A Normal Life

It was late October. The air was cold and crisp, and the wind stung Lydia's face, but the sun was warm on her skin. The sun had just crept over the two-story victorian-style houses that made up Lydia's neighbourhood, Long Hill. It was often called the plateau, where the middle class of Eastern Maine gathered and withered away. One of the houses across the street, it belonged to the Faradays, had a plastic poster on its front lawn.

Lydia had forgot that election season was coming. She glanced at the poster, which showed the logo of the American party, thirteen white stars surrounding a bald eagle. Lydia didn't really know much about politics; it just wasn't something that she was interested in, but she had heard from her friends that the American party was the latest incarnation of American Neo-Nazis.

She glanced down at her watch, reading the time from the two digital hands: 8:17, or in other words, she was late. She adjusted her light backpack over her coat, making sure that the folds and collar weren't caught by the straps, and broke out in a run towards the school. Her sneakers bounced off of the cracked sidewalks, and her jeans felt tight around her legs, making it hard to run quickly.

She paused at a traffic light, waiting for the light to turn green. While she stood there, she pulled a hair elastic from her pocket, and pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail, so that it wouldn't get in her way while she ran. While she was adjusting her hair, she saw a man walk up to the opposite street light. 

The first thing she noticed was his dark skin. She wasn't the type to discriminate, by any means, but Maine was a very white state, so you always noticed when you saw someone who wasn't. The second thing she noticed was his face. He had a scar that cut across his face, from cheekbone to cheekbone, going right through his nose. The third thing she saw was a glint of metal from under his coat. Before she could get a better look, the light turned green; he began to cross the street, and she started running again.

***

"Fucking nazi pigs!"

This shout was quickly followed by the sound of a metal trashcan being kicked on its side and spilling its contents. The speaker, obviously not content with just that, continued to abuse the trashcan, denting its rusty frame with the heel of her boot.

"Why the hell are these fucking nazis allowed in our school!?"

She gave the trash can one final kick, sending it flying a few feet as several banana peels fell out of it. It rolled to a stop at Lydia's feet, and she sighed.

"It was just an assembly, Scarlett. Besides, you know that know one was paying attention anyways."

Lydia's poor excuse at calming the girl failed horribly, and only made her more enraged. Her face was so flush in anger that it matched the deep red of her name, in stark contrast to the blue highlights in her fiery red hair.

"Even so, they can't just come in here and say some racist bullshit about the 'muslims and the gays' and how they're 'working to destroy America'. The school administration could at least pretend to be impartial here."

Scarlett and Lydia had been friends since they were toddlers, but they major differences had appeared after the war started. Where Lydia didn't really care about politics, Scarlett was an advocate for many things that she believed in. While Lydia blended in with the rest of the school, Scarlett dyed her hair and dressed like the definition of a uniform infraction. Lydia's passive nature was also countered by Scarlett's aggressiveness, both in terms of her personality and her position as the undisputed best fighter in the school.

"Scarlett," Lydia began, unsure of where she was going.

"What is it?"

"You've been fiddling with it a lot today," she said, nodding at the handgun on Scarlett's belt, "I think you made Ms. Elroy pretty nervous during English."

Scarlett snorted.

"C'mon Lydia, everything makes her nervous."

"Scarlett..."

"Fine, alright, you win." Scarlett conceded, sighing and throwing her hands up in the air in mock surrender. "I had a dream last night. I heard people in the assembly talking about it too. If there's this many Walkers around, there might be a strike soon. I just want to make sure that I'm ready."

Lydia recalled her own dream that she had had that night. It had been pleasant to delude herself into thinking that her mom was still alive, that the war was just barely heating up, that her life was as nice as the ones in those shows that her dad sometimes watched. She thought to say something to Scarlett, but the bell signalling the end of lunch rang, ending their conversation.