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Hallux

A Short

A seismic shudder woke Mr. Darian Fluke from a fitful sleep. This one was larger than the consistent tremors that kept him from resting the night before, carrying a sense of finality.

"The Continent must have finally settled," assumed the drowsy fox.

Mr. Darian Fluke yawned and slowly spun himself around until his legs dropped over the side of the bed. Shaking the massive mound of hair that had gathered around his eyes during the night, he barely had enough time to register the familiar site of his loft apartment before the world again lurched.

The shift was slight, enough to send the lighter furniture skidding a few feet along the wooden bedroom floors, nothing to be concerned over. The inhabitants of Hallux had long learned to adapt to their belongings sliding about with little prior notice. Mr. Darian Fluke rolled his shoulders, shook himself a few more inches towards consciousness, and stood up.

As the fox began to trace the familiar route to the bathroom, another lurch of the Continent began rattling the larger furniture in the room, even his mahogany bureau quivered at the rumbling. Mr. Darian Fluke's mind, still on auto-pilot, bent his knees slightly, pushing his body forward and taking each step with a degree of caution.

One of the first things taught to those in the Hallux community was how to read their Continent's movements. By the time children were walking of their own accord, they had memorized the motions to counter act all possible tremors. Despite the effective indoctrination, Mr. Darian Fluke just never managed to learn to sleep through the Continent's more meandering nights.

A quick shower later, interrupted by only two or three shakes, and Mr. Darian Fluke made his way to the kitchen. The fox procured his coffee pot and began the percolating process as the world once again shifted. Placing a paw on the plug and the pot's cradle, he followed the pull downward, keeping the precious coffee maker in place enough to keep working.

Minutes later, with steaming re-sealable mug in hand, Mr. Darian Fluke returned the coffee maker into its cupboard-mounted holder with a satisfying click. All appliances not wanting to end up a shattered river of glass on the floor had to be safe-guarded with the proper mounts. It was a financial hassle, given the regularity of broken latches from the Continent's bigger tremors, but one that came with the location of apartments like Mr. Darian Fluke's.

The fox found his way to his front door, and grabbed a hold of the handle nearby, waiting for the continent to fall backward enough for the heavy door to open without much effort. It only took a few moments for the lurch he needed, and the fox was able to begin unfastening all six of the heavy door locks. Apartments of Mr. Darian Fluke's kind were at enough of an angle, for most of the day, to both demand a heavy door and the means to keep it from slamming into walls or potentially crowded hallways. Luckily, the fox was able to unlatch the door and move out into the hallway before the Continent shifted again. He was immediately struck with a wall of humidity, a heavy musk lying fat in the morning air.

"Continent definitely picked up a pace last night" The fox noted, "Sweat conditions near the tram are going to be hell." Mr. Darian Fluke locked each of the six locks again before making his way out to work.

Given the location of the mine were Mr. Darian Fluke supervised, balconies were required to remain bare of all plants or furniture, to avoid cascades of pleasantly decorated wicker flying out whenever the Continent took more than a moderate-sized step. In place of the usual décor were rows of sturdy restraints, often designed with each apartment complex's logo or a plain, inoffensive color scheme. It was to these that Mr. Darian Fluke began jogging towards; certain he would need to be strapped in within the next few moments. It wasn't until he double-checked the harness around his chest that he was proven correct.

Another seismic shift, this one a slower, steadier roll, flew across the neighborhood like a wave. It was great enough to twist Mr. Darian Fluke off his feet as the Continent shifted itself. The fox calmly allowed the momentum to flip him nearly upside down, where he remained, sipping his coffee. The lurch had given the fox a view of the inward side of the toe that bordered his city, a massive wall of scaled green flesh that acted as the surrounding horizon and (when the Continent was resting, His second toe meeting the first) the sky. The fox was told as a child that these gargantuan digits ended in equally gigantic claws; no one had been far up enough to take photographs in generations, so everyone took the notion on faith.

On lazy days off, Mr. Darian Fluke would take the local tram to the outskirts of the financial district. There, the border of the city met directly with the Continent's flesh. Long the site of graffiti and desecration by gangs, the site was re-established by the Mayor a generation ago as a spot of religious reflection. Parishioners would gather and give worship to the Continent for supporting the city by spending hours praying to its Toe, those more devout would express their faith by licking and massaging the digit in fevered fits, often speaking in tongues. Mr. Darian Fluke simply liked wasting afternoons basking in the musk, the scent bringing him -as it did many - back to childhood trips with the family.

The fox's mind was brought back to reality by the sound of his cell phone. Retrieving it from the sealed pocket inside his jacket breast, Mr. Darian Fluke had just enough time to be brought up to the day's duties at the mine before the Continent uncurled its Toes and reset the city. The fox quickly undid his harness and began jogging down to the mine entrance. Apparently, during the Continent's trip last night, a small patch of mountain range from the Surface World became lodged between His second and third toes. Mr. Darian Fluke would have to take his team and begin the month-long excavation process immediately. The Continent was thankfully patient.