tried to catch the antique, but too late; it lay in pieces upon the carpet - having come perilously close to a fine table (one that had belonged to his father's great aunt Stephanie). Upon that mahogany furnishing sat a crystal vase of roses. The noise didn't go unnoticed. Between his mother, his step-mother, and ten or so servants - one way or another, his father would hear about it. It didn't matter where the vase had come from - whether it was precious art, or just something someone bought at wally's-world-a-trade. What mattered was: the boy had been told enough times not to run in the house. The last time, was in one of the corridors, the clatter of plates and cups had awakened his teething half-sister, Sarai. All that mattered was, when Terah, his father, came in from the shop - which was located in the mansion's south wing - Abram's seat would know it.
A few hours later, our young mighty man - who, this evening, wasn't interested in sitting down to read a scroll - was battling a three-eyed reptilian giant in one of upstairs corridors, and just when he was about to dispatch the smelly monstrosity to the pit, his nanny's voice called for him to get ready for bed. Abram wasn't the least bit sleepy; he was anxious for the following day. His cousins, and a few of their cousins, were coming to visit for several days. Abram lay awake, anticipating the dragons and other mutations that would howl and die at swords' edge.
So ends another day in paradise.
About 400 miles south west from Haran, an urban beauty parted the curtains and glanced up and down the rather littered street. It was as if the neighborhood grew dirtier and dingier with each passing week. What was wrong with people? Just drinking, drugging, and not much else ... besides snarling, and snapping, over ... over nothing really.
When she was a child - which wasn't long ago - the neighbors would get together, and do things. People greeted one another, went for strolls, met at cutie's cafe - which closed a few years back, because of one too many t-rash tantrums. Saturday mornings were fun; the neighbors would pick up around the streets, then sit around for a bit, sharing coffee and donuts; the boys would play kickball, the girls jumped rope.
Neighbors. She barely knew more than two or three. Many of the women had neither the time, nor money, to buy a few cookies or pastries and stop around for a brief friendly visit. For many, it was working all day dreary, only to somehow figure out a way to turn a few measley coppers into almost enough food for two or three little hungry mouths. Other neighbors she didn't want to know. The guy two units from her was ... weird. Shifty eyed. Well, alot of that going on these dsys.
"Dear," her mother called from the kitchen, "breakfast is ready." It was just the two of them; her father, a foreman, had fallen from a construction scaffold; in short, he, for want of workers, had been doing the work of two men. The dining room curtains ruffled in the summer morning breeze - it was going to be another scorcher, but such is july. Outside, women rushed to their jobs as maids, nannies, shop girls, while more than a few men gathered in corners, alleyways to .... well, loaf. And more than a few, quite fashionably. She had caught a glimpse of a certain purse, and the matching sandals; they must have come from ... didn't matter, wasn't happening, not on her old leather pocketbook.
And you didn't want to look too close - ew! Things that, from what her mom's generation said, guys didn't do in alleys - back then, they had enough class to atleast rent a room. Back then, men wanted children; they took their sons hunting, fishing, taught them how to defend themselves, their sisters. Back then, men's preference was chasing women. Nowadays... she chucked to herself at the words, "back then" and "nowadays." Old people's expressions. But the old people were right. Anyone with half a brain...
"So Dear," her mother softly laid her teacup upon its saucer, "how things go?"
"Mom," the young beauty smoothed a tress behind her ear. "Things are gone." In other words, another dud; one with an entitlement streak the size of scythia - all for a pulled pork sandwich and a side of fries. While he offered plenty of beer, she only drank one - and watched it closely. Too many accounts she'd heard about, of young women waking up the next morning in a crappy room, and then having to take that morning constitution with a sore behind. What was with that? Don't guys eff gals the normal way anymore?
The two women cleared away and washed up the breakfast things. A few moments later, going their separate ways, to their jobs, along that crowding sodom city street.
