This is the 60th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
Everyone was curious about the large white blimp that appeared overnight. Katy watched them as they buzzed around below it and pointed and chattered. They reminded her of ants that had just found a half-chewed gummy bear.
She knew she shouldn’t judge them; she knew she’d probably do the same if she didn’t know any better. These villagers had never seen anything but birds fly through the air—and they wouldn’t have for another few decades if not for Rachel’s narcissism.
Katy rolled her eyes as her sister appeared on the deck of the blimp. Leaning over the railing, Rachel waved and shouted something that neither Katy nor the villagers understood. They all remained that way for the better part of 10 minutes, and then, slowly, the crowd dispersed.
Rachel descended a rope ladder and greeted Katy with a self-satisfied grin. “Did you see me up there?”
Rachel crossed her arms. “Well?”
“Well, aren’t you going to say something? I just invented air travel. Me! I did it. I bet you didn’t think I could.”
“You’re an engineer, Rachel. Of course you could figure it out.”
“But I didn’t have any of the—Are you even a little bit impressed?”
“What’s there to—You know, you’ve probably thrown everything in the present all out of whack now. These people weren’t supposed to develop this type of air travel for another 37 years.”
“Oh, here we go again,” Rachel said. “You’ve got your fancy degree and I’m just some screwup, right?”
Their bickering preoccupied them so completely that they didn’t notice the child beginning to scamper up the ladder.