For Humanity

Prompt: "Snow!" your husband says in delight, shaking it off him and heading inside. It was the only word in your language that he knew. Time taken to write: 20 minutes

      "Snow!" my husband said, an ecstatic look on his face as he shifted his gaze onto me. I said nothing, staring at him dispassionately. He brushed the white flakes off his shoulder and went inside the log cabin, looking amused with himself. I sighed, pressing my chilled fingers to my forehead. It was the only word in my language he knew, but that didn't mean he had to say it every time he noticed dandruff piling up on his shoulders. I often wondered why I married this fool in the first place. No common language, interests, and I'd rather not talk about our physical relationship.

        At this point in my thoughts, I'd recall that it was the government's fault. As it always is. They mistakenly set us up together, signing the contract without either of us and suddenly shipping me off to this forest in the middle of nowhere so that we could quote on quote "reproduce for the sake of humanity." It's not that I didn't care about humanity, but I'm sure they must have switched up my name with some other girl. It's not like I had anyone else out here to talk to. Hell, I didn't even know if there was a convenience store on this side of the planet, but there sure was a lot of trees. Trees, trees, trees. Tumbling in the wind, catching hummingbirds that zoomed by. Boring, faceless, mind-numbing trees. I vastly preferred the trumpet blare of the city. Somewhere that I could hole up in my little apartment, sipping on hot green tea in a fluffy blanket as I lazily gazed at the passing lights. Sometimes I could count the cars, the windows on the building next to me, or spit down from the fifteenth floor with my eyes set on a fellow in a neat, tailored coat. I was always surprised how far a single voice can carry.

        All I could ever want was back there, where time always ran laps around my head and the coffee was always worth more than a firstborn son. I sighed and nibbled on the edge of my sleeve. My breath evaporated into the air like steam out a factory. Perhaps tomorrow I could see what parts were in the garage; I could make a jet to free myself from this place. Or, at least a hot air balloon if parts were scarce. Something to propel my life forward and away from here. Worst case scenario I'd pedal myself forward in a waggon. I cracked my neck deliberately, the muscles relaxing. 

        "Vincent!" my husband called. At least he remembered my name. I figured I should see what he was on about this time. Maybe he would be pointing at something, demanding to hear what my word for it was. Or it could be that his dandruff pile has achieved sentience. I scratched the stubble along my chin and neck, taking a last look at the trees swaying in the breeze, leaves dancing across the sky like ballerinas, and went inside. 

Author's Note

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