2110: Indianapolis

"I remember when this use to be a thriving metropolis." My head snapped around and faced the direction of the sound. Grandfather loved to tell stories---stories about a childhood I had long ago decided were fictional. "There were skyscrapers and green parks. Automobiles would race down the interstates as if it was the Speedway. In the fall and winter, we would ice skate at the city ice rinks and watch the Colts play. They were an amazing football team back when the players actually tackled their opposing teams. In the summer, the sidewalks would be mobbed with people in dress suits and tennis shoes. I never tired of the spectacle of people's feet passing by the high windows of the basement Starbucks I worked in at the time. I moved to California with your grandmother just a few months before the meteor hit. I lost a lot of good friends in that incident. I wish it was still here so you could see it. Now it's just a dark spot on a topographical map."

Grandfather lapsed into silence, creating an odd sense of distance between us. I put my forehead back on the window and watched the chain link fence and tall yellow grasses go by. An occasional tree, its scrawny trunk and bare branches, would break up the monotony. It had been the same view for at least the last 10 minutes. My eyes wandered past the fence and grasses to a dingy area which wasn't quite grey or brown or black. Just dirty and desolate. Grandfather's words poked at me. Were those really the shapes of a society wiped out by a meteor?

*** Daily Writing Practice ***