter. I turn to leave. Outside, it's brightened up a little bit, the rain drizzling only slightly. I breathe a sigh of relief. Opening the door, I exit the bakery.

I turn down the next street, Market Street, and pass by the Plaza. The stage is already hogging the limelight, a huge screen being set up behind it. Sentries guard the area, rifles clasped firmly in their hands and their bodies covered with their jet black uniforms. Just then, a sentry catches sight of me passing by and raises his gun, pointing it directly at me. My head whips around to look in the opposite direction and I continue along Market Street.