The power went out in the city today. Normally, I would have tried summoning light fairies to light the city. Instead, my staff is still collecting dust.
Now that I am like most other people, I went to the diner. People lined the street waiting for food. It was pitch black. Everyone was bumping into one another and tripping over their own feet. As I stood in line, I smelled a whiff of apple, cinnamon, and dough. I remember my parents laughing at the after supper while the three of us ate apple pie. I have not touched it sense.
The man in front of me turned around. He asked me why was I crying. My shock was even greater than his. I am used to people staring at me and sneaking pictures with their cell phones. I can not remember the last time a stranger was interested in me.
I explained my memories of apple pie and my parent's death to the stranger. He shrugged and said "Wow, that's rough."
The stranger began to turn away, but I blurted out, "I tried to honor their memory by practicing magic, but I have not done it lately." The stranger took a step back. He said he didn't know there were "warlocks" around Watershed Heights. I could tell he regretted saying this. I couldn't stop myself from correcting him. The general public should know that warlocks are not human. Men can be wizards and women can be witches. That is it.
He seemed to be apologising when he told me that his mother died too. I wasn't too sure. We talked about more things but I wasn't listening. I was smelling the apple pie and thinking about my staff.
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ReplyDeleteThe walk to the bus takes forever.
ReplyDeleteThat lucky drugged up guy lands a few feet away from me in a splatter of blood. So it goes.
A woman was struck by lightning and burnt to a crisp. God was right; in the end, we can't make a difference.
That painfully normal lady with the plants crosses over to the fountain.
That guy with the staff stands in the middle of the basketball court, casting spells. What the fuck.
While I wait for the bus, I contemplate writing a book when I'm not working my 9 to 5. I contemplate living a little. Whatever. All my dreams will come true.
The bus arrives, and I get on. I'm on my way to an office or a factory or a school. Heather works, but she'd make more money if she were a boy. And if I were smarter, I wouldn't teach. But I'm not as smart as I could be.
The bus pulls away, and nobody saw, heard from, or cared for Leeroy Jenkins again.
Lucky woke from his pie incurred daze. Everyone was gone, and the smell that he loved had drifted away. He got up and started walking, like always, nowhere in particular. He came upon the fountain, which for some reason was working today. He started running toward the fountain, eager to jump in and take a bath, something that he hadn't had in ages. Lucky vaulted the lip of the fountain and dove into the water. What was once clean and clear water turned brown and hairy, and washed away all of Lucky's troubles. He hopped out of the fountain and shook off all of the excess hair and dirt and let the wind breeze over his coat. He sat in the sun and dried off. He watched the cars speed by, with drivers on their phones, ignoring life fly by, worrying about their calendars and their schedule and not about the present. He tore his eyes off the road and looked towards the basketball courts, where a man was standing, staring at the fountain. He looked like a freak, bug-eyed and jaw on the floor, as if he was watching a miracle. But really, its just a fountain, and the water must've just gotten turned on by some incompetent city maintenance fool. Funny what people are amused by, how some old fountain can be awesome and appreciated on when its on half the time...
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