Chapter 5

I chose friday, not concisely thought out, only for the lack of competition that day. The gamut of emotions hinged alongside a first time prey could be described as a big pit in my stomach. No amount of distractions or medication could cause a relief. I had to bear it until it’s gone. I watched from the elevated narrow parking lot across where she stood. Her eyes drooped out of sullen old age, hardened by the uncommon blackness of iris unlike the mellow slow seniors of her kind. The pinnacle of her load was squeezed in between her armpits while the two arms gladly free themselves from the weight of two full grocery bags. A bag is much easier to cut than a purse. It was a quick consoling remark to deploy the slowly draining guts. She turned her gray-worn head, from side to side, waiting for unoccupied tricycle to stop.

I watched her, as if she was some tenable fire meant to burn an impulsive light-stricken insect. I am the insect, fidgeting to attest the final truth of my boorish pursuit. While she froze jutted towards the right of her direction, my feet tread through the seeming sandpit trail. She was still as an oak, barely noticing my approach. My hand throbbed at the sight of the target—a snake skin crisscrossed pattern. I threw a quick scratch teasing the delirious dexterity of the thread. One more and I heard it hiss about the tease. Almost there and I am ready to pick on the dark hole of unknown treasure. My heart screamed as the gaping hole meekly stretched out.

You know how classical literature love the dramatist execution of revelation? That doesn’t happen in real life. It usually happens now, not later or tomorrow. Those revelations are the pedagogical instruments of imbecile who happens to be everyone by specification.

“What are you doing little girl?” she whispered mocking the visceral content of my nerves. There was neither anger nor surprise in her tone. Her hand gripped like a mounted predator on a skulking possessed arm.

“Nothing. Please sorry to bother you,” I cried.

“Are you lying to me now? Did you run away from home?”her tone remained calm which makes it a rather dubiously poisoning.

“No, please. I’m telling the truth. I have no family.” It was the truth I had ruefully used as an excuse in desperate moments as this.

“Come with me and I never have to give you up to those old men in uniform.” she threatened while pointing to three belly tarnished police men just in time to park.

That wasn’t the last of my mishaps. In fact, later on in life, I’d be the the lost menial sheep caught against the bearings and shackles kissing the back of my skull. The ripples of waving waters showed me the very last thing the old woman taught me. A quick ascension follows the biggest descend.

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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Jack Kerouac with a scent of Henry Vaughn

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"The hero of my tale, whom I love with all the power of my soul, whom I have tried to portray in all his beauty, who has been, is, and will be beautiful, is Truth." Leo Tolstoy

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