Indecision
January 2023 | by Dani
Fiction | Ittoril
Abigail didn't like her horns — they were too big. She was only thirteen, but they already curled all the way around her ears and back to her cheeks. She didn't like it.
She was standing in front of the mirror she had in her tent, trying to figure out what to wear. Shirts didn't look good on her, but it was too hot for anything else. She sighed.
She had to go out today. The Caravan was leaving at sunset, and her family needed her to pick up some supplies in town before they left. It was a somewhat lonely living, Abigail thought. You went between all these cities, but you spent so little time in each. In the end, you only had the Caravan.
Not that there was anything wrong with the Caravan, though, she thought. Her parents were nice, and so were the other families. It was fine, really.
Coming to terms with the fact there was likely nothing she could wear that would look good on her, Abigail begrudgingly put on a plain white shirt and decided to get going.
The central square was sizzling with activity. Caravan Bejuk and sunburnt Half-elves pushed past each other, each trying to buy and sell their things as quickly as they could before the Caravan left. Abigail slipped through the crowd, trying to inconspicuously and quickly make her way to the quieter parts of the city. In a short period of time, the sounds of the square had drawn away behind her, and she found herself walking down dusty cobbled streets. The buildings either side of her were tall and packed together tightly, lining the sides of the roads. As a nice byproduct of this, it meant the streets were well-shaded from the sun.
Abigail went across town between the various food stores that her parents had indicated. The owners seemed to recognise her, though she didn't recognise any of them.
It was as she was traversing a thin, downhill street, making her way to the bakery at the corner, that she noticed something. Up the flat face of a worn-down building to her left, there came a sound from the upstairs window. It was reminiscent of the whirring of machinery, though it grew and shrank in intensity too irregularly to be mechanical. And it was occasionally and unpredictably accompanied by this odd popping or clicking sound. Sometimes the whirring transitioned to a loud buzzing for a moment, and then, with a pop, went quieter again. Altogether, it was unlike anything Abigail had heard before. She found herself wondering what could be making it.
Still, she continued to the end of the street, and stood in line outside the bakery. Abigail could smell the fresh breads and pastries in the store ahead of her, and could hear the others in line muttering quietly to each other, yet her mind kept coming back to the sound. It was still there, back up the street, still whirring and buzzing and popping.
She could investigate it, she thought; just plainly knock on the door of the building and ask about it. But there were people here, and she didn't want to embarrass herself. The line moved forward, and Abigail became aware of the people lining up behind her. The building the sound was coming from, though, seemed abandoned. There might not be anyone home, and she could probably slip in unnoticed. The line moved forward. But it wasn't what she was supposed to be doing. She should just get the supplies and do what she was told, she knew. But if she didn't go check it out today, she probably wouldn't get another chance.
Abigail began to feel something rising in her chest. She hated these kinds of decisions — she didn't know what to do, and yet she felt a pressure to do something. She wished she hadn't noticed the sound in the first place. She felt like there were people standing just behind her back, watching and waiting to see what she'd do.
She wouldn't go check it. She should just stay out of trouble. Take the safe option, she thought. The line moved forward.
A couple more moments passed, which to any passerby appeared completely uneventful. And then Abigail began to walk towards the building.