Chapter Five: Getting Angry at Achilles because that is how it goes.
As Mrs. Flogsbottom trudged up the windy street to Manny's Grocery, she couldn't help but notice a black van circling the street every once and a while. It must be a group of people who are utterly in love with me, she thought, watching the van slowly pass her. They know what I am about to do, but in my rage I will not go to their waiting arms! I must fight with Achilles but I will not betray him to people who ride around in a rather ugly van....
Mrs. Flogsbottom almost dreaded seeing the faint sign of Manny's come to view; this was going to be a very tricky chapter. She had to fight with him, but not too much. He couldn't be so very mad that he would not ever forgive, or take more than 2 chapters to get over- Chapter seven was fast approaching, and she needed everything to be perfect! Walking into the creaking door of the store, Mrs. Flogsbottom looked around for her love.
The annoying girl at the counter was smacking her loud pink gum and smirked slightly as she saw Mrs. Flogsbottom's dress. Green and pink plaid hearts littered the the white dress she wore with her matching hot pink cat shaped bag. Mrs. Flogsbottom had no time to flirt with that floozy, so she walked down aisle. Achilles was on his knees putting milk back on the shelves. His lily white butt crack peeked over the rim of his pants, but Mrs. Flogsbottom averted her eyes, pain before pleasure. Achilles looked up and smiled. "Why hello Mrs. Flogsbottom! What a perfect day to see such a lovely lady." He said.
Mrs. Flogsbottom stopped... He wasn't supposed to be nice, didn't he know the chapter??? She flicked her nose up sexually but also angry. "It's a horrible day, is the day all you think about?" She asked, folding her arms in front of her. Achilles looked at her confused.
"No, I like the night too-" He started, trying to make a joke, but Mrs. Flogsbottom cut in.
"Yes, I'm sure you would, I have heard about you Achilles Manus! I know the type of man you are! How could I ever have thought we were meant to be if you go off with your dime store floozys! Well I cannot take this anymore, I am a real woman and I need something only a real man can give me. You know where I live when you finally decide to be a man!" Mrs. Flogsbottom said, storming out of the grocery store.
It was perfect, better than she could have hoped. They had fought, very briefly, but she said all she had to say, now it was only waiting for another chapter or two for him to come around. Henrietta wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and began to walk home.
Her attention was distracted by the ever present black van, and she nearly ran over Snazy Filazy.
"Oh I'm sorry dear!" She said, wait, this is the girl that rhymes... "My eye sight was not clear!" Henrietta smiled at her clever rhyme. "Now, uh, what are you doing out here?"
Snazy looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking. "There is a man, fine as can be, but I acted like a cat too scared who climbed up a tree. He plays the guitar, I think he can go far. But I cannot even talk to him, he makes my mind and heart swim!"
Henrietta thought Snazy was simply trying to cover her feelings for Henriette- everyone had them, why not this peculair rhyming girl?
Henrietta patted her hand. "Dear, there are other fish in the sea, if yours is taken, which I know 'he' is, than maybe you should look for another one." With a final wave Mrs. Flogsbottom left Snazy and continued her way home.
Snazy opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped. Poor girl, I broke her heart... Well, that is life. Now, I must wait.... oh dear, I do hate waiting... But Mrs. Flogsbottom knew she could wait, she would have to. Love could wait a long time... but not too long. She turned her head as the van passed again.
8 comments:
Seemingly complacent, Elizabeth sat in a booth at the diner. Her novel was done. Dead? Her past was dead, that was for sure. Malcolm was probably somewhere in Las Vegas by now.
The faintest whift of decay brushed her nose. She turned to find Kevin brushing a hand through his hair as he and Maria sat down to a booth, both grinning. They were having lunch or dinner or something. An echo of a cheerfully eerie tune passed her ear. Elizabeth looked out the window to see the source being chased by a group of school children. An ice cream truck. It was four o'clock. They were probably having a late lunch.
The front door chimed. Mrs. Flogsbottom entered the diner, smiling. Elizabeth smiled, remenising over Mrs. Flogsbottom's advice. She had waited until the completion of the sixth chapter for her protagonist to be kissed by ... Malcolm. She'd actually waited until chapter 8, but that's a different story.
She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Dialogue had become nothing more than an echo of whispers. Her latest response had been, "Huh?"
"Would you like some more water, Liz?"
It was Mac.
"Please," Elizabeth replied, looking to the glass in embarrasment.
"What's wrong sweety?"
"Who knows,"
"Just let me know when you need a refill.
Elizabeth continued to stare at the water glass, now filled to the brim. "Thanks," she said, as Mac progressed to another table. Moving forward — the one thing Elizbeth needed to do, yet the only thing she couldn't. The afternoon turned to evening and evening into ...
"Liz," a voice echoed in the wind.
The building shook.
"Liz!"
The building shook again.
A sharp pain severed the dream.
"Liz, are you alright?"
It was Mac again. Everyone was gone. The sky was pitch black as raindrops spat against the window.
"What time is it?"
"It's midnight, sweety. We're about to close up shop."
"Right," Elizabeth said, rubbing her temples.
"Are you going to pass out again?"
"No Mac, I'm fine," she lied.
Without another word, she rose from the booth and walked out the door. Ten minutes later Elizabeth entered her apartment with a single letter in her hand. It was the only parcel she'd received that day. No junk mail. No letters from Mom. Just a letter from her editor Jerry Hacker. She'd made the deadline. She didn't know why he would complain. She sat upon her bed as she began to scan the letter.
Dear Elizabeth,
What a work of genius. ... We look forward to publishing your work very soon.
Sincerely,
Jerry Hacker
P.S. - I especially enjoyed the transformation of the protagonist after she confronts Mr. Gainnes with her realization of where her heart truly lies.
As Elizabeth laid the letter on the bed, she looked to the ceiling of her apartment. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. It was true. It was all true. Every word, paragraph and page of the novel was true and her biggest regret. She balled up the letter and threw it across the room, just like had thrown her heart across the country.
I twisted the key in the lock and turned down the hall towards the elevator. I was starving, and once again, there was no food in my apartment. The bits of dough I had found on the floor of the bakery earlier were enough to put anyone off grocery shopping. I didn't know if I could ever trust grocery stores, bakers, or butchers EVER again. And prepared food wasn't much better. Who knew what happened behind those walls. I shivered and almost backed into Kevin. He was also coming out of his apartment, but I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn't even hear him. "Good job, Maria," I muttered, before I realized what I had done. I smiled sheepishly at him, and he smiled in response.
"Where are you headed, Maria?" he asked quietly.
"The diner," I replied quickly, trying to cover up my talking to myself. Then a thought stuck me. "Would you like to come?" I asked. Kevin nodded, and we went down the hall, down the elevator, and out the front of the apartment building together. I couldn't help but walk with a lightness in my step even though the day was as dark as usual for Washington Heights. Kevin skipped the sidewalk with me without missing a beat, and we turned the corner towards the diner. I could even hear music from an icecream truck floating from somewhere nearby. The day didn't seem to be living up to its normal gloomy standards.
Outside the diner, we passed Ms. Flogsbottom as she hurried in the oppsite direction, looking smug but slightly distraught. She glanced at me and smiled knowingly, then continued on. Kevin looked sideways at me, and I smiled at him as we walked through the doors of the diner.
I slid into the closest booth, and Kevin sat opposite me. After we both pulled out menus and examined them, he looked up at me. I smiled nervously. I had never been on a date of any kind, not ever. What does it matter, Maria? I asked myself, managing to keep my monologue internal this time. This is no date, don't fool yourself. This isn't a date.
I was silent. I had no idea how to say anything to him now, now that he was actually sitting across from me eating a toasted sandwich with onions that fell out of the end and onto the plate. One onion dropped onto the table and made a greasy spot. My eyes glued to the table. The grease was spreading, multiplying, enlarging across the table. My fingers itched to reach across the table and sweep the onion up into a napkin and put it out of sight. All I wanted was for that little spot to be gone.
Plastic clinked on the table as Kevin put his glass of water down next to his plate. The noise broke my concentration, and I looked up at him once again. He was staring at me with one eyebrow slightly raised. "How long have you been like this?" he asked me. I looked back down at the table, but this time I focused on keeping a blush from my cheeks, not focusing on using my mental power to make the grease spot disappear. I didn't know how to respond. I had always been like this, I thought. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. I couldn't stare at the table forever so I looked back up. I tried to smile but couldn't.
"You're getting better," he said slowly, sweetly.
I stared at him. "What?" I asked. He was silent. "What do you mean? What do you mean I'm getting better?" He didn't say a word. My heart beat faster and I leaned forward, searching for something in his gaze. I gripped the edge of the table with my fingers. I felt like I was about to stumble upon something important. "Why do you even care? No one cares about me. So why should you? Why do you care? Do you care?" He just stared at me sadly. I could feel myself begin to freak out. I could feel the fear and frustration and lack of control filling me up, about to boil over.
"Do you care?" I asked. I was speaking loudly now. Everything I had been thinking recently was coming to the surface. "I want you to care, it's the only thing I want now." I stopped speaking to listen to him, but he didn't say a word. I couldn't believe that I had just told him that, but I also couldn't believe that he didn't have a single word to say to me. He just sat there.
With his silence, something inside me broke. "Not one," I muttered. "Not one word." Kevin just looked at me, awkwardly, almost as though he wished he could have responded, but couldn't. I collapsed against the seat. "Not one word, not one, not one, not even one," I muttered over and over again. I stared around me, but the diner had gone fuzzy and all the people were indistinct. "Not one, not one, not one not one not one not one not one..." I stumbled out of the booth and ran from the diner.
The sky outside had opened up and the rain came pouring down around me. "I can't even feel it, not without one word, can't feel it, can't feel anything, nothing, nothing, nothing, no words, no sounds, no feelings, nothing nothing nothing," I cried as I slumped to the pavement.
"What nonsenes!" she thought. "No need to get down,
There are plenty of people I can help all around!"
So she stood up and smiled, still humming the chords,
Of that sweet cowboy's guitar, not knowing the words.
But that didn't matter, for the tune was sincere,
Why wasn't he famous? How did he land here?
In a town so congested with all the wrong things,
Dragging feet, sullen faces, no, nothing that sings.
She had to do something to get his songs heard,
She'd tell all the people and they'd spread the word!
A woman then bumped her and muttered "Oh dear,"
Appolgizing quickly, for her eyes were not clear.
Perfect chance! She could tell her of the man she adored,
With some music like his, this town wouldn't be bored!
Snazy went on to mention he looked good as can be,
But how she ran like a scardy cat up in a tree,
When he looked over at her with those gorgeous eyes,
Her cheeks blushed so red, and she couldn't disguise,
The feeling she got when his fingers ran swift,
Over each guitar note, oh he had such a gift.
"This cowboy should play for an entire crowd,
Just the thought of him makes my heart beat outloud!"
But the woman stopped Snazy, and patted her hand,
Speaking slowly, reciting words that seemed planned,
Like she was simply rejecting a desperate love-plea,
As she said "There are many other fish in the sea.
If yours is taken, which I know that 'he' is,
Then you should look for another one, I'm sorry Ms."
The woman walked on as she waved a good-bye,
How odd she had been, Snazy couldn't tell why.
All she wanted was for melody to save the town from,
The silence they lived in, their ears that were numb.
Not even the ice cream truck sang anymore,
It annoyed all the people when it drove by at four.
So Snazy was determined to turn that around,
And fill this old town up with a beatiful sound!
Lulu headed out with Sinclair by her side trying to catch a spot of good weather. The rain had not helped business the past few weeks. When she reached her usual corner, she and Sinclair got comfortable. She had brought a fold up chair today so that her feet wouldn't get so tired from standing so long. She had also brought a blanket for Sinclair to lay. As they were setting up, an ice cream truck passed by. Why was an ice cream truck driving around in the middle of November? Who would want ice cream in this horrible weather? It continued to drive by not getting any customers just like her then turned the corner disappearing. Lulu and Sinclair sat by the corner watching as people passed by hoping that maybe one of them would stop to buy a flower. Lulu watched as the woman from the second floor approached. She didn't really want to talk to Mrs. Flogsbottom since the last time that they encountered each other Sinclair grabbed her purse and Lulu wasn't too sure if Mrs. Flogsbottom would be so happy with her since they had left on not great terms. The last encounter didn't seem to phase Mrs. Flogsbottom. She came right up to Lulu and asked to buy a flower. She immediately started telling Lulu some story, but Lulu was having a hard time keeping up since Mrs. Flogsbottom was very animated in her story telling. She kept turning her head this way and that and flinging her arms all around. Lulu wasn't able to read her lips with such animation coming from the storyteller. She caught a few words. Something about Achilles and a book. Lulu just smiled pleasantly when Mrs. Flogsbottom looked at her. She then continued to go into another story. Lulu wanted to tell her that she was deaf but Mrs. Flogsbottom was so into her story and she hated to interrupt and make her feel bad for not knowing her dilemma. So, Lulu just continued to smile. Mrs. Flogsbottom eventually wandered off and Lulu plopped back into her chair. The wind was picking up. The next block of rain was its way. So, Lulu packed up her stuff and signaled to Sinclair to head back to the apartment but Sinclair must have seen something in the park. He took off in the other direction. Sinclair had never run away from Lulu when she called. What could Sinclair have seen that would make him want to run away from her call? Lulu had no choice but to run after him. She wondered what he had seen as she chased him into the woody area.
George Jefferson stepped into his room. He had just come back from the clinic. He hadn't gone to the hospital this time; they ask too many questions. He had waited a few days after his accident to get treatment so as to not attract attention. He could barely remember what happened that night. He hoped no one else had been hurt during the chase; Ryan Ford wouldn't have any lasting damage, but it was still too much. He had been reckless, and someone innocent had been hurt. He would have to lay off of his Robin Hood - like thieving spree for a while again, but this time he wouldn't have to be completely inactive. He shut the door behind him and made sure that it was completely locked. He pried open the floor boards and revealed the numerous treasures, formerly belonging to unworthy drug dealers. It was time to give something back to the community.
There were a couple thousand dollars under there (Jefferson needed something to replace his lost police salary), but most of it was much more valuable than money. Jefferson had chosen to steal objects whose worth was uncalculable, objects of true beauty and art. These were things that no criminal, common or otherwise, could ever truly appreciate. That was why he had stolen the Miura; it had fit his criteria perfectly. Now he was charged with the task of redistributing these precious objects to those who would appreciate them.
Unfortunately, he had no idea how he would accomplish this task. His stomach rumbled. Today was not the day, he decided. Now he just needed food. Jefferson grabbed some of the smaller bills in his stash and replaced the floorboards. Then he left his apartment, went down the elevator, and out on to the street. It was still overcast. I don't know if I remember what the sun looks like, he thought. He walked down the street. An ice cream truck was parked across the street. It was completely silent and still; no kids or music or anything. Jefferson also noticed that it appeared to be the same make and model as the black van he had nearly plowed into only a few days earlier. He would have thought about it more if it wasn't for an odd girl he noticed walking in the street ahead of him. She was walking as though every step filled her with disgust. Probably some sort of neat freak, Jefferson thought. If only he had some sort of golden disinfectant in his stash somewhere, he could give it to her. She would probably appreciate it. he smiled to himself and kept walking.
He arrived at the grocery store and entered. He picked some basic food items to stock his apartment and proceeded to checkout. A middle-aged woman was in front of him was taking an unnecessarily long time buying her food. She was obviously quite smitten with the checkout boy; Jefferson wondered if the boy realized this as well. He wondered which of his treasures he would give to these two people. Probably some sort of exotic rose would be given to the woman; of course, such a gesture could easily be taken the wrong way. Plus, he didn't think he had anything like that.
As Jefferson left the store with his groceries, he felt depressed. He had no idea how he would distribute his loot. He wanted his gifts to match the receiver, but he realized he knew very little about the people in his neighborhood. He had spent most of his stay at Washington Heights patrolling the streets alone at night. His was a lonely pursuit, and now it had caught up with him.
Then, as he rounded the corner, he saw the answer to all of his problems.
He ran back to his apartment. He threw his groceries into the fridge. As he was about to pry open his floorboards, he heard a knock at the door. He opened it, and there stood Oscar Alcazar. Oscar grabbed Jefferson by his necktie and pulled him close so Jefferson could smell his spicy breath. Jefferson's problems weren't over; they had just begun.
Henry DuPont: "A Smiling Opportunity"
The teapot had been singing for nearly a minute before Henry took it off the heat. He poured the steaming water over the honey lemon tea bag sitting at the bottom of his plastic mug and took a sip. The water burned his tongue; he cringed.
He strolled from the cramped kitchen into the living room, where he gazed out his sliding doors onto the streets below. It was raining again. Henry turned and walked around his meager apartment, looking for something to do. He had no TV. He had no computer. He had no friends. His only entertainment was the seven books he kept on his bedside table and a set of crossword puzzles. Henry kept himself busy most days, dreaming up Dorothy's next adventure or observing people from his teeny balcony. But it was days like today when Henry wished he had some purpose in his life.
Henry sipped his tea cautiously, not wanting to scald his tongue any more, contemplating what to do.
Then he decided, quite abruptly, to go to the grocery store. Maybe he'd find something interesting. He made a list of items – Henry never went to the grocery without a list – and put on his bright yellow raincoat and golashes. Then he headed out.
Inside the grocery story, he began to make his rehearsed rounds – from the produce section through the aisles, and then over to the dairy section. There, he saw quite a sight.
First, he saw a man bending over the milk cartons, his butt crack peeping over the edge of his pants. Henry's eyes drifted to the rather large woman standing next to him. She was dressed in a hideous white dress with pink and green hearts and was quite agitated, it seemed, with the man. "How could I ever have thought we were meant to be if you go off with your dime store floozys? I am a real woman..." Henry walked away. He didn't much care about her problems.
After paying for his groceries, Henry headed back towards Washington Heights. The clouds were threatening rain again. All of a sudden, Henry heard a sound. It was a song, getting closer and closer until it seemed to be right behind his shoulder. He looked onto the road just in time to see a little ice cream truck pass by. He was amazed – he hadn't seen one of those since he was a kid. And what in the world was an ice cream truck doing driving around Baltimore in the fall? There was some strange stuff going on in this place, Henry thought. The more he saw of it, the more he wanted to get out.
Then he saw the lady. She looked like a business lady, dressed up in a nice black skirt suit. She wore makeup and pumps and pantyhose and was standing in the middle of a sidewalk in Washington Heights. As Henry approached her, she approached him. She was holding a small stack of pamphlets and wore a peppy grin. "Hello!" She stuck out her hand. "I'm Lauren Flinn, from the Baltimore School of Fashion and Design. Here's a brochure –" she held one out for Henry to take – "that outlines our classes. Right now we're offering scholarships to anyone who agrees to attend full time for two years..." The woman flipped the brochure over in Henry's hands, pointing with her French-manicured nails to the things she was talking about. But Henry had stopped listening. His mind was spinning.
He loved fashion. Dorothy loved fashion. He wanted to leave Washington Heights, and this woman – this gorgeous, sweet, misplaced woman – was offering him a paid education at a fashion school. Henry almost pinched himself to make sure that this was really happening.
"...and classes for the spring semester begin in January." The woman stopped talking and looked up at Henry, smiling. "Can I have your name and phone number to contact you?"
And so Henry gave the woman his name – Henry, of course, not Dorothy – and told her he would really like to be considered for the scholarship. The woman smiled at him, shook his hand, and told him he'd be hearing from her soon. She turned on her heel and walked down the sidewalk.
Just as he reached the apartment building, it began to rain again, but even the bleak weather couldn't bring Henry down from his high. He could go to fashion school! He could become successful and have friends and go to parties! He could find a boyfriend! And the best part about it all was that going to fashion school meant leaving Washington Heights. What a novel thought.
Lola woke the next morning and dragged herself to the mirror. It had not all been a horrible dream. There on her face still sat the streaked, melted, smudged make-up from the night before, and in the mirror she could see the costume still dripping as it hung lifeless on the shower rod. She turned off the lights so her eyes would not be bombarded with the sights of the night. But with her sight gone, another sense was heightened. She could smell the smoke and beer seeping out of the costume. She could smell the remnants of the sticky, red lip sick that seemed to be destined to stain her lips forever. She could feel the grime from the polluted rain that had drenched her, and she could feel the stinging burn in each place that she had been grabbed as she stood shocked up on that stage. She grabbed the phone, trembling as she held it in her hands, she looked at he glowing numbers in the dark and heard the empty dial tone. But who could she call...she had left town forever, she could not go back, would not go back. But she had to get out of Washington Heights somehow, go some where...but where?
********
Lola was jostled out of her lala land as the elevator screeched to a stop. She was staring mindlessly at the smudgy silver doors as the pleasantly, plump force that was Henrietta Flogsbottom flooded the elevator. She was mumbling something about Achilles. Was she talking about her cat or the man at the grocery store? thought Lola. She looked quizzically at Henrietta, who returned her look with and apologetic smile. Lola heard Henrietta mumble something about being in love and what a poor dear and I can’t break her heart, so I’ll just satisfy her longing with a smile. Lola was oh so confused. She had thought Achilles was a man’s name, but now Mrs. Flogsbottom was talking about some poor girl under her breath. Who in the world could that be? pondered Lola.
********
Lola walked out onto the side walk. As usual...the weather was...well the weather sucked. But something brightened Lola’s day. She heard off on the distance, the slurry song of an ice cream truck. As the tasty, treasure-toting truck rolled along playing a song that sounded like a dying cat from years of use, Lola’s mouth began to water. She flagged down the truck, but it went right past her. Well that was just not nice. But she had a thought. She remember the sweet taste of the multi-colored rocket pops. Rockets, she thought...they really go places. Lola ran toward the subway station... she had an idea.
Though I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of death...
The dawn broke grey and cold, but Fil took no notice. In fact, today was the happiest day of his life. He might be going to live with Grandma Pearl. It was just a might. He didn’t even know if she had found his note, but this was the first thing he had had to hope for in…ever. Waking up in the morning and being able to lounge in bed. Wow! A bed! He’d never had one of those. And he could go to school, and maybe get a job. Most importantly though, he could give back all of the things he’d “borrowed”. So he woke with these thoughts did not notice the chill wind and darkening sky.
Cheerfully, he scurried down his tree and headed to the underpass to get the day’s newspapers He reached the crossing as two cars came up, turning left and right. Fil went on straight, and…what was this? Where were his newspapers? He looked all around, but nothing was in front of him wherever he looked. Fil sat down and pondered for a long while. Finally though, he thought of two things. It could just be a mistake. They’ll probly just bring them tomorrow. And what does it matter anyway. I might not even be getting papers much longer. Wait! What if Grandma Pearl was the one leaving the newspapers, and now that she read my note, she knows there’s no point in me doing this anymore! He thought about this idea, and decided that it was stupid, but there were other reasons, so he got up and plodded back to town. It was nice not to carry those heavy words. Those grey papers were his past. He decided he would even throw away the left over papers he kept in his tree. Fil reached the apartment building and stopped, deciding what he would do today. He wanted to go see Grandma Pearl, but he didn’t want to rush her. Fil decided he would just meander up and down the street. He had never done that before. Just stood out in the open and didn’t care about anyone seeing him. He had never done a lot of things before. But today, today he was going to live a new life. Where was everyone? He wanted to give someone a big grin and a hearty hello. Why would people not be out on a gorgeous day like this? Oh, wait. There’s Mrs. Flogsbottom-head-bent, hurrying to the store. Peculiar woman.
“Hey there Mrs. Flogsbottom! Lovely weather!” he said as he gave her a big smile and a wave. She looked up with an expression of total incredulity, then looked at the sky.
Well, I guess it’s true that I never talk to anyone. Quite a shame, as everyone in this town seems so pleasant. I’ve wasted part of my youth, but I’m young. I have so much more to look foreword to. It’s ok. Fil wandered up and down the street for hours, taking it all in. Oscar’s meat place. Lovely man. Taxidermy shop. A little strange, but she did seem to love animals. The local grocery store. Fil looked at the place with a feeling of relief. In the future, he could go in there and get whatever he wanted, knowing he had a pocket full of money. Last of all, he went to the bus stop. The bus had come and long gone. He stood standing there for a long while. This single place could take him anywhere. There were so many places he could have gone. Could have, maybe should have, but there was only one place he wanted to go now.
The day began to wane, so he headed back to his tree for the night, taking one last look at today, because tomorrow, everything would change. Fil was so excited about the idea of something different, that he barely even felt the raindrops starting to fall onto his face. As he reached the platform of his tree, the wind picked up swiftly. His platform was more than three-fourths up the tree, and it started rocking back and forth. Usually during a storm, Fil stayed on the ground and found a place to sleep, but he simply had not noticed the weather on account of his thoughts. However, he had weathered storms before after all, so he hunkered down in his bed pile, pulling his covers and all of his belongings tightly around him.
As the night wore on, the storm increased its fury. The tree swayed violently, as rain, sleet, and chunks of ice beat ferociously against Fil’s thatched, make-shift roof. Terrified, Fil hugged the floorboards., occasionally having one peal up from beneath him and whirl away with the howling wind. Fil hung on for dear life as the storm raged on around him. All thoughts of anything except survival were driven from his mind. Soaked, battered, starving, and exhausted, Fil did not know how much more he could take. Soon the storm would win, and Fil did not know what would happen. The whirlwind night dragged on for years with periodic lightening strikes to mark the seconds, it seemed, but finally the rain started to abate, and the wind died down. Dawn approached. Fil’s strong, solid oak, had proved its worth. Its roots ran deep, and it had outlasted the storm, and was sure to outlast many, many more. This was his home, his life. He and his tree would continue together. With a relieved sigh, Fil started climbing down the tree for his feet to meet the hard, solid earth. The last of the rain was drizzling away, taking Fil’s fears with it. He was about thirty feet down from his platform, though, when the storm decided to give one last parting shot. The sky boomed and a mighty lightening bolt struck the very limb on which Fil stood. The branch gave a resounding crack, and snapped from the tree, gathering speed toward the ground, and taking Fil with it. Fil gave a mighty wail as he flung out his arms, grasping desperately at the leaves and twigs, trying to break his fall. An eternity passed by as he fell, and finally, he crashed to the ground, as the branch on which he had a second before been standing, crashed down on top of him.
Fil blacked out.
He woke on his back, with a heavy weight pressing on his chest, yet strangely, he felt nothing. His body felt light and warm, as his fingers soaked up the wetness on the ground around him. Rain from the storm, he thought. Fil looked up and saw the remains of his tree house far above. Something grey was floating down through the sky.
I did good. It’s an angel come.
Pearl saw the newspaper page resting softly across his tiny chest. It was the job ads. She picked it up and read the first description, circled with red sharpie.
Help wanted: flying instructor.
The warming sun broke over Washington Heights. It was going to be a gorgeous day.
Post a Comment