Famine #57: Quiet Before the Storms
Hiya readers and writers. Welcome back for another snippet from Famine for Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday. After two weeks of violent posts, I thought we could use a breather. This moment is, quite literally, the quiet before a rainstorm and and a shitstorm.
“Knowing the Washington Hotel will fall to lunacy is a bitter pill.” As smoke drifted from his lips, the aesir inhaled it through his nostrils. “Then again, history is trampled by progress without fail.”
“No one values the old things, Monsieur,” Matilde remarked as she plucked a blade of grass and sandwiched it between her thumbs.
Bartholomew exhaled a great cloud of smoke. “Indeed.” He stuck the cigarette between his lips and lay back on the blanket, tilted his bowler over his eyes and folded his hands behind his head. Beside him his ward blew gently against her thumbs to make the grass sing as Mrs. Henderson set out the picnic.
Notes: The Washington Hotel was demolished when Seattle’s Denny Hill was flattened. The hotel had hosted President Theodore Roosevelt. More info here. Also note, Matilde has no idea that Bartholomew is over fifteen hundred years old.