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People Who Don't Live in Cardboard Towns
"Is it weird that the town is cardboard? Sure. But only to us – people who don’t live in cardboard towns."
She stood in the middle of the road, the sun high overhead. The sky was a beautiful blue, lighter near the zenith of the sky where the sun endlessly shone down, and darker near the horizon. She had occasionally wondered about the shades of blue in the sky, thinking that maybe, if she could see past the horizon, through it somehow, that there would be even deeper color. She supposed it would also be possible if the sun were to move, so she could just see the sky even further away from the gentle warming sol, but that was just silly.
The sun. Moving.
She did little things to pass the time. Once she had tried to count all the pebbles on the dusty path around her. She had gotten to 12 digits before a gust of wind distracted her, and she lost count. Maybe sometime she would do it again, if she felt like it. Lately though, she had taken to watching a blade of grass that grew near the path. Granted, there were uncountable similar blades on either side of the path, in the field that seemed to stretch on for all eternity, but it was more interesting to focus on just the one. It moved back and forth in the light breezes that blew across the seemingly endless plains.
Simply put, it moved. The pebbles never did that.
She had, at times gone, up and down the path, but never into the field surrounding it. It wasn’t forbidden, there was no great mystery out there, or on the off chance there was, it wasn’t one she could really bring herself to care about it. Occasionally she would step off the path simply to feel the grass on her feet. It was a nice feeling, but not a necessary one. She didn’t go into the field simply because it was not her purpose to go into the field. Her place was on the path, and that was largely where she stayed.
If there was one thing she did that wasn’t observation, it was sing. It had taken her a long while to get a handle on the entire activity. But with some practice, she had gotten better and better. Now she sang almost constantly, basking in the enjoyment of her own voice; the whooshing sound of the light winds, the gentle rustle of the grass and the sound of her feet against the earth providing excellent backup. It was just another part of her job, true, but she liked her job.
It was why she existed.
And so she stood there in the middle of the path. Staring down at the horizon where the two sides of the dusty trail seemed to meet, happily singing her song. There was one of the light breezes now, so she was comfortably cool. Her dark hair swaying behind her head just a little bit as the breeze pushed it back and forth. She had a sort of wavering tune going on right now. To her ears it was just lovely.
She knew he was coming, of course. The sound of his feet moving on the path was unmistakable. She had been at the 9th segment of her song when she became aware of his presence, and now that he could likely see her, she was at the 12th. She kept her back turned, as was her duty, and continued singing as the man drew closer and closer. Finally she could sense he was almost immediately behind her. He reached out one of his arms to tap her shoulder, and said something in his own language.
She had never much cared for their language. It was so strange, so stunted and segmented, whereas hers flowed smoothly and cleanly. Regardless, his language was not important. She knew her final duty, and it was time to perform it. She quickly turned to face the being and focused six of her nine eyes on his face. That accomplished, she opened her third mouth, the mouth she had for this purpose alone and released her last note.
The man fell to the ground, dead. Moments later a breeze much stronger than the ones that usually blew rushed across the field, and his body quickly dissolved into so many tiny pieces of dust.
She smiled and went back to singing. It would be awhile before the next visitor. Plenty of time to start counting again.