Severe Jam Damage

‘Where’d they come from?’
Dunno, they bin here long as I can recall.’
‘Whatcha think they are?’
‘Dunno.’ A shrug, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets. The voice is small and bored.
‘They look old’
‘Yup.’
‘A bit battered as well.’ A rough hand runs over the wooden frames, a shower of crackling paint falls to the ground.
‘Wood is sound anyway.’ Says the second voice.
‘Ayup.’ A beat. ‘So you taking them or not?’
‘Reckon I will. Just wish I knew what they were.’
**
They are lighter than he had thought but it is not easy. The boxes rotting and splintered in places prove awkward to shift and sweat pools under his light Memtex shell. Shards of glass tinkle and crunch under his feet. If he can clean down the wood, smooth the rough edges the timber might be worth something on the black market. He runs fingers down the side of the box. Even the splinters feel soothing. Con wonders again what their purpose could have been.
**
The buyer unrolls a length of molywire and gently touches it against the corner of one of the boxes. They are pristine. Con spent hours sanding and varnishing until the timber gleamed like glass. He winces as the buyer slices a splinter from underneath one of the corners.
‘Gotta test the merchandise’ says the Buyer and inspects the tiny fragment.
‘Oiled and polished’ begins Con, but the buyer isn’t interested in Con’s work.
‘Do you know in the old days they used to burn wood? What a wonderful waste.’ The buyer pauses, eyes Con. ‘It’s all good for you though isn’t it?’
Con says nothing. He is used to this- these buyers who detest him for providing them with exactly what they want. Con enjoys his work, even if it does mean that he has to deal with these people. The buyer runs a finger across the finely finished timber and nods.
‘I’ll take them’ he says.
**
Outside the dome nothing moves. A deep black desert stretches to the horizon. Con peers out through thick plexi-glass. The void stares back. Behind him an alarm beeps, his Chrono signalling that night has begun. Once, so the story goes, this was all forestland, this blasted and barren place. Con can’t imagine it. A world where trees are so bountiful that they could be wasted and used. Con slips into his pod and sleeps. His thoughts bring him to a world with a warm yellow sun and a gentle breeze. Of sweet grassy fields and a forest of trees.

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I don’t know where this is going. Think Con may have more to tell. This weeks surprisngly green flicktion effort inspired by Booths in a Field By Flickr user Rick Harris. Check out the rest of the flicktioneers: The Gurrier, Chris, Tadmack, TeaandCakes, Aquafortis, Valsha and Neil.