The Minor Mistakes of a Day (Vane)

Light bathed the city in its yellow and orange brilliance, translating the world into a molten chiaroscuro. The various buildings sat with each other, small windows squinting in the midday sun. Chimneys vomited, coughed and spat out odd gasses and steam, their operators all incognizant of the harm the machines represented. Lonely urchins sat at doorsteps, hoping for anything other than rain or tears to fall into their caps. Businessmen wandered along, briefcases at their sides. Tedious, time-consuming acts made the city what it was;Vita Deficio's home.

In the distance, Drab Moil Towers lurched upward, with Veretchin's buildings gradually growing as they approached the city center, making the city-being appear as a mountain of metal and brickwork.

Vita looked at the strange architecture with a warm fondness in his soul, sitting on the rail of his apartment's balcony with a gin and tonic in hand. He'd been given the unit as compensation for his work during the war. It was small, just a single room and the balcony. Vita usually slept outside during the warm summer nights and watched the glowing clouds drift past. Now he watched the street several storeys below, the paltry amount of passing people, the sorry little orphan's that he occasionally took pity on.

He finished his drink and jumped down onto the balcony. He reached into the small fridge he had there and pulled out the box of tonic water, looked inside. He stared at the bare cardboard and the cobweb within for a second or two, then tossed the box over the edge of his balcony. Vita went inside, to the kitchen bench. He unscrewed the lid of his half-empty gin, sniffed at it. Squinting and shaking the strong smell out of his nose, he poured a small amount into his glass. He took a sip.

“Yuck. Better with tonic in,” he mumbled, scratching his stubble. Then he made his way to the door, grabbing his keys.

After locking the door and pocketing his keys, Vita started down the stairs, which creaked and sighed, their rotting fibres near breaking point. He jumped the broken stairs that he came upon.

When he left the building, he turned left and went down the street, passing few people; his suburb was not a very popular one. Compared to the rest of the city, the buildings here were not too tall, most only three or four levels high. They were made mostly of concrete and brick, some – like the carcass of a building Vita lived in – of wood.

After ten minutes of walking, Vita came to Liuth Station, the end of the Liuth Line. He walked up the stone ramp and walked past the ticket machine to a bench. He sat down and drew a cigarette out of his pocket. He scratched it along his palm, and it lit. Putting it to his mouth and tasting the smoke, he waited for his train. The smoke came out the side of his slight grin, and he watched the girl a few metres away bend over to pick up something she had dropped. It was a small, silver earring, which she put back in her ear.

Her tight, black jeans displayed her legs and arse perfectly. When she turned to look down he track, Vita was disappointed to see that her hoodie was zipped up. Then he followed her gaze,and saw the train coming into the station. He stood and unzipped his overcoat, realising that he should have left it at his apartment. The girl went to sit down, placing her handbag on her lap. Vita leaned against the closed door, puffing his cigarette. The girl pulled back her hood and ran her hands through her auburn hair.

The train started to move, slowly at first, then faster.The first stop was Yuadaro, the slums. The trainline ran above the shabby houses, making Vita's home suburb look impressive in comparison. Then, as the slums went down to the black water of the Little Droor River and the train went into a tunnel beneath it, the girl turned to him.

“You shouldn't be smoking on the train,” she said quietly.

Vita cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes. Could you put it out?”

He shrugged and dropped the cigarette. “I guess.” Then he crushed it beneath his boot as the train stopped at Urar Station, and got off.

Pulling out another cigarette and lighting it like previously, he smiled at the girl through the window as the train crawled away, its wheels screaming against the tracks. He walked through the subway, his boots making clicking and slopping noises as they hit the moist tiles. Several halls brought him to a set of stairs, which brought him out into the light. He blinked, taking his cigarette into his fingers.

Vita stood in a bright alleyway thick with people and smoke and steam. The air smelt of coffee, fruit and fish; but he had no interest in fruit or fish. He walked across the alleyway and made his way along it. He walked past lawyers, bankers, fishmongers and normal citizens. One banker he passed, he stumbled into, apologised, and went on.

Eventually he came to a café that smelt good. As he expected from the smell, a khardi stood behind the counter.

“Khardi espresso, please.”

The Khardi shuffled slightly and scratched its dark brown fur. Its thin, long tongue came between its lips and tasted the air, its eyes flicked open. “One and twelve.”

“Really?” Vita said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the banker's wallet and kept talking. “Why so expensive?”

The Khardi turned its head around and kept working at the coffee machine. “Spicer strike. Complaining about wages and descrimination.”

Vita handed over the coins and put the wallet in his pocket. “How can they all strike?”

“The human's have accepted less pay than the khardi for years. When they found out that the khardi got baid more, they demanded an increase in pay, and they were denied. At about the same time, the khardi went on strike because the human's were given priority over jobs. But the khardi didn't know that the humans got paid less. So they said they were being descriminated against.”

“I bet someone's Shitting themselves over this. But I think I might just enjoy my coffee,” Vita said, and accepted the coffee when it was handed to him. “Thanks.” The he stepped out into the street and turned back in the direction of the station.

As people started going to lunch, the crowd thinned out slightly, and walking was quicker. Whistling a tune and puffing away at his cigarette, he walked along happily. He took his cigarette out of his mouth to drink, then put it back in. The strong, sour-sweet taste of his khardi espresso mixed with the musty smoke of his cigarette comforted him, and he smiled slightly as he walked.

Halfway through his second sip, a voice boomed in front of him.

“Oi! You!”

What the? Then he saw the banker – a young, tall man – running at him. He lowered his coffee, put his cigarette back between his limps, turned, and said to himself, “Fuck.”