This is the Way the World Ends......
It was dark out. Fey hated the dark. How could anyone trust something that concealed dangers. Evil. That was the word Fey used to describe the dark. It was the only thing that Fey felt truly deserved the word. Closing the curtains and turning away from the window that led to a seemingly unending blackness and to the room that flooded her with light, she sighed.
"Fey, don't you see there's nothing out there to hurt you? The dark is no different from the light. What are you going to do when you must live out on your own?" Fey hadn't known what to say, she could only look at her mother silently.
"As usual, you just stand there silent. Waiting. What are you waiting on?" Why did mother insist on always asking the questions that Fey had no way of answering? She had gotten better. Since finding Finicky, Fey had been able to sleep without a night light and withstand the dark inside rooms. There she knew she wasn't alone. It was late. Fey was tired, so she called Finicky over and went to bed.
Pit...pat...pit...pat..pat..pat.pat.pat.patpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpat. That was the sound Fey seemed to wake up to most mornings here in Washington Heights. Not that she disliked the rain. Really it was a good part of the world. Fey just wished that the sun would make a consistant appearence in Washington Heights more often then not. Finicky whinned beside Fey and went over to the door frame of the bedroom to scratch at it.
"I'm comin' Finiy, don't worry, I won't make you hold it in. Even on a rainy day." Fey laughed at Finicky. Whenever he had to go out and they were in the apartment he seemed to act like he was asking for some great favor.
Fey walked to the coat rack, Finicky by her side, and put on a coat, grabbed an umbrella, and stuffed her crotched hat into her bag along with a plastic bag.
"Let's be off!" She opend the door, and the pair went out.
Fey and Finicky turned into the vacant lot and walked to the far corner of it. While Finicky did his business, Fey politely looked elsewhere. It was then she noticed the stand in the lot had been reopend. Once Finicky had finished, Fey was pleased to find there would be no need for the bag and began to walk back to the side walk. The reason for the use of the vacant lot as apposed to the park was simple. there were so few nice areas in Washington Heights Fey figured Finicky could use one of the least pleasant parts and leave one of the nicest ones unspoiled, atleast by himself.
Reaching the sidewalk, Fey decided to go out for some coffee. The rain wasn't that bad after all, and she had her umbrella jauntily held above her head. Walking past the now unvacated stand, Fey was struck. Not physically, but with the sight of a great bird perched on a shelf. It wasn't alive, Fey could see that, but the state it was in wasn't natural. From the earth it came, and to the earth it should have returned, all of it, for the next generation. Fey suddenly became aware of a small, strange woman looking back at her. Averting her eyes, Fey hurried herself and Finicky down the street towards the traffic light.
Deep breaths Fey, deep breaths. Everyone has a reason. It is just her being herself, you are not the one to judge, or you will be judged. Despite her attempt to calm down and just accept the woman as she'd accepted everyone else, a cold chill went down her spine as she thought back to that bird.
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The rain felt good against Mrs. Flogsbottom skin. Since she had stepped out onto the street ready for an adventure it had lightened considerably. She knew she was taking a risk- walking about outside with her wet shirt sticking to her round curves, but she had to get out. The wind wiped viciously against her dress and pulled the fabric tighter around her body. Thank goodness most people were still inside, she didn't feel like keeping off hordes of wanna be lovers; she longed for one. But he was probably cleaning some vegetables or restocking cans... But her love was stronger than that, it could wait.
As she continued her walk, she noticed Fil, the newspaper boy who lived in the tree. His glasses clouded the view to his eyes, but he was blind, or so she thought. How romantic would it be, to be blind and touch the person you love and just know you were meant to be. Mrs. Flogsbottom would have been jealous if she hadn't already found her true love... maybe she was still a little jealous, but she wouldn't take it out on him, he was short.
"Hello Fil, how are you today? You know it is raining dear? Soggy wet wet?" Mrs. Flogsbottom said, pointing at the clouds. She laughed at herself- pointing for a blind person, but she wasn't about to stop. Fil looked at her but did not say anything. "Alright, a hug would be lovely, here we go!" Mrs. Flogsbottom said, thinking he needed some Flogsbottom love. Fil flinched slightly, though stealthyly took a few dollars from Mrs. Flogsbottom's purse. He had done it before and she never noticed. Money was nothing in the realm of love, and after she won the romantic lottery 5 years before, money didn't matter to her. He knew better than to take her cat hair made coin purse, made from the hair of Fluffies, her first cat. She would notice something like that missing, and it was too creepy anyway. "Yes dear, you keep selling those papers, that's a very romantic venture you know- standing on the street selling the fruit of your loins- methaphorically speaking of course!" Mrs. Flogsbottom said, blushing at her dirty joke. "Yes, good bye dear! I must be off, you know I'm trying to focus on other things than Achilles. But he is such a wonderful man..." Mrs. Flogsbottom waved to Fil as she continued her way.
"The Wrath," Mrs. Flogsbottom said, looking at the mysterious sign above the door. "How intriging!" She walked inside. "very funky," she said more to herself.
"Hello," Fey said, looking suprised to Mrs. Flogsbottom.
"Hello dear and how are you? You know even though we live in the same building I don't think I have ever been to your shop, but it is such a lovely little shop. Yes, very vibe ish don't you think? I suppose you're busy doing things here all day, dear, I know what that is like. Or I did, I don't work anymore, but love is like a job isn't it? You have to work at it and make your love stronger and better every day- yes, love is a full time job, wouldn't you agree? You look like you love love."
"I uh, didn't realize you were married" Fey began, but Mrs. Flogsbottom quickly cut in.
"My dear? No, not yet, no I am in love with my true love none the less, but I have not told him yet. I know he feels the same way, but I cannot let him know that I love him until chapter 7, and it is only chapter 4- GOODNESS ME! CHAPTER 4!!!!" Mrs. Flogsbottom yelled, her hand flying to her head. Fey ducked down, startled by Mrs. Flogsbottom's sudden screech. "I must go to him, you know what happens in chapter 5, don't you dear?"
Fey shook her head.
"That is when we get in a huge argument and it seems as though our love is doomed, but it is not because our love is the truest of true and nothing can tear us apart. Well I must hurry and get ready, I must look sultry but angry too! You should really read some dear, Connie Mason is food for the soul," With that, Mrs. Flogsbottom said, racing from the store as fast as she could, though it quickly turned to a trout then her normal speed. The wind would not stop pushing Mrs. Flogsbottom- fate was pushing her onward to love! Oh, the excitement, chapter seven was almost in her grasp! Mrs. Flogsbottom squealed in delight, as she entered the crumbling doors of Washington Heights
Mamie Wainwright-
I woke up this morning itching to get out. Finally the week-long rain had stopped, and my old legs needed to walk. So I thought I'd go to church. My mama raised me Catholic, and although I don't practice anymore, I miss the morning service. It gives me something to think about during the day. Unfortunately, there is no church on this side of the interstate except the synagogue down the street. My mama always warned me to stay away from places like that, but I was desperate, so I got all gussied-up and took that rickety old elevator downstairs. The sky was casket gray and the wind was chilly. By the time I crossed the street to the synagogue, my toes were numb and my skin was translucent. But I trudged on, determined to attend the morning service. I walked right up to that front door and yanked on the handle. No one was going to keep me out--regardless of my religion.
The door was locked. Those rabbis wouldn't let me in, and the other parishioners hid inside. I didn't see a single soul. Just as I turned to make the long walk back to my apartment, a small grocery receipt flew by on a gust of wind. I watched it bounce up and down the street, jerking this way and that, like a marionette pulled by unseen hands. The wind suddenly quieted. The paper dropped. Right in front of a hole-in-the-wall store I'd never seen before.
A cheap sign out front advertised THE WRATH. I peered in the store window and saw a small woman bent over an oven. She was holding a few weeds and a cylindrical bar of something melty and white. All around her loomed cases of odd objects: old playing cards, odd candles, crystal balls. . . . Not the sort of place a woman of my age and upbringing should enter, but I was tempted. After being rejected by the people at the synagogue, a new friend like this might be nice. As I squinted to see into the shop, the receipt that brought me there blew up in my face and bounced down the street. I followed it, wondering where it would lead me next. It bounced down to the corner by Washington Heights, ricocheted off the traffic light and fluttered all the way to Manny's Grocery.
I looked up, and there in the window was a sign. NO ALCOHOL SALES ON SUNDAY.
The clouds shifted, and I looked up from my work in one of the flower beds on the rooftop garden of the Washington-Heights apartment building. I surveyed my surroundings and decided that "garden" wasn't exactly an apt description for the grimy walkways that surrounded a few attention-deprived and depressing rectangles of dirt. Was it even dirt anymore? For some reason I was attempting to bring some life back to this place that overlooked the whole of Washington-Heights. "Remeber that this used to calm you down when you were upset, Maria, even if this isn't exactly what you are accustomed too." Right, calming down, that's what I'm doing up here in the wind and cold. In the wind and cold, above the penthouse, as far as I could be from that bakery, its crazy German owner, the mysterious bits of dough on the floor, the man who asked for two bagels with alterior motives on his mind, the fingerprints, the stale bagels, the hand sanitizer...
"Maria," I muttered. "You're being stupid, just remember what your mother said." I grimaced. "Yeah, so maybe I'm not cut out for a job with so many social aspects, but I can't let her know that she was right about it all." All those customers at the bakery made me shake, and I had to steady myself on the counter when they finally left, the little bell on the door jingling menacingly behind them.
I had wanted to calm down. I had needed to calm down. I remembered how the candles in my bedroom as a child used to lull me to sleep as their flickering flames created shadows on the walls. "Candles." So I had gone to the little occult shop that stood hunched up beside the apartment building in search of candles. The girl behind the counter was quiet and shy; she didn't seem completely comfortable in the little shop front, only seeming to tolerate it because of the silent dog presence at her feet. I walked up to the counter, and the girl eyed me warily for a moment before asking if she could help me. "Candles," I said slowly. Pause. "Do you have candles?" I clarified. "White tapers?" She looked at me intently for a moment and then reached under the counter, searching for something. She then placed a box in front of me, saying, "You want green ones, for growth." I bought the box, six candles in all, and left the store rather quickly. It wasn't that I didn't like the girl, she just seemed to know alot more than she let on. It was disconcerting.
It was only after stepping outside into the windy day that I realized what I should actually be doing to calm myself down. And that is why I am up on the roof, planting sickly and slightly wilted daisies that I uprooted from the park while no one was watching. "But hey, who cares where the flowers were before because, now, they are actually serving a purpose. They are helping me prove her wrong."
The dirt was cool and natural under my fingertips. The recent rain had left it moist, and I enjoyed the feeling of earth against my skin. Unlike everything else around me, the dirt...wasn't sticky. "This is nice." A burt of chilly air breazed past me, making me shiver.
"Nice as in a cold day without sun working on the dirty rooftop of my sticky apartment building in dirt that is probably commonly doused in acidic and poisonous rain from the huge city nearby but not close enough to allow and escape from this upper level of hell. That kind of nice." But for all my complaining, the daisies really were quite nice. They seemed to look happier the moment I put them back in the ground. Maybe soon they would be pretty enough to pick and put in a little vase in my apartment. Maybe I could even give some to Kevin. "Stop blushing, Maria," I muttered, embarassed at my own thought.
Maybe I'll take some to the bakery to lighten the mood.
Magic Herbs
The sun was setting as Kevin finished threading the second wire through Patrick's vertebrae. It had been a blustery day. Dark, ominous clouds had barely let any sunshine through. Once again, Kevin had returned to room 981, Chinese takeout in hand, to work on his labor of love.
Now that this step was complete, Kevin knew what he had to do. He would have to face the wind again, though.
Stepping out onto the street, Kevin trundled down the sidewalk to a small store right next to the empty lot surrounding Washington Heights. He entered the store, which was named The Wrath.
Sitting behind the counter was a woman. Kevin approached her.
"I need some magic herbs," he said.
"I don't cater to the wants of those wishing to consume controlled substances," the woman responded.
"I'm not looking for drugs," Kevin rebutted. "I need something that actually has magical properties."
"Well, what are you trying to do?" the woman questioned.
"Bring back a friend," Kevin said. Then, after a short pause, he continued, "from the dead."
The woman stood still and silent for a few breathless moments. Finally, she turned toward one of the glass cases along the walls. "Follow me," she said.
George Jefferson - A Week Off
George Jefferson hurt. A lot. He opened his eyes and slowly lifted himself out of bed. He stared into space for a few seconds, then looked at his right arm. The bandage was so itchy. He hadn't noticed the shard of glass wedged in his arm after he had fallen through the skylight at Oscar's until he got back to his apartment that night. He had rushed straight to the hospital (after changing out of his costume, of course), where the doctors where able to remove the shard. Unfortunately, they also said that, in order to heal completely, Jefferson would have to avoid lifting heavy objects with that arm; heavy objects like his sword.
So Jefferson had decided to take a week off. He had hid his sword and costume underneath some floorboards in his apartment and done nothing for the past few days. This morning he felt terrible. He was bored and tired, and couldn't shake a feeling of uselessness. However, he knew that if he took to the streets to fight crime too soon, he would risk injuring himself permanently. He decided to take a walk to get some fresh air.
He left the building. It was cool and overcast. A strong breeze blew past as soon as he stepped on to the sidewalk. Not the best day for a walk, he thought, but then again it had been this way all week. He walked down to the park. He passed a young woman walking her dog. She smiled awkwardly at him. Jefferson smiled back. There was a paperboy at the end of the street. The boy was probably homeless, thought Jefferson. He walked up to the boy and bought a newspaper. He gave the boy a twenty. "Keep the change." said George. He was feeling generous. "Gee, thanks mister!" said the boy. Jefferson just smiled at him. He walked away and opened the paper. There was a story about the incident at Oscar's last week. Police were investigating Machelli for opening fire in a public place, and Oscar for the illegal gambling. George smiled even more. Taking a walk was definitely a good idea. Then another cold when blew through and chilled Jefferson to the bone.
He heard the paperboy yell "Hey!" Jefferson turned around. An angry, bitter-looking homeless man was running the opposite way down the street. "He took my money!" yelled the paperboy. Jefferson didn't even blink. He dashed down the street and clocked the homeless man in his face - with his left hand, of course. The man fell to his knees, cursing and screaming something about rich people. Jefferson twisted the man's arm around to his back and plucked the bag of money out of his hand. Jefferson couldn't tell what the homeless man was saying - it was all expletives and rage. Just then a slightly pimped Cadillac pulled up. Its back door opened, and Dominic Roberto Machelli stepped out.
"Is there a problem here?" Machelli asked threateningly. Jefferson stood up to his full height; he was slightly taller than Machelli. "This man stole that boy's money."
"You seem familiar. I don't suppose you do this vigilante stuff regularly?" said Machelli, eyeing Jefferson's bandaged arm.
"No, I'm just an honest citizen doing his duty." said Jefferson, sternly. The homeless man had slowly snuck away as the young paperboy ran up.
"Here you go, son," said Jefferson, handing the boy his bag of change. "Hold on to that now."
"Good," said Machelli. "We don't need any more vigilantes in this city. Quite frankly, I think one is too many. It's dangerous work. someone could get hurt." Machelli had emphasized that last bit. He turned and climbed back into his car. Jefferson could feel his hand slowly reaching for the sword he didn't have. He stayed his hand, and just stood there, glaring as Machelli's car drove off. "Uh, thanks mister," the boy said, and he hurried away. Jefferson watched as the boy ran back to his street corner. He thought about the boy and the homeless man. Both were products of their environment, an environment created by the rich and greedy - rich and greedy people like Machelli. Something would have to be done. Machelli couldn't rule this city forever. Maybe it was time George Jefferson became less like Batman and more like Robin Hood.
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