A few days ago I had a short story post over at The Confabulator Cafe. January was our leftover month. Most of us had at least a few stories that were half-written from other prompts, so it made sense to give everyone an easy one this month.
Mine was from October, which was a fairy tale/myth/legend retelling month. I decided to do something with the Tower of Babel plus classism, because y’know, that’s who I am. I ended up not getting it done before The Wedding, which was so huge an event in our autumn that basically anything not wedding-related got set on the back-burner. The Workers’ Tower was mostly done, but it never quite felt right. I snuck it into the January line-up late. (And even now, I keep seeing little editing things that aren’t quite perfect.)
I really liked the characters and the setting. Unfortunately, my plate is utterly full for 2016, so who knows if I’ll ever come back to it.
The moon was bright and high that night, and the wind blew brutal, whistling a high tune through the rafters. The netting that the workers had placed over the metal bones of their tower had blown away less than hour after İlkay’s watch began.
The moonlight highlighted the man’s figure against the rafters, his clothing dark and his face obscured by a hood. He fiddled at the joints of the metal, pulling items from a sack slung over one shoulder.
Practicing the movements like her papa taught her, İlkay shifted up onto one knee and braced the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. The blanket fell open around her as she pointed it at the man, the wind cutting through her clothes. “Stop.”