Broken Weather version 2
This is the second version of the story I wrote for the contest. It is 565 words.
If you missed the post where I babble about my experiences with the writing contest you can find it here. You can find version 1 here. I plan on releasing the next version tomorrow. Keep in mind none of these versions, save for the final one, were edited.
“Weather is on the fritz,” a voice near me says.
I glance out the window and see the pouring rain. Everyone around me in the cafetaria looks disgruntled and wet. It’s raining and it shouldn’t be because it is scheduled to rain tomorrow. No one thought to look out their windows before they left their houses. I, too, didn’t think to look out my window. I wish I had because then I could have worn my bright yellow rain coat. Everyone tells me that it is too bright. No one on Station 37-56 likes bright colors.
My hand finds its way into my pocket and I grip the button I took today. In my bedroom, hidden beneath my bed, is a cache of buttons. They are all brightly colored, and old. I find them in the antiques shops. They belong to pieces of clothing no one will wear anymore but people like to hang up in their houses as decorations. Proof of some connection to our distant past when we lived in plants. The button I have today is bright green. I think we used to call it neon green. There are no neons these days.
It isn’t against the rules to wear color. Everyone does. I’ve heard of some stations where people only wear grays. We offer a bit more freedom here on 37-56. Even so, the colors are dull to me.
Not like the button in my pocket or the rest of them in my cache.
These buttons are my talisman, protecting me from… I’m not sure. No one really needs protecting here. But I feel it in my bones that I need this. That I must carry one with me at all times. I can feel the weight of it, pressed against me, in my pocket. And when I’m waiting — like now — I like to touch it.
The line shifts and I shift with it.
Today’s breakfast will be waffles and hash-browns. Last week that seemed like a good idea, but now that today is the day, I’m not so sure. Each week we must order the food we will eat for the following week. No one else seems to struggle like I do with the choices they make. Legend has it that things used to not be like this, but through trial and error, those who run the station learned that having things planned out made the station run smoother.
Things are allowed to change and be different here. The weather patterns are proof of it, but they are just that — patterns. Decided ahead of time and told to the population. We always know what to expect even if it is something different from yesterday.
“I heard they have a new program for the weather.”
“Bah! They shouldn’t fix what isn’t broken.”
“It’s supposed to be more efficient.”
“Order up for MC-465-78.”
That is me. I take my food and find an empty spot to eat.
I watch the rain as it falls and feel a burst of pride — at least, I think it is pride — because I think I know what people want. I think it is time we do away with the predictable changes.
“The leaders wish to speak with you, MC-465-78.” A voice says behind me.
“Can I finish eating?” I ask.
I suspect no one else sees things the way I do. I reach for my button.