The purpose of this short story is to illustrate the cultural environment of Svipjoth, it’s civilian technologies, and other aspects of Svipjoth in the average town that would otherwise be boring to merely shove together in a bullet point list. Please enjoy!
Mark Karlsson slowly awoke, stretching his back before sitting up and gazing out the window. The sun had not risen yet, save for the soft orange that began to color the eastern horizon. Pulling away the thick quilt his late grandmother had made for him, he shuffled around hardwood floor, quickly changing from his linen pajamas into his wear for the day: a white undershirt, a black-pattern on white fair isle sweater, a pocketed brown linen vest, dark brown linen trousers, black leather boots, and a black newsboy cap.
Over his firewood-powered stovetop, Mark cooked himself a decent breakfast: a bowl of mildly spiced porridge and a cup of black coffee. Glancing at the list that rested atop of his icebox, he recalled that he needed to shop for groceries today, as well as some other errands. Washing his pewter dining ware and enameled cast iron pot, he fetched his list and stepped outside.
He was met with the view of his small front yard and the townhouses similar to his own both besides and in front of his home. Locking the front door behind him, he debated for a moment whether he should travel by horse, his mare Skami, but he decided against it, instead finding it more convenient to travel by tramways today. Reaching into his pocket, he fetched his pipe and jar of mint-tobacco mix, stuffing and lighting the pipe before turning right and beginning his walk.
After passing the newspaper boy and picking up the latest edition of Uppsalaskyrslan, he crossed the road and seated himself at the tramway station, situated at the median of the road. As he smoked his pipe and read the paper, he glanced up occasionally, observing the traffic of horses and horse-drawn carriages. He even spotted the speeding sight of both a firetruck and an ambulance, the siren-blaring automobiles easily passing the horses. In only five minutes after seating himself, the tram arrived. He boarded, depositing a 10 cent coin as his ticket fee before seating himself once more. On the third stop, Mark exited the tram and walked for one block until reaching his destination, a local grocer calling itself Oleug’s. But before entering the store, he travelled yet another block to a restaurant on the corner, having himself a lunch of roasted salmon and green beans, before backtracking to the store.
Greeting the familiarly acquainted cashier warmly, Mark went on to inspect the store. While small, it was brimming with a variety of products and merchandise, including a shelf devoted to foreign goods, such as fresh oranges and boxes of green leaf tea. Fetching a shopping basket, he selected a variety of items: a box of oats and a can of ground coffee for his breakfasts, a loaf of heavily-seeded rye bread, a baked ham, a small block of white cheddar cheese, and a half-dozen apples for his lunches, beef chuck, potatoes, and carrots for his dinners, and a small bunch of black licorice for later as a sweet treat.
With his groceries in hand via paper bag, he boarded the tram again, travelling back towards home, but departed a station early to enter the local library. There, it took him only a few minutes to browse both books and records before checking out a romantic novel and a folk music album. With both hands occupied, he boarded the tram one last time before going home.
After organizing his groceries, he went out to check his mailbox, having had forgotten to do so earlier, and found a letter addressed to him from his daughter. Opening the envelope and unfolding the parchment as he entered the house, she assured her father that her steam train ride to Melkorka was safe and that she was pleased to see her cousins. Smiling, he folded the parchment back up and set it on his writing desk, so that he may remember to respond.
For the rest of the morning and afternoon, he committed to both housework and leisure; he listened to the radio as he swept, began the first chapter of his recently rented novel as the laundry soaked, and played the folk music album as he prepared his dinner: a beef stew. After his prayers, he ate dinner and proceeded to his evening routine, brushing his teeth and taking a bath. Then, nearly forgetting, he wrote back to his daughter, reminding himself to place the letter in the mailbox before work as he settled into bed, slowly drifting to sleep.
