Post by HST Nicole on Sept 20, 2014 15:51:00 GMT -8
1964
In truth, she didn’t really know how to feel about it. It almost didn’t feel real. She could vividly remember growing up. A woman’s place in the world was drilled into her head. Beautiful, but silent. She felt like a rebel running her husband’s business behind closed doors. And now… now her female employees were celebrating the passage of the Civil Rights Act. It’s only a matter of time, they say. Only a matter of time until everything is equal.
But what does that even mean? Everything equal. How will one know their place in world? Will we all just be mewling babes, screaming for equal treatment? It was a mental poison she found… intoxicating. She yearned for this day when she was young, and now that it was here she felt conflicted.
Everything equal. It almost sounded like Communism. Isn’t that what they are supposed to preach? It was hard to tell through all of the rhetoric. What will this do to business? The unions are already bad enough, and now this.
1971
It was the perfect night. Business is always better over dinner. Dinner plus a play was even better. He was the perfect gentleman. It was the end of the evening, and they were finally sitting down to discuss the details. Another drink. She could tell he had other things on the mind, but there wasn’t time for that. Plus, she couldn’t break the golden rule. Don’t eat where you do business.
“So, you need help with a… shelter?” Amelia asked.
He looked disappointed. “Yes. Water proofing is… a priority. If it can’t withstand water, than it definitely won’t be able to withstand a nuclear blast. The last contractor was less than suitable.”
“You find that with those younger companies. Less experience. Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on, and I’ll send someone buy in the morning to write an estimate. Sound good?”
He nodded and led her to his back yard, and a small shed. He opened it, and led her downstairs. It was a small shelter. Shoddily built. She could see water coming in around the edges.
“I can see your problem. It may have to be completely redone… Have you thought about an entrance from the inside the house?”
“No. The last contractor didn’t think it could be done.”
She smiled and turned. “Yes, well… They don’t have the same experience. It’ll be easy.”
Bomb shelters. How delightful. It was amazing how many people yearned for underground homes.
1986
Amelia watched as the group of teenagers passed. Their clothes were colorful. It reminded her of painting she had seen as a child of a court jester. She looked back at the mirror and studied herself. She couldn’t help but think she looked like a jester too. She could remember when a dress lasted a few years, now they lasted less than one before you were out of season. It was exhausting keeping up. You almost have to hire someone to stay up with the times. How quickly things change. She couldn’t help but think that maybe she is getting old.
1990
Amelia peaked outside her window. Another ATM. She doubts anyone actively watches them, but she can’t help but feel paranoid about the tiny cameras. The things they must capture with those tiny lenses. She pulled on her gloves and pushed her glasses onto her face. She found it amusing wearing a disguise under a disguise.
Human’s and their technology. How many of her family must have been undone by it.
In truth, she didn’t really know how to feel about it. It almost didn’t feel real. She could vividly remember growing up. A woman’s place in the world was drilled into her head. Beautiful, but silent. She felt like a rebel running her husband’s business behind closed doors. And now… now her female employees were celebrating the passage of the Civil Rights Act. It’s only a matter of time, they say. Only a matter of time until everything is equal.
But what does that even mean? Everything equal. How will one know their place in world? Will we all just be mewling babes, screaming for equal treatment? It was a mental poison she found… intoxicating. She yearned for this day when she was young, and now that it was here she felt conflicted.
Everything equal. It almost sounded like Communism. Isn’t that what they are supposed to preach? It was hard to tell through all of the rhetoric. What will this do to business? The unions are already bad enough, and now this.
1971
It was the perfect night. Business is always better over dinner. Dinner plus a play was even better. He was the perfect gentleman. It was the end of the evening, and they were finally sitting down to discuss the details. Another drink. She could tell he had other things on the mind, but there wasn’t time for that. Plus, she couldn’t break the golden rule. Don’t eat where you do business.
“So, you need help with a… shelter?” Amelia asked.
He looked disappointed. “Yes. Water proofing is… a priority. If it can’t withstand water, than it definitely won’t be able to withstand a nuclear blast. The last contractor was less than suitable.”
“You find that with those younger companies. Less experience. Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on, and I’ll send someone buy in the morning to write an estimate. Sound good?”
He nodded and led her to his back yard, and a small shed. He opened it, and led her downstairs. It was a small shelter. Shoddily built. She could see water coming in around the edges.
“I can see your problem. It may have to be completely redone… Have you thought about an entrance from the inside the house?”
“No. The last contractor didn’t think it could be done.”
She smiled and turned. “Yes, well… They don’t have the same experience. It’ll be easy.”
Bomb shelters. How delightful. It was amazing how many people yearned for underground homes.
1986
Amelia watched as the group of teenagers passed. Their clothes were colorful. It reminded her of painting she had seen as a child of a court jester. She looked back at the mirror and studied herself. She couldn’t help but think she looked like a jester too. She could remember when a dress lasted a few years, now they lasted less than one before you were out of season. It was exhausting keeping up. You almost have to hire someone to stay up with the times. How quickly things change. She couldn’t help but think that maybe she is getting old.
1990
Amelia peaked outside her window. Another ATM. She doubts anyone actively watches them, but she can’t help but feel paranoid about the tiny cameras. The things they must capture with those tiny lenses. She pulled on her gloves and pushed her glasses onto her face. She found it amusing wearing a disguise under a disguise.
Human’s and their technology. How many of her family must have been undone by it.