On the Fourth of July, 3019

A Writer’s Cramp prompt: (1,000 words or less/24 hours)



Tomorrow in the U.S. is Independence Day. There are usually picnics, trips to the lake or beach, and loud fireworks.

Write about a character that dislikes one or all of these celebratory methods and why.

On the Fourth of July, 3019 -- Planet Constance

Where my grandparents come from in the United States of America, Planet Earth, today's Independence Day.



“I remember wearing shorts and going on picnics,” Grandma tells us as she gets warmed up, ready to talk again about her childhood.



“We ate fried chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob, and watermelon,” Grandpa says with a fond smile.



The four of us sit at the table, gathered around the food machine. Grandma and Grandpa want to fix something special as a treat, but the food machine doesn’t do treats. It only does what we always have – breakfast, lunch, or dinner bars.



Grandpa keeps going on and on about watermelon, wishing the food machine could eject some slices.



“Don’t be silly, Fred,” Grandma says. “You know you have to grow watermelon. We can’t do that here. You might as well be asking for apple pie. Remember how I always baked a couple pies for the fourth of July? "



Grandma sighs when she talks about baking. Sometimes she looks really sad, like she wishes she hadn’t given up baking in order to come to Constance with my parents.



I don’t know why she cares. No one bakes on Constance. We have machines that cook for us. I like pushing a button whenever I’m hungry. I don’t care if we don’t have watermelon and apple pie. I bet they taste nasty.



But Grandma and Grandpa like to remember things the way the way they used to be. They sigh a few more times, then smile at each other in that super embarrassing way that makes Benjie, my nine-year-old twin brother, and me roll our eyes, wiggle our butts, and wish we could go out to play.



Our grandparents babysit us whenever our parents are gone. They’re off working in Constance’s mines, down in the depths where babbling corters and jellyfish rats live. That’s why my brother and I are stuck in our grandparent’s kitchen hearing a bunch of old tales about stuff that’s probably a lie -- like the fib Grandpa told us about an Earth animal with a neck so long it could lick the clouds with its tongue. (Grandpa called it a giraffe, said it had a brown and yellow patchwork quilt all over its skin. Duh, what’s he think – that Benjie and I actually believe that stuff?)



“Tell me again about Independence Day, please?” my brother asks.



I groan. We’ve heard the stories so many times. I’m surprised the words aren’t engraved on our foreheads. But Benjie loves to hear about Earth. He’s one of those people who wants to return to an old dead planet. Return? I shouldn’t say it like that. Benjie’s never been to Earth.



“At right,” Grandpa says, “There were fireworks. Big splashes of color that painted pictures in the sky.”



I roll my eyes again. Color in the sky? Right? How could someone send colors into the sky? Must be a spaceship captain throwing paint out the window of his ship. Or maybe it’s a flying thing . . . a . . . bird, that’s what Grandpa called it. A bird, maybe, pooped all over everything.



Whoops, I’m in trouble. Shouldn’t have said that. Grandma’s glaring at me, and Benjie’s all mad because Grandpa’s not telling any more stories. But they’re only silly old stories, not important, true stuff.



Grandpa starts talking about parades. I’ve heard all about them too, so I just let my mind drift off to think about other things.



Independence Day? Really, really a weird concept. Earth was one world, one great big dust and water-filled orb, so why would there be little divisions all over the place? Countries, that’s what my grandparents called them. Countries where people did those funny things to celebrate being free from another country.



But I don’t understand why everyone kept claiming each other, and how did they get people to stay in one part of the world? Didn’t people just want to roam around, go wherever they wanted?



I guess they couldn’t, because Grandpa said they threw tea in the water, and the people were too afraid to swim in it. Some people had to wear red coats, too. I remember that part. They couldn’t wear blue or purple coats because that wasn’t what they were supposed to do. That’s dumb, if you ask me.



But my favorite part, the only part I really like is that this guy rode his horse all over the place, screaming. I don’t know what a horse is, but it does sound like fun – especially the screaming part. We’re never allowed to scream. We can’t even talk loud or we’ll upset the natives. They like it calm, quiet.



That’s why I don’t understand about fireworks. If all those colors in the sky screamed and banged, wouldn’t that make everyone’s ears hurt? Wouldn’t everyone go around deaf then? Didn’t Earth have any natives who insisted on quiet?



Grandpa wants to know if I’m sorry for what I said. I nod and apologize -- although I still think it was kind of funny imagining some huge bird . . .



Grandma gives me a look that keeps me from laughing, then she starts in telling us the story of Betsy Ross and the big flag. I like that story. I like it lots, mainly because I think it’s true. Grandpa has Betsy Ross’ flag. It’s not as big as Grandpa claimed it was, but it does have all the right colors. I can count the stars, too, and see the red and white stripes.



When Grandma’s story ends, Grandpa gives us our dinner bar. Then we sit outside and watch the stars. Grandpa tells us we need to celebrate the day, so I get to hold Betsy Ross’ flag. I feel the holiday then a little bit. I wave the stars and stripes back and forth while Grandpa whispers softly bang, pop, boom and I really do try to imagine those pictures up in the sky.









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