A Hazy Black Ring

Wednesday, August 28th—11:31 a.m.

1,187 words. Approximate reading time: 5 minutes, 56 seconds.

Sheila stopped to gaze up at the tall buildings, watching the sun glint off of their mirrored glass exteriors. When she had done this with Dad, this was always her favorite part of the trip. Living in a border town, the great city on the other side of the fence was always looking over them, but being this close to the fence and getting to see the buildings up close was a completely different feeling.

Dad would always stop at this same spot, and they would sit together next to the path, looking up at the city. Dad used to live in the city, and he would tell her stories of what it was like in the years before she was born. Sheila remembered just a few months before, Dad had specifically said to her that he told her those stories for a good reason. "The city looks beautiful, especially when you're looking at it from this side of the fence," he said. "But there's not much beauty underneath all of that. I hope you keep that in mind."

Sheila did keep his words in mind, but she liked to marvel at the buildings all the same. Dad made it sound like beauty was a bad thing, and life in a border town certainly did its best to reinforce that idea. She wanted, for once, to have something that was just hers, something different than the other girls. She stared down at her plain outfit. Standard issue, her parents would call it jokingly, since the town tailor only knew a handful of patterns, and carried even fewer fabric options. She imagined what kind of things the city girls were wearing, and she wondered if it was possible to be beautiful inside and out.

Soon she shook herself from her reverie. She was on an important errand, and couldn't really afford to waste too much time. She slid her hand into her satchel, feeling for the cash Dad had given her. She didn't dare pull it out to check, so she counted the bills with her fingers, and hoped that it would be enough for the gas.

Sheila continued along the path until she reached the market entrance. She grunted as she lifted the heavy cover and slid it halfway off of the manhole, before descending the ladder into the darkness. She carefully grabbed the edge of the cover and pulled it back over the manhole.

She continued down the ladder until her feet finally touched solid ground again. She fumbled through her satchel in the dark until her fingers found her pen light and pulled it from the depths. She flicked it on, sending a small beam of light out, just enough to light her way. She took a few deep breaths, reminding herself that she had done this with Dad at least a dozen times at this point.

Moving along the walkway, Sheila turned when she came to a junction, following that to another junction, and making another turn, before finally coming to another junction and choosing one of the three paths. She walked the path that she had often walked with Dad before, but still found herself breathing a sigh of relief when she came to the end of the walkway and found a heavy steel door. She ran her hand over the handle before turning off her flashlight, shoving it back in her satchel, and pulling open the door with some effort.

Sheila slid through the door and pulled it shut tightly behind her. She turned and continued down a long hallway that was lined with gas lamps before reaching the market. It was originally built as a quarantine bunker, or so Dad said. But the company went out of business right at the end of construction, and after the fence went up, some people from the border towns found it and set up some sort of smuggling operation. Then some people from the city joined in, and it eventually grew from a small group of smugglers into an actual underground black market.

Dad had always managed to just cut through the crowds; the people seemed to part when he walked through. Sheila didn't find that she had the same experience. She bounced through the crowds more than cut through them, apologizing her way through the mass of people shouting and haggling, townies and city folk alike. Dad liked to say that one nice thing about this place was that everyone's the same, just people trying to make it through. Like there was no fence. Sheila wasn't that optimistic.

The large open area had been packed to the gills with stands, all sorts of people selling all sorts of things. Some legal, some not as legal. Some city folk price gouging the townies for things like gas and batteries, some townies price gouging city folk for things like deer meat and fresh produce. No matter how much they intertwined down here, it was still two very different worlds.

Realizing that she had lost her bearings, Sheila forced her way to the edge of the crowd, stopping to take a quick breath and a look around to see if she recognized any stalls that would lead her in the direction of the gas vendor.

A kind voice rang out from behind her. "Is there anything you're interested in?"

Startled, Sheila turned toward the voice and found herself in front of a middle-aged woman, dressed very much like she lived in one of the border towns. Behind the woman was an array of various jewelry on display for sale at her booth. Among simple gold and silver chains, some rings set with various gemstones, and studded bracelets sat a particular pendant on a gold chain that Sheila found herself enraptured by.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing to the pendant.

The woman smiled. "Oh, it's a diamond, honey! You never seen one of these before? Oh, try it on, it'll look beautiful on you!" She reached over and took the chain off of its hook. "All of these belonged to my great-gran, you know. Family heirlooms. Turn around, honey, and pull up your hair."

Sheila did so, and the woman slipped the chain around her neck and clasped it in the back. "There. Let's have a look," she said. Sheila smiled and turned around to face the woman again, dropping her hair around her shoulders. "Oh, honey," the woman said. "Just beautiful. Hold on, I have a mirror around here somewhere."

The woman rummaged around in a small cabinet underneath her display. "As I was saying," she continued, "these are all family heirlooms. Hate to part with them, but times are tough." She laughed. "But you're a townie, you know what I mean. Here we go," she said and pulled a hand mirror from the cabinet, wiping the glass off with her sleeve.

Sheila took the mirror from the woman and looked at her reflection. She gasped at the sight of the diamond on her neck, and held her free hand up to it. Her fingers played with the diamond as she watched the light from the gas lamps glint off of it. She had never felt more beautiful in her entire life.