“I like this one.”

    Mina took a rose from its place on the kiosk shelves to show Carrie, its white petals glowing in the fluorescent light above them. The pitter patter of rain tapped against the roof and their umbrella—settling droplets on the rose's leaves. With delicate movements, it drew the water down toward its pot like a dancer dipping and swaying to some unheard melody.

    Carrie glanced at the price tag—$30. She never intended to stop here, but as soon as Mina saw the display of flowers and shriveled woman smiling at them, passing it by wasn't an option. It was more than courtesy for her; she was seven and everything deserved equal parts of her day, even when there wasn't enough time for it. Supper was waiting for them at home, and the longer they tarried, the colder it got.

    “Are you sure you want that one? It's awfully, um, thin.” Carrie couldn't bring herself to say they didn't have the money for it. The old woman, her hair held back in a bun, smiled on while Mina had poked and prodded through her wares. It would have been fine if she'd chosen something else—something cheap—but that wouldn't be Mina. She had a knack for picking out the finer things, and a blind-spot when it came to the limited size of Carrie's wallet.

    “Hmm.” Staring at the flower, she placed it back on the shelf, weighing out her feelings about the dainty, white thing. The myriad of colors, shapes, and sizes of plants nibbled at the edges of her determination. Carrie knew if she interjected now, planting the seed of doubt would've been a wasted effort, so they all waited in silence for the little girl to make her choice.

    Moving her hands across the shelves, as if to divine some unseen merit, Mina once again stopped over the rose. Carrie felt her little mind purring along in a series of wild calculations to choose the fate of this poor thing. Taking it back in her hands, Mina spread her toothy little smile up toward her mother.

    “This is the one.”

    It cost too much, and Carrie squirmed at the thought of having to bring it up. There was no one else around, but the humiliation of it was the same. Mina wouldn't understand; money and its uses were still a foreign concept to her. The old woman, however, wouldn't find the truth something to smile about. Rain continued to beat at their umbrella, a dour frame to the whole affair.

    “I'm sorry, honey—“

    “That flower suits you well.” The woman's voice crackled out, lightning that sent a shiver up Carrie's arms while she reached for her purse. “Do you think you can take care of it for me? You have to be very careful with it.”

    Puzzled, Mina stared at the flower for a few moments before smiling at the woman and nodding. There was a certainty to the exchange, a promise forged over something so easily destroyed. Carrie wanted their words to be true, but all the feelings in the world couldn't change $10 to $30.

    “Ma'am, I'd love to buy this flower for my daughter, but I'm afraid—“

    “Whatever you have will be fine.” Again the woman cut through Carrie's words, but her smile remained entrenched amid a torrent of wrinkles and freckles. She extended one hand out between them, its palm covered in calluses. Handing the $10 over, she closed her fingers around the bill and nodded, helping ease the worry bubbling in Carries chest.

    “You take care of that flower, little girl. It needs lots of love to live.”

    “I will, I pinky promise.” A moment passed and their hands interlocked, both Mina and the old woman smiling with the good will of a deal sealed. They parted, both waving at each other until the kiosk slid behind the hillside it perched on. The guilt of the exchange melted away as Carrie watched Mina squeeze the pot close to her chest, so that the dribbling rain couldn't reach it. The sweet scent of it wafted around them while they walked, cloistered by the promise she meant to keep.

    “I wish—“

    No one knew when the lot was abandoned. On the south side of town, the bell flowers and grass grew wild, but everyone around kept their yards trimmed and flowers locked away in gardens. Out here though, it chose how to thrive, and in the safety of that tall grass, the last few fireflies in town coalesced into a network of blinking lights. She came here knowing that people avoided the place.

    No one owned it, and no one wanted the hassle of claiming the land. Its uneven terrain and limited size removed any chance proper development could take place, and lack of concealing features, such as trees or walls, made it the last choice for anything unscrupulous. But it was perfect to her. Once a week, she made her way past the south-side houses, and sat in the lot while the moon rose.

    Clouds bounced back the city glow, their bubbly forms an untouchable cotton candy drifting away toward the east. She couldn't make out where the moon was until the first meteor blasted through the cloud layer, streaking into the distant north. More rocketed down, chopping a hole out of the clouds, and revealed the moon, a pale grin amid the deepening blue sky. She smiled back, more sure than ever of what she wanted next.

    “I wish I could go back home.”

    The sound of a far distant train whistle told her the time, its tinny call a reminder of the life that brought her here. Wishing upon a falling star wasn't going to bring back the meadows and forests she loved, but as she spoke, a warmth pushed out the desperation she felt each day surrounded on all sides by civilization. For now the vacant lot would have to do, with its carpet of green grass and red flowers, while the last few fireflies danced to their silent tune.

    “Hey slag, you staring at those gilded émigré again?”

    Ames sat at the edge of the shop roof, smoke from below wrapping him in a shroud steeped with the scent of motor oil. Above, metal blocks traced their way up the nearest leg of the Tower, clinging like honey mushrooms on their ancient host. Near the first platform, people dined and played on balconies, their laughter and cheerful words mixing into the din of the city. His break would be over soon, and then it would be back to work cutting generator rotors to fit inside the decaying wind turbines that dotted rooftops above and below.

    “You know I don't like it when you call me that. It belittles us all.” Looking at Jaco, he moved away from the ledge, running his hands through his scraggly, brown hair. They were friends by geography alone, their families living within the same block at street-level, the grime and sorrow of that life a choking miasma as he aged into his first apprenticeship. He moved up since then, by shear luck more than anything else. His meister, a burly mid-lander, often praised Ames for his creativity on the job, but it never felt like anything special. When he wasn't working, sifting through abandoned blocks for old books consumed his time like a ravenous beast.

    “I suppose you want to be one, sitting up there an' sipping on some hoity-toity teas. Get over it, slag is in your blood, same as me.” The sneer spreading across Jaco's face was enough to make Ames spit. He meant it as an insult, but the words stung with a challenge—the kind Ames couldn't ignore.

    “It wasn't always like this, Jaco. The Tower, it used to be for everyone. And someday, it will be again.”

    Ames pointed to the Tower's peak, a needle-like strut two hundred feet above them. Now more than ever he was ready to shout his companion down with everything he'd learned over several years of scrounging and reading. Whether it took a year or five made no difference. When the time came, he would climb, and live above the pain and squalor of the life he left behind.

    “You should take your head out of those books every once and awhile and see the world around you. We're slags, their émigré, that's how it is. Wanting something different is going to get you scrapped, like all the rest who wanted change.”
Pushing past him, Jaco stepped out into the light, which tunneled into ever nook and cranny that metal or smoke didn't barricade. His skinned had tanned not from the light kissing his skin, but from hours spent too close to blast furnaces—their heat having scorched all the shop boys, Ames included.

    “Be happy with what our parents left us, and build on that. Anything more and the weight of this place will beat you down, Ames. Take it from me. We were both young, but unlike your parents, mine tried to climb. I watched them break, and I watched them fall. The truth of it killed them.” His sneer sagged, and for a moment, Ames saw Jaco as a concerned friend. It passed though, and his sneer returned as the break whistle howled for them to get back downstairs.

    Once Jaco passed below the lip of the roof, Ames took one last look at the Tower and followed him down, muttering under his breath. He wasn't ready to give up on their city and the shining tower at its core. Things would change, and he would ride that change to the top.