Day 127: The Clock at Kite Street

Geminia heelsided her skid to a drift stop all the while keeping her eye on the receding ship. “I missed her.”

“Ettesa’ll be back in a fortnight or so,” said Hera.

“I said, ‘I missed her.’ I didn’t start crying.” Her skid slowly slid down the wet sand toward the waves. Too much water would tweak her gliders and she’d spend the rest of the day trimming them out. She jammed her heel into the black sand to stop.

“Shitting sea. I hate the mother shitting sea.” Geminia released her bindings with the remote in her pocket then kicked the skid upright and slung it over her shoulder like a gunslinger holstering a six-shooter or a samurai sheathing a katana. Doe-eyed Hera looked startled–she always looked a little startled, but this time she might actually be. “What?”

“You’re so good with that. Maybe you could show me?”

“You wanna ride my skid?” Hera confounded Geminia. She did or said stupid shit all the time, but she wasn’t stupid. [place demonstrative examples here]. With Ettesa gone now she’d have to look after her alone. Make sure she didn’t [do some stupid stuff].

“Realz?”

“Reals.”

“First, don’t talk like that. Second, no. Third, a skid’s like a thong–you just don’t share it.” Gemenia took up Hera’s hand. She realized it was the first time she’d held anyone’s hand since her mother died. “Let’s find you a maker.”

It occurred to me I’ve only written beginnings. I thought I’d kick off this year with an ending. I don’t know that the above does a great job of wrapping up any threads for a story I don’t know. But it feels like it’s written conclusively in some ways.

I might have to try a few of these. Though maybe ones without obvious ending clich├ęs.

As for the title, I’ve been making those up after based on the material. Since this is the end of something presumably the title’s relevance to the story would have worked itself out well earlier in the story. Therefore it’s entirely nonsensical–for now. Enjoy!

Word count: 361