Lemon Crates

 

The front deck to his home was made of real mahogany. It looked out of place with the surrounding atmosphere of reflecting metal and glass which made up his house. And despite the odd look it brought, he treasured his fine deck above many things. He sat on a swinging bench near the middle of his large deck and looked out across the field as he sipped from a glass of lemonade, which was dripping the condensation caused from the summer’s heat. There was a slight breeze picking up, causing the scattered trees to sway back and forth. He stared at the grass that imitated the waves of an ocean as each gust pushed down on the light green blades, creating a light ripple effect.  

He took another sip, and leaned back holding the glass up to his eye. The lemonade was sweet and fresh. He had come across a merchant a few months ago who was illegally selling crates of lemons, and how could he pass up fresh fruit? Even the most up to date food synthesizers could not match the taste of freshly squeezed lemonade. The condensation covering the glass was heavy, and drops of water began to run down his arm as he held it up. The chill of the water caused the hair to stand up on his arm. It felt good in the summer’s unforgiving heat.

He knew that he needed to enjoy this drink. And he knew that he would.

He sipped as he looked up at the sky. What little clouds were in the sky only moments ago were slowly replaced by larger, menacing clouds which steadily grew darker, and he knew that this was not a natural storm. A few cruisers began to fly over head towards the trees off in the distance; towards the center of the man-made storm.  He stood up and walked to the edge of the deck, set his glass on the banister and held his hand out past the railing of the deck. He watched as the dark gray clouds showed their true colors. There was a hint of the deepest forest green beginning to come through. He knew there would be no rain, but he still hoped for some sort of light drizzle. 

“It will be a dry going-away party,” he said to himself as the first tornado touched down just before the tree line, spewing dust, dirt and grass from where it hammered the ground. The tip of the tornado did not move which made it all the more menacing, as if it were a wicked sideways smile, taunting him.  There was a beeping at his hip and looking down he pressed a button attached to his belt.

“Do you see it?” A voice came, almost immediately.

There was a pause as Liam thought of what to say. Of course he could see the tornado, but was he going to do anything about it? He still did not know, and as he was thinking, another tornado touched down somewhere within the trees. He assumed it was given to increase the threat.

“Yeah,” Liam said. “I see it, I’m watching.” He lifted his glass of lemonade and took another sip staring at the cruisers that were now circling over the two monstrous tornados that, for now, continued to remain still.

Liam took his glass and sat back down on the bench, crossed his legs and stared out over the land that he had worked so hard to acquire.  His one thousand acre plot of land was the third largest plot in the world, and they were ready to destroy it. Tare it to shreds so that nothing discernable would be left.  And what would they do with it? Nothing. It would remain there, dead.

The tornados began to move. Back and forth they went, destroying everything in their path, and growing ever larger as they did so. They were slow, but effective.

“I am drinking freshly squeezed lemonade as we speak,” was all he needed to say, just before he turned off the com. The tornados picked up speed, as more formed from the dark green clouds overhead.  It amazed him at how accurate these man mad tornados were. They never ran into each other, and did their job seamlessly.

He sipped at his lemonade and smiled.

He looked down at his deck. The varnished wood was dull against the darkened sky, giving the wood a cooled, wintery look. Condensation from the glass dripped onto the floorboards. Drinking this lemonade was one of the things that he loved more than his deck. He finished his glass, walked back into house, and refilled his glass from the make-shift pitcher which he had made to hold the lemonade within. He took a large gulp from his glass, refilled it and walked back out onto his deck. He noticed a water ring on the banister that the condensation from the cup had caused when he had set it down earlier. Normally this would bother him, but not today. Today he looked at it and smiled. Such a simple thing seemed so trivial compared to his pending life. He wondered if they would find him after the storm had passed.

The wind was picking up now. Violent gusts pushed the few scattered trees that grew in the field in front of his house to their limits. They bent and swayed and creaked from the pressure of the wind. The howl of the wind as it rushed by the house was haunting, as if telling the story of a man who was sentenced to die for his crimes.  He thought this a curious death.

The button on his belt began to beep once more, but he ignored it this time. Sitting down on his lovely swinging bench, he again crossed his legs, leaned back, and happily drank his lemonade.

Reviews

[Sandra Ingram]

Intriguing. The story leaves me wondering, but not in an X-Files way, the kind of answerless plot that drives me crazy. This feels just right.