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Daddy said it with a huge grin, towering over Blake in his bedroom doorway, but none of that smile or the happy way he said those words was in his eyes, which were wide and maybe scared. Mommy and Blake’s big dumb sister were already running all around the house, grabbing stuff, throwing it into bags and suitcases. Daddy was yelling at them to take this and leave that, goddamnit! Blake didn’t like the yelling, but he was determined to be grownup and do what Daddy said.
He couldn’t take everything he wanted. When Daddy, still with that clown grin, slapped a pile of stuff out of Blake’s arms, Blake had to fight back tears. Mommy, who was crying, said, “We’ll come back for it.” But Daddy told her not to lie, and told Blake to pack clothes. He did, but he also got his stuffed monkey, Dr. Grubbers, into his knapsack.
The fireworks were still going off when they ran to the car. Blake had been hearing the poppoppop for days — weeks. Their street was messy. Ms. Schadler’s lawn was on fire.
Daddy drove fast, and Blake, in the back with his sister Ellen, barely had time to watch the house shrink away behind them. Something told him that Mommy really had been lying. They would never come back here.
There were lots of car crashes, and Daddy drove around the wrecks, making the tires squeal. Blake felt his stomach do funny things. People were running around outside. Some were fighting. Some were breaking stuff. There weren’t any police people around. The firecracker sounds got louder, but it was day and there weren’t any colored light explosions in the sky like from fireworks at night.
“We should’ve left sooner!” Mommy yelled. And Blake realized that she’d said that like twenty times since they’d got in the car.
It wasn’t until they got close to the freeway — Blake recognized the on-ramp they always took to the mall — that Daddy had to stop. The street was really messy here, and people were standing by the long pile of shopping carts and couches and cars lying on their sides. Daddy couldn’t drive past to the freeway. In the front, he and Mommy gave each other a long look. Some of the people were walking up to their car. They looked mean. Ellen grabbed hold of Blake’s hand, which surprised him so much that he missed whatever happened before the big BOOM! came, louder than any firecracker.
Blake blinked at the smoke. Everything smelled burnt. Daddy handed a big black pistol to Mommy, and suddenly the car jumped ahead. They crashed through a weak part of the barricade and headed to the on-ramp.
***
Twelve years later, as a part of the advance Reclamation team visiting the wildzone for the first time, Blake was struck by a disorienting déjà vu. His team chief, who had herself come from a formerly thriving city from which police and all social services had had to be withdrawn, understood. She permitted him his side trip.
His father was gone. He had died the way people were supposed to die, in his bed and with the comfort of loved ones and medical care — not gunned down in the street or starving in the wake of society’s collapse. Mother, though, still lived in a safezone, where the economic and social Reclamation had taken hold. Ellen was doing work similar to Blake’s down in Florida.
He stepped through the ransacked, skeletonized remains of the house. Once again, he found himself holding back tears. But the feeling passed as he went to his old room, seeing the smashed up bits left behind. He was standing right where his father had on that day, when he’d said those words that had changed everything forever. Blake knew how lucky they all were to have gotten out. He even understood, with an absolute adult certainty, that he hadn’t needed to take anything else. His family and Dr. Grubbers — he still kept the stuffed monkey in his quarters back at the base — were all that had mattered.
Eric Del Carlo‘s fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Talebones and many other publications, and is upcoming at Asimov’s. He has written several novels with Robert Asprin, like NO Quarter (DarkStar Books), and some on his own, such as Nightbodies (Ravenous Romance).
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24 Responses to “IT’S MOVING DAY • by Eric Del Carlo”
Comments
« A LA DESCARTES • by Oonah V Joslin | Home | THE DANCER • by Iain Cosgrove »
September 15th, 2011 at 12:29 am
An intriguing, well-paced piece.
The only thing that spoilt it a bit for me were the occasional long, convoluted sentences – the first sentence is 37 words composed of three clauses.
I also liked the way we were left to ponder why and how society broke down.
September 15th, 2011 at 1:01 am
Opening with the big grin and a deft bit of reader misdirection was a great move. You mustered a lot of tension and suspense for such a short piece, and there were just enough brushstrokes of the social breakdown to make it work for the story without having to spell it out. Very nice, Eric. 5 from me.
September 15th, 2011 at 2:16 am
I thoroughly enjoyed that. Thank you. A lovely drawing of a child’s eye view, taking us to the adult’s view of the child and the ending is perfect. 5 from me.
September 15th, 2011 at 2:35 am
Apart from the third sentence in the second part, beginning ‘His team chief…’ I thought this was an easy and intriguing read. Social breakdown seems very credible given current events in the UK, so I didn’t have a problem with that. I did have a slight problem with the POV as it seemed at first the story was being told through the eyes of the child, then it was slightly removed:
“We should’ve left sooner!” Mommy yelled. And Blake realized that…
The second part worked fine.
September 15th, 2011 at 2:58 am
A very graphic representation of a child’s anxiety and his perception of adult behaviour under stress.
A great read, thank you.
September 15th, 2011 at 3:02 am
Excellent and yet it is always possible under the right conditions.
September 15th, 2011 at 4:42 am
A Good Read Eric
Thank You !
Perhaps……It’s what the future holds
for many of us??
5 exploding stars
September 15th, 2011 at 6:14 am
I have to agree with much of what was already said. This was a masterfully written piece, vividly capturing a child’s perspective of something incomprehensible to children. I absolutely love how you used the title in the story, and I feel that you give just enough information to make it all work. I wouldn’t change a thing to this.
Very well done!
September 15th, 2011 at 6:57 am
Spooky story in light of the events in the world today. It’s not a far stretch of the imagination to think how frustration with the on-going segmentation of society into “have” and “have-not” divisions could lead to a French-style Revolution.
That outcome, as initially seen through the eyes of a little boy and later as a public servant, is powerful and well told. Can’t help but give this tale five big ones for its relevance….. Kudos all around!
September 15th, 2011 at 7:26 am
The break down of society through a child’s eyes: very nicely done. You explain just enough and not a bit more.
September 15th, 2011 at 7:27 am
I like the way the story brings memories of life of the past (when people seemed to die in bed) close up, as if it happened recently. It brings fear and alienation right before us for our close inspection.
September 15th, 2011 at 9:50 am
This was a nice glimpse into this famly’s life and I really liked that the protaganist was the little boy, butt I would’ve liked to know more about why they had to leave and who they were running from.
September 15th, 2011 at 10:08 am
I thought this was a great way to approach an apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic story… could easy see these two bits as foundations for a novel or series of novels.
September 15th, 2011 at 11:08 am
a very apt title.
It’s an ephemeral moment where you examine the meaning of your life and decide what really matters and then see this in context retropsectively.
I don’t know if “maybe” goes with “scared” in the first paragraph.
Good detail about the monkey and the neighbour’s lawn.
I don’t know what a Reclamation team is and why police and social services had to be withdrawn. There are certian assumptions here I’m not privy to.
however
very entertaining
thnak you
September 15th, 2011 at 6:31 pm
I have to be honest: I’m not sure the story balanced out all that well. The opening scene with the escape was a scene worth relating, but it felt like just one scene from the overall story. Typically in a flash piece, the next scene(s) would advance the first scene in order to further the conflict and resolution, but the return home later didn’t really do that. It was just another moment that happened later on.
Basically, I thought the first scene was good, but I was left thinking “What happened next?” And then the second scene was interesting enough on its own, but had me wondering, “How did he get there?”
This kind of thing is always the challenge with flash, though, and I applaud the attempt. The story was built on an intriguing concept, and the language was pretty strong. I just thought the structure could be improved.
September 16th, 2011 at 1:50 am
Oonah V Joslin wrote:-
Sandra Crook wrote:-
J. Chris Lawrence wrote:-
… and so on from others.
Please forgive me for contradicting you, but something very like the scenario of that early scene did indeed happen to me when I was six, right after the independence of the Belgian Congo, when the local paramilitary force mutinied and set about killing all the whites they could find. I should tell you, it wasn’t like that for me and my little brother at all – and I do remember, because it was quite memorable.
One evening, my parents came to me and very gravely told me, “We have to go away” (word had come through from areas where the mutiny had hit earlier). Yes, it was incomprehensible to children; but something has put it in children to recognise serious things and not to play around then. I did misunderstand, thinking it was only they who had to go away, and I told them I would look after my little brother – I didn’t play around. Once that was cleared up, we all drove into the city, Luluabourg, to take refuge in a block of flats. I began to understand then, when I saw someone on guard with a sten gun at waist level supported by a strap.
Over the next three days my mother, my brother and I stayed under a blanket on an upper floor despite the heat and humidity, to protect us from glass broken by the shooting. My brother and I still behaved and did as we were told, taking it all very seriously. The only light relief, if you can call it that, was when our father came up in a break from the ground floor defence and showed us the automatic he had borrowed, though he didn’t take it out of its strap down leather holster.
Then a Belgian paratroop commander still in the area disobeyed the orders he had been given not to intervene and organised a relief paratroop drop (as I learned from my father later). I have always regretted being asleep at the time, but my brother saw it. Only after that did my brother and I revert to typically childish behaviour, running around outside, getting too close to the soldier directing things with a megaphone, picking up and playing with spent cartridge cases, and so on. My mother, my brother and I were taken out by air in a number of legs, Leopoldville, Brussels, and then London – it was the first time I had seen an airliner with seats three abreast rather than two – while my father went out another way in a light aircraft and did various related things in Southern Rhodesia for some weeks before rejoining us in the temporary accommodation provided by a family friend. A considerable time later, once we were settled, my parents had to go to Brussels for an enquiry, leaving my brother and me in boarding child care, but that was basically that.
So, no, the child’s eye view and the flustered parents are unrealistic, even when the parents are unprepared (my father had to borrow his gun, and his not having one surprised the other Europeans). Nature has made children – and parents – respond appropriately to direction in emergencies.
September 16th, 2011 at 6:05 am
@PML I am glad you and your family kept your heads and stayed safe — sounds like a harrowing affair!
But I’m pretty sure the way someone reacts in a dire situation is a subjective/individual thing. Some people will remain calm and “respond appropriately” while others will panic wildly.
And everything in between. Reactions run the spectrum. That’s human nature. It’s actually beyond that — even animals have varying degrees of response to adversity based on temperament, training, and age (I saw it every day on the farm growing up).
I didn’t personally care for this particular story (mostly in line with what Tim says in #15), but the way the parents and children reacted to a sudden, desperate evac was not one of the issues I had. The proof is sort of in the pudding there — if so many folks found the depiction realistic and/or gripping (as your three quotes bear out), then it was realistic and gripping to those people. No amount of individual contradiction is going to change that.
September 16th, 2011 at 8:02 am
JoeK, we weren’t the only children there. I noticed no disturbances from any of the others, so it’s not a simple matter of different people reacting differently (and I could tell you a story of what happened to our Armenian nanny in Iraq, when she was a baby during the Armenian Genocide).
As for
… there’s the issue of the fable of the famous actor who did an imitation of squeezing a pig under his coat to amuse the Athenians, complete with accompanying sounds. Nearly everybody applauded, apart from one farmer visiting from the countryside who claimed he could do better. The audience challenged him to do it and then rubbished his attempt, upon which he opened his cloak to reveal a real pig that he had happened to have with him that he really was squeezing.
So, yes, individual contradiction does discredit whether it is realistic – it’s failing a test against, well, reality. It does not affect whether it is powerful and/or persuasive, gripping even, but that’s not what realistic means. After all, that’s why films are deliberately altered from historical reality for the sake of effect; effect is more effective.
September 16th, 2011 at 1:07 pm
@PML:
You state:
“So, yes, individual contradiction does discredit whether it is realistic…”
Of course. And, that’s not what I said:
“…if so many folks found the depiction realistic and/or gripping (as your three quotes bear out), then it was realistic and gripping to those people.”
“To those people”. I never said it was empirically realistic, nor did the people who enjoyed it. We could try to tackle the empirical question and exchange anecdotes of calm vs. disarray from here until the sun grows cold. It wouldn’t change anything, though. I know that sometimes people do panic and have had my own share of direct and indirect experiences on that front. You have yours. C’est la vie.
Where I don’t see the point is in picking out other reader’s subjective viewpoints and then stating objective contradictions. I don’t see the point in either a specific or overall aspect. The only time the mixing of objective and subjective can bear tangible fruit, in my opinion, is working on one’s own opinions. The way another experiences a situation can never be altered by anyone but that other person.
September 16th, 2011 at 2:22 pm
P.M.Lawrence,
I can’t begin to know for sure what this situation would be like in real life. You have my respect for surviving such a situation, and I really appreciate you sharing your story.
Personally speaking, I could only say three things that leave me unsure about questioning the realism of the story.
The first is age. I pictured the main character being of about two or three years, which would give him a significant reduction of cognition from five. This is relevant to me because I can see my five year old son understanding something like that, and my three year old being more like the kid in this story. In fact, I was thinking of my youngest when I read it. I would therefore wonder if age would make a difference.
The second is preparation. While the announcement of having to relocate may have come suddenly, the military instability might have been mentioned to or around you. I get the impression that no one spoke to the boy of the story in advance about the situation, just as I get the impression that you may have heard enough to know. Perhaps this could have had an effect.
The third is, as JoeK wrote, whether the individuality of the child may play a role. I do know that, as adults, many of us are more capable of perceiving and adapting to our present situations than others. I have witnessed some utilize the Flight reflex to the degree of selective perception. Is it possible that you were better raised or psychologically equipped for such a reality than that of, say, an American suburbanite?
All of this said, I do not mean to appear to debate; this is certainly not my intention. As I said, I can’t begin to know what it would be like, I can only presume based on what little I know, and more importantly, what I can imagine, which leaves me far removed from being any kind of authority in the matter. But I did feel it worth noting some of the reasoning behind my idea on the subject.
Thank you again for sharing. Yours is truly a fascinating story.
Chris
September 16th, 2011 at 5:34 pm
JoeK, JCL, I genuinely appreciate your points. But remember, it was I who applied the test of being realistic, in contradistinction to those other tests, to let others know both how it was for me and how the story here struck me. For those other tests, you shouldn’t use language like “it’s realistic for me”, any more than someone who is into Buddhism or Christianity should use language like “it’s true for me” when he or she means “it works for me” (and particularly not for Christianity, when the epistles of Paul make a particular point about it’s being objectively true and how it would be a complete waste if it weren’t). Now, just as people who are into Buddhism or Christianity should start with tests like “it works for me” because those are what they can apply and what measures the value of the beliefs, so also readers can and should do that here; but readers should not ever get confused that those are direct tests of, well, reality. It is changing the language to use “realism” to mean “effectiveness”, that’s all I was trying to bring out there – particularly as I was trying to bring in realism as a new issue, and changing the language obscures my points.
On the “younger kids” issue, well, my little brother was three or four at the time (I would have to check the history books to see which side of his birthday all that was). Certainly the key point in the Armenian nanny story I mentioned was whether her mother would have to smother a crying baby to stop her giving away the whole party to pursuing Kurds, so age does come into it – but I think an earlier age.
On the military instability, no – that was a completely sudden development after independence. Your impression that I knew is wrong, possibly reading that from the very fact I brought out of a responsible reaction and supposing it could not have happened as a normal human response to an emergency (which makes for a circular argument). Other Europeans were personally armed, but against local banditry, not against the Force Publique who were our defence while they obeyed their European officers (whom they killed first, and who probably weren’t expecting it). We were lucky they didn’t find the mortars in the local armoury…
The fact that our family was not armed speaks against the idea that we were better prepared physically, and by extension psychologically. Yes, my parents and theirs before them had unusual backgrounds and experiences, but not much more so than others who rose to the occasion during the Blitz and who weren’t particularly well prepared. Quite simply, panic is an unusual, last ditch natural response, and contrary to received wisdom it isn’t what the human body usually tries first in emergencies.
September 16th, 2011 at 6:20 pm
Fair enough, P.M., I appreciate your input on the subject.
September 16th, 2011 at 7:46 pm
@PML
Quick question, no need to go further than this one.
Are you asserting that no one, ever, anywhere, anywhen, has ever vacated a domicile in a frantic and desperate way to evade some unmentioned situation or perceived future hardship?
In real life?
(And yes, it could be that I know, for certain, that such an occasion exists. In real life. In such a way that you personally cannot show that such desperation did not, in fact, come to pass).
If one such occasion exists, then the objectivity and subjectivity that readers here have experienced did, really, come together in glorious union, this entire discussion rendered no more that points of personal remembrance where we have all agreed we are very glad as to the intact nature of your person and your family during the time in which adverse conditions rendered themselves unto you in capricious and undeserved fashion.
Did that occasion exist, you think? Has it ever happened, is right now occurring, or could in the future happen? Because that’s the reality readers can experience when they read fiction. It’s an experience that can go beyond what every writer ever even imagined.
That’s why writers write.
And that’s why it’s real.
September 17th, 2011 at 1:41 am
JoeK, remember my last sentence: “Quite simply, panic is an unusual, last ditch natural response, and contrary to received wisdom it isn’t what the human body usually tries first in emergencies”.
So there is no reason to raise a red herring like “Are you asserting that no one, ever, anywhere, anywhen, has ever vacated a domicile in a frantic and desperate way to evade some unmentioned situation or perceived future hardship?”
I wouldn’t be surprised if it had occasionally happened – but I would be very surprised if it was typical, even for someone in a very bad situation.
And precisely because it would still not be the norm, that invalidates your lawyerly suggestion that “If one such occasion exists, then the objectivity and subjectivity that readers here have experienced did, really, come together in glorious union … Because that’s the reality readers can experience when they read fiction. It’s an experience that can go beyond what every writer ever even imagined.”
Bluntly, no, even when that is why writers write and why it’s an experience that can go beyond what every writer ever even imagined – it’s not “why it’s real”, it’s why it’s not real. Bluntly, “the reality readers can experience when they read fiction” … just isn’t reality. That’s why it’s called fiction. If you were to assert that, say, a moving fake scene like the death of Dickens’s Little Nell induced genuine emotion in a reader, I would readily agree that a real person really felt it – but I would never agree that that made the fake scene real (I felt that on reading of the death of Mischa in Gil Buhet’s Le Chevalier Pierrot – and Mischa was a fictional pet mouse). Such writing has many attributes like being persuasive (to the uninformed, in the current case), gripping, etc., but claiming that those are what makes things realistic is just precisely the theft of language I was warning, even complaining about.