A Slingshot and a Tradition

“Ouch!” Amara pulled her hand back after sticking her finger on a piece of jagged metal. Scraps weren’t kind but she knew them well. The walls groaned as a gust of wind pushed against the shack. A draft rolled across the floorboard and through the holes in her boots. 

She sucked on her finger for a second then let out a deep breath. She gave her lantern a twist and kept working. Slowly she wrapped a strip of sturdy cloth around the handle. Where it split up into a ‘U’ she carefully made a couple notches in the tips. 

She knotted both sides of a rubber tube and slid them into place. Amara’s shoulders fell and tears welled up. She gazed down at the slingshot on the table. Another year another, capital offense. But mom would be proud. After all, Amara was just doing what she’d taught her.

She gathered everything up and put on her coat. The flap of sheeting she liked to think of as a door crinkled as she pushed through. Her grandma rested quietly in the armchair by the fireplace, but it was getting dark. Amara quietly gave it a crank on her way out. The element grew stronger and cast a soft orange glow over the room.

She started to push the door open but heard a voice behind her.

“Don’t get caught out there.” her grandma said. “I miss her too but I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Amara closed the door and crossed the room. She kissed her grandmother softly on the head then met her gaze.

“You won’t have to find out, I’ll be back before first light.” 

Her grandma’s face was heavy with concern but smiled as Amara drew the quilt up around her, and left the shack.

She made her way out to the old mine. The moon hung low in the sky, bright but scarred by machines. On a windy night the smog from the nearby cities would be whisked away and you could even see stars beyond it. Long grass whispered around her and she took a deep breath of fresh air. It was times like this that she felt her mother was still with her, in the wind, in the grass, in the light of the moon.

Soon, she arrived.

The decrepit mining complex loomed ahead. Tall towers and conveyor belts twisted and wove themselves like cobwebs. She ducked under some loose boards into the biggest building. Pebbles crunched under her feet and the sounds echoed through the cavernous room. What once held massive machines and vats of chemicals was cold and empty. Just brick and windows. And scraps too small for the company to worry about.

Amara got to work. She hurried about painting targets on walls with old crushed chalks. She set up anything small enough to be knocked over. Finally, she turned back to admire her work. All around the cathedral of trash were bullseyes, bottles, cans, and all manner of prey for her and her instrument. 

The tears returned.

Gone were the days that her mother would lead her here. Farther still were the days when her mother was strong enough to join her. 

She squared her shoulders and let out a deep breath. She focused her gaze, then sprung to action. The first can fell from its high perch. Then another, and another. Her arm became a blur, pulling stone after stone and casting them near and far. She spun on her heels, leaving nothing behind. She dashed up a conveyor belt and hurdled off the side, propelling one final shot through the jug she’d saved for the end. Landing next to the shards she put her hands on her knees. She was older now. The air most days hadn’t been as kind on her lungs as tonight’s. She breathed in deep. That’s when she heard it.

An even steady voice called out. One designed to be calming, but one that had become anything but.

“Good morning, carbonform. Please turn around slowly.”

Amara did as instructed, facing the machine. It was an old model, unreliable but still deadly. It was too close to run, it’d definitely catch her. As she brought her hand around the robot let out a jarring noise somewhere between a scrape of metal and an electronic beep. 

“Slings are a class 8 weapon of war. You are in violation of the Peace Among Carbonforms Act of 2065. Surrender immediately for reprimand.” the peacekeeper said in its calm, frigid tone.

She took a step backwards and hit a wall of windows. Reprimand seemed like a creative way to say execution. She knew the punishment for having a weapon. Amara’s body tensed. She knew running wasn’t a good option but it was the only one she had left. 

She eyed the exit to her side. The peacekeeper took a step towards her.

Suddenly the dawn cracked over the horizon behind her, flooding the building with the morning light. A ray of sun traced down into the pool of glass shards she’d left and up into the hauntingly human face of the machine. It stopped in its tracks.

“Heavy optical interference.” it announced. “Rebooting systems, please wait for assistance.”

Amara didn’t wait. She bolted.

She tore away from the mine as the light poured over its twisting spires. Pumping her arms as fast as she could, she flew through the field. The grasses roared again and she felt the wind behind her, pushing her home, to safety.

The sun warmed the air by the time she arrived at her door. She flung it open, throwing herself inside. Her eyes were wild, and so was her hair. Her grandmother leapt to her feet and held her tight.

“Are you alright?” she asked “What on earth happened?”

Amara took a deep breath, safe at last. 

“I got a little held up, but I made it back.” she said as she squeezed back.

Finally, they let go. 

Amara gave the heater another crank and made her way to her room.

“This conversation isn’t over, you know.” her grandmother said as she returned to her chair.

Amara smiled as she sat back down at her desk. She began to unwrap the handle of the slingshot and as she did, a breeze hit the shack again, warmer and gentler than the winds before. The sun streamed into the room through the gaps in the shades.

She whispered, “Happy birthday, mom.”