I MUST! There was too much on this! Again, the buzz of the street lamp infiltrated my mental core, and I found myself drawn by the hidden beats within that noise. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.................
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
.............
(Earlier that day)
I strode down the street, avoiding eye contact and moving against the foot traffic. People careless bumped into me a few times - I ignored it and soldiered on, head bent over. The fellow at the root shop hadn't been helpful in the slightest - it was all "Good day!" to him, and he suspected the man didn't know even know how to talk properly. His act certainly didn't gain him any favor with Saul.
Lately, the other occupants of the building had been looking at him oddly, and crossing to the other side of the street when they saw him approach. They walked the other direction, and hurried into their apartment if they saw him coming down the hall. Saul was sure that Aretha hadn't just forgotten a canvas, but she quickly announced it to the air when she spied him coming down the hall, want back into her apartment, and he even thought he had heard the deadbolt turn as he walked past the shut door.
These petty items did not really concern me - but the reasons for them did. I wanted to be viewed with disgust. That was the reason for my manufactured rotten scent, the uniform I wore, and the way I conducted himself. But now, these people seemed to fear me. I do enjoy the new sentiments on a strictly personal level. Fear is a great motivating factor - but if feelings toward me continue down this road, it might be threatening to my mission to -
(At this point, I found myself to be rather close to a certain car who driver I couldn't see. The breaks screeched and squealed, and it seemed that I had escaped harm from my carelessness.)
But not quite. My legs suffered contact, and the vehicle was still at a sufficient rate of speed that I found my face in rather close quarters with the front hood. I jumped off as soon as I could, and the car sped off without me getting a chance to see the driver. Pokey came out of his stooping booth and asked me if I was alright, but I was fine. He apologized for the other car and said he'd talk to the driver about safety around the deck, but I persuaded him against that course of action. People were already spooked and it was my fault, after all.
Ms. Verdioso was standing across the street, rubbernecking at my minor calamity. I crossed and she didn't move away, but rather stood her ground as if bracing herself. Fair enough. "What in all Hell do you think that makes you a party to that little event, Ma'am!" I shouted. Let them stare. But no, she was staring, and not backing down. This wasn't going to work, and I knew it, so I walked away, almost feeling shameful, but not quite. She still shouldn't have been watching like that.
I knocked the doors of the Flats aside I strode into the hall. Van Vraken was at the mailboxes. He turned, and I SAW him. What eyes could communicate so much? Vraken pulled at his threadbare coat; the stitches were tested but held, and I knew it was time for me to let him be. I did not desire pain in one already hurt.
And then here came that fool Eros, making a smart stride as if the winds of fortune were at his back. I turned toward him and wanted to anchor that ship. But not now, not after being physically hit by a car and mentally walloped by the pain in those tormented eyes. I was weak.
He also made eye contact, and I saw the hint of a sneer, but there was no fear there. Only a haughty condescension and an arrogant gleam in his eyes. Oh no. Those were my winds, and that was my stride. What foolishness had he put upon my name?
Or was it not foolishness at all? I still had the strength for a vigil.
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Apple, Sun, and Memory
The faint thump of distant drums filled my ears as my muscles tightened. My fingers gripped the tight leather and tingled as the stitching ran beneath them.
Before me lay a field of moments past. In the middle stood a young boy, his face obscured by a cap pulled over his face. He gave me a knowing grin. With a soft whoosh, a baseball came at me. Before my eyes focused on the small ball, a coordinated hand moved in front of my face. Whack! Needles pierced the palm of my hand. As I pulled the ball from my glove I felt the cool leather beneath my finger tips. Every muscle in my arm and shoulder tightened as I pulled back in one fluid motion. Forward, snap, release, follow through.
My stiff muscles ached with the long overdue use. The boy stole the ball out of the air with ease. As he cocked his arm back to give my palm another beating his face was momentarily illuminated by the sun. My own nose stared back at me under his mother's eyes. The ball flew through the air. Once again my hand moved toward it.
The apple hit my hand with a muffled smack. Looking down at the shiny red skin my mind cleared. Instead of a boy with a cap pulled over his face, a young woman stood in front of me. With painful understanding, I turned and moved back toward the half opened door from whence I had come.
In the corner of my eye I saw a man on a roof top across the street. His eyes were fixed on something on the street below. Without a second thought or a glance behind, I went back into the realm of memory.
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