December 25, 2146, Seaside Village, Historic North Carolina
In gray stockings and a wool dress draped around her ankles, eleven-year-old Lula opened the door and stepped out of the two-bedroom rambler she and her parents have called home all their lives. Sucking in a deep breath, Lula glanced around the white-washed, orange-roof village. It had been days since everyone had been permitted to step outside but days is always better than the months and sometimes years to be stuck indoors due to frequent acid rainstorms.
“Hello, Lula.” Mrs. Baker from next door greeted.
Lula shielded her eyes from the sun and smiled, “Hello, Mrs. Baker. Are you off to the market?” She asked, noticing the basket hanging from Mrs. Baker’s elbow.
“Ah yes, I’m afraid this quarantine has depleted our food storage. Well, I’ll see you later, dear.” Mrs. Baker turned but paused, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She patted the pocket of her gray dress similar to Lula’s and produced a small metallic charm with the phrase, “Merry Christmas!” Lula stared at it, frowned, unable to recognize its meaning.
December 25, 2156
Standing on the beach by her home, now twenty-one, Lula stares at the charm in her hand, still perplexed, “What does this mean?”
A Response for Sunday Photo Fiction.