Rosanne Limoncelli

The place called the Edge wasn’t much more than a rubble strewn empty stretch of rocky ground where the land met the river.  On the other side of the water, the gleaming glass skyscrapers of Velo City rose out of the rancid river the way crystals form in nature: tall, sharp and glowing.  The dark river stretched about two hundred yards between Velo’s island city and the Edge with only one bridge spanning the gap.  The bridge was ancient, made of stone and metal, and still looked passable, but was never crossed.   Crossing over from the Edge to Velo City was forbidden, and so the bridge was heavily guarded on the Velo City side.  Every night the sun set behind the skyline of the city turning the cold glass skyscrapers into a dark sparkling silhouette.  The looming towers lorded their majesty over the flatness of the Edge, as if to say “we are everything and you are nothing”.  That’s rather how it felt, actually, if you lived on the Edge. 

“Hurry, hurry, it’s clear now, hurry, hurry, hurry,” the Kid thought to himself as he scurried quickly through the rubble of the Edge.  He carried a bulky brown cloth sack, if you could call it carrying, since he barely kept it from dragging on the ground even as he clutched it the best he could with both hands.  Small and wiry, the Kid was no more than ten or eleven, his skin brown from the sun and dirt.  A smudged cloth visor hid most of his short black hair and his Asian-influenced eyes. 

“Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry,” he chanted in his brain, keeping time with the motion of his feet.  He scooted along with his head down, struggling to pull the sack a bit higher.  As he reached the big rock, he took a quick look behind him, always a mistake.

Five dark haired older teens were approaching from the north.  They were thin and wearing ragged clothes, very much like the black cotton fatigues the old soldiers used to wear.  They carried nothing and walked closely together, often bumping and shoving each other.  The wind off the water made their loose clothes whip at their bodies, but it was no relief from the heat.  It would take the sun to finish setting to allow the air to cool. It would come soon, the coolness of night, but the darkness would bring other elements.   None of them good. The teens looked toward the Kid and quickened their pace in his direction.

The Kid saw them coming toward him.  No place to hide, he thought, keep moving.  He hurried south, past the big rock on the edge of the water, the gang moving more quickly now.  The Kid was moving as fast as he could, but he was hindered by the heaviness of the sack, which he gripped even tighter.

The gang overtook him easily, separating him from his sack and dragging him inland, then pushing his thin frame back and forth between them, as if making him the game-ball of the day.  Punching and slapping at his tanned flesh, they laughed and taunted him.  He tried to twist away from each hit, attempting escape, but each time one of the teens would grab him and pull him back in.  They had him.  As darkness came closer, the Kid thought about how good supper was going to taste tonight, if he could just get to it.

Suddenly there was the loud clang of steel against stone and they all stopped and looked west.  A tall figure was just visible in the dusk, standing by the big rock.  Details of the silhouette were hard to make out, except for the long steel sword that glinted in the last of the remaining sunlight.

The Kid, now held by only one of the skinny teenagers, tried to wiggle himself loose.  It was useless at first but soon, the eyes of the teen facing the figure, began to show fear, and his grasp weakened.  The Kid was able to slip free.  He ran toward the dark figure, who stood on strong legs, hips distance apart, one hand holding the long sword, its point resting in the dirt.

The gang slowly gathered themselves closer together, whispering and muttering.  Then as if on command, they abandoned the sack and hurried away to the north, stealing glances behind them. 

The sun finished setting itself below the skyscrapers.  The air quickly turned cool.  The howls of the dogs moved closer.  Across the river Velo City’s lights mocked the night, as darkness came to the Edge.

Rosanne Limoncelli copyright 2011

http://www.rosannelimoncelli.net/

The Ghetto was east of the river across from Velo-city, but a few miles north of the Edge.  There were still some buildings left in the Ghetto, unlike the Edge, which was almost completely barren. Crumbling and burned out, the buildings of the Ghetto stood five and six stories tall.  Their windows black and gaping like silent, screaming mouths.

Luca was a rough looking young man; six feet tall, dark complexioned, and if you looked close enough, handsome.  His ragged brown hair almost touched his shoulders, but his beard wasn’t old enough to be full, it just outlined his strong jaw.  At first glance you might think he belonged to one of the gangs.  But if you saw him up close, if you spoke with him, you would see light in his eyes and you might catch a glimpse of his brilliant smile.  Something you’d never see with one of the gang bangers. 

 Luca walked down the main old street in front of the burned out buildings of the Ghetto.  He wore faded blue jeans, worn and dusty, and a threadbare, gray T-shirt, the hems of the sleeves ragged.  On his head he wore a visor made of rough sackcloth and dark plastic that shaded his face from the bright sun.  His body moved quickly, as he made his way through the ghost of what was once a city.

Two dark haired young men appeared on the other side of one of the crumbling walls near where Luca walked.  They were dressed in dirty black jeans and ripped black T-shirts, smudged with the dry dust that covered everything in the Ghetto.  They were alike as they could be, until you looked close, then you could see that one had diagonal scars scratched across his face.  As they looked over the wall, they caught sight of Luca and began to climb toward him.

Luca heard them before he could see them, and he picked up speed and headed off toward the tallest of the crumbling buildings, running swiftly and quietly.  He knew why they were after him.  The gangs hated the idea that he told stories and put something inside peoples’ heads other than fear.  The thought made him smile, since keeping ahead of them was part of the fun.

The two young men tried to match Luca’s speed, but he was already way ahead of them.  Luca ducked between two buildings and down an alley, the tall buildings on each side of him like narrow canyon walls, and the two men ran after him down the middle.  When Luca reached the brick wall at the end of the alley, he stopped, turned, crossed his arms and smiled, and leaned his back up against the wall as if it was a natural time to take a break.  The two men slowed and looked at each other.  Then walked cautiously toward Luca, knives bared.

Luca waited until they got within a few feet, then bent his knees into a squat and jumped straight up, catching hold of the bottom of an old iron fire escape.  He swung himself forward, and releasing his grip, kicking the two men in the center of their chests with his feet as he flew toward them.  They fell to the ground, and Luca rolled to the ground beside them, quickly getting to his feet and running out of the alley.  The one with the scars roared with anger, pulled the other one up and they both stumbled out of the alley. 

When they got out into the street, Luca was nowhere to be seen.  The two dark clothed men looked around them, ran up and down the street and back down the alley, but they couldn’t see where Luca had gone.  They stood in the middle of the street, confused and angry.  Above them, running across the tops of the buildings, was Luca’s speedy form.

Smitty rubbed the soot from her eyes and looked at the sun as it hung low in the sky. Soon it’ll be night and the dogs will come out she thought, automatically.  She stoked the coals and gave the bellows a few pumps to get the heat high enough. The sword she was working on was more than half done, she had hammered it into the right shape and length, and completed the heat treatment to harden the blade, now she was assembling the hilt.  After that it would take another few days to file, polish and hone the blade to meet the standards she set for her work.  

Making the hilt was her indulgence.  It was the one time she allowed herself to reveal anything personal.  On this sword she had planned to make the grip a rough texture, hammering tiny indentations in an evenly spaced pattern that covered the entire surface.  But on one side there would be a highly polished asymmetric silver streak, real silver inlaid into the steel, reaching from the guard to the pommel. That’s what she’d call this one, the Streak, she smiled to herself.  The image of the finished sword was fully formed in her mind.  She swung the hammer with force and purpose, as she knew exactly what it would look like.  This sword would be one if the best ones, she thought.  Maybe I’ll keep this one for myself.

The sun slipped lower and she knew it was time to close the open wall of the metal shed that exposed the blacksmith works to the outside.  Smitty’s shed was on the Edge, a rubble strewn empty stretch of rocky ground not far from the bridge that led to the glass skyscrapers of Velo City.  The shed was only yards away from the river, a toxic strip of dark water separating the residents of Velo City from the rest of the world.  North of the shed were the crumbling buildings and camps that stood in contrast to Vel City’s glitter.

Just a few more swings of the hammer and I can put this down for the day.  Smitty wiped the sweat from her brow.  She couldn’t smith at night with the south wall of the metal shed closed, the coals were too hot for the small space of her home.  At night she could polish and carve, but smithing was for daylight hours.

She examined the shaft of the sword, measuring it with her eyes. Had she fused the metal layers well?  Had the coals been hot enough to harden the steel for the best of strength?  Was the edge right?  Yes, I think so, she thought to herself.  I can just finish the hilt now and then begin the polishing tonight.

From across the open compound she heard low growls.  She turned, realizing the sun had slipped behind the tall buildings of Velo City to the west. Not exactly sunset, but dark enough to fool the wild dogs. She swung at the hot metal one last time, risking the arrival of the beasts that only came out at night and would kill and eat anything that breathed. 

She swung the hammer one last time.  That was it.  She could close up the south wall of the shed and make it safe.  She looked off toward the northeast, where the broken abandoned buildings stood.  To the east she could see the shadows of the dogs running her way.  She’d have to hurry.  She put down the sword and grabbed the edge of the shed’s open wall.  Pulling it on its engineered wheels, it creaked as it moved, slowly closing the gap, shutting her in, alone for the night. 

Once the shed was closed and secure.  She climbed up the ladder, through the hatch in the ceiling, up onto the roof.  She sat back in the metal chair she’d made and looked toward the west, the sun completely gone, the towering buildings of Velo City glowing.  No matter what, she said to herself as she had many times before, I’d rather be here than there.