Fourth Day of Christmas - Fiction

Fourth Day of Christmas

            Timmy stood on the corner.  It could hardly be a better day for the weather.  The temperature climbed to thirty-five degrees, and the sun was full out.  Rivets of water were flowing down the curb into the storm drain with a gurgle, run off from the sidewalks and driveways.  He wondered what was that was going on as the fire engine and EMT wagon flashed their lights in front of Mrs. Davenport’s. 

            Firemen garbed in their black water proof trouser and yellow suspenders pushed a red wheeled stretcher up the porch and in the front door.  Shortly, they returned with Mrs. Davenport wrapped up in blankets.  Wisps of her lavender hair stuck out from under a stark white cap that Timmy was sure the medical people had put on her.

            Burt was among a group on onlookers across the street with arms folded.  The brat was grinning.  Timmy felt disgusted at him and worried for Mrs. Davenport at the same time.   Half-way from the curb to Mrs. Davenport’s house was as far as Timmy got as two of the medics raised her into the EMT wagon.  One climbed in after her and pulled the door shut.  The other man climbed in the cab.  The lights went out as they pulled out into the street.  The fire engine fired up with a heavy diesel smell and made a right at the next corner departing from the other vehicle. 

            Timmy finished his walk to Mrs. Davenport’s house and closed the gate left open.  The house was back to its usual darkness.  The firemen must have unplugged the Christmas tree.  He turned and saw Burt take a step his way.  He didn’t want to have to deal with him right now and bolted for home.

#

            As Timmy came up the driveway, he saw dad head into the garage.  Mom and dad, it seemed, lived a life of duality.  Mom always seemed in the kitchen or the laundry room and dad was in the TV room or garage.  Timmy slipped in through the man-door.

            It seemed dark despite the Sun shining in the west garage window.  His dad was setting out some clamps on the workbench.  “Dad.”

            “Hi, Tim.  Where you been?”  He leaned against the workbench.  “Want to help reassemble this curio door?”

            “Sure, Dad.  I walked Sally to dance.  There were emergency trucks at Mrs. Davenport’s.”

            Dad pursed his lips.  “Oh, that’s not good, but she is pretty old.”

            “They didn’t have any lights or sirens on when they took her away.  Is that good or bad?”

            “That’s good.  Sirens means life or death, lights with no siren means urgent and none means routine.  She must not be too bad then.”

            “How can we find out how she’s doing?”  Timmy asked.

            “Go in and ask mom to call Pastor Brown.  Mrs. Davenport goes to the Methodist Church where he preaches.  I think Mom’s in the laundry room.”  He set the curio door on the bench.  “Come back when you’re done.”

#

            Mom set a plate of fried chicken down on the table with a bowl of green beans and dinner rolls.  Timmy and Sally plopped themselves at the table.  Dad was coming in the back door.

            “Did you hear from Pastor Brown, Mom?”

            “Just a little bit ago.  Mrs. Davenport’s diabetes numbers went too low and she passed out.  Her home alone necklace alerted the medical service and they called the paramedics.  She’ll be okay.  The hospital will keep her overnight, to get her numbers back in line and then send her home by ambulance.”  Mom smiled and sat.  “It’s sweet you’re worried about her.  She’ll be okay.”

            “I’m worried about her too, Mom.”

            “You too, Sally.  She’ll be fine.”

            Dad sat at the head of the table.  “Let’s bless the food.”

            Soon as the blessing was over, “Dad, can we go over to see her after dinner?”  Timmy asked.

#

            Mrs. Davenport was asleep when they moved into her room. 

            Timmy put the Bible he brought on the stand next to her head by a box of tissues.  He pulled a little on the card he put in its pages so it couldn’t be missed.  He put his finger to hush Sally and his dad.  The three left the room.

            “What was on the card?”  Dad asked.

            Timmy told him:

Merry Fourth day of Christmas

Your neighbor

              

Third Day of Christmas - Fiction

Third Day of Christmas

Timmy was standing in front of Mrs. Davenport’s house.  His breath almost shrouded his view in the cold still air.  Her house had for a long time showed neglected needs such as the peeled painting on the sides and the dry rot of the eve’s boards.  He already experienced the sponginess of the rickety porch. 

It was about two in the afternoon, and her windows were dark.  It was like she wasn’t home, but Timmy knew she was in there.   He pondered, what next?  The Sunday school lesson on charity had a profound effect on his heart.  As the lesson progressed, Mrs. Davenport came to his mind.  He regretted charging her twenty-dollars to mow her yard last summer.  Six months later, he could see she couldn’t afford to pay for the mowing.  What had changed in that time, he couldn’t put his finger on, but he planned to do her yard this year for free. 

WHAP.

A snowball came flying from his right and hit the side of his head.  Timmy’s stocking cap went flying off his head, and he felt moisture flow down the side of his head as the projectile spun him around.  What was that?  He wondered as his head cleared only to tackled to the sidewalk.

“Well, Timmy four-eyes.  Whatcha doing here?” 

Trapped in a half-nelson, Timmy groaned.  There must have been more ice in the snowball than snow.  “Let me go, Burt.”

“No way, you little turd.  I ain’t seen you since Christmas break started.  Time to catch up.”

Burt, on top of Timmy’s back, forced him to his knees.  Timmy’s glasses landed by the mailbox post.  Even still, he could make out a small dark shape running their way from the corner.

“Let me go.”  Timmy struggled but was no match for the two years older boy.

The dark shape loomed pink as Sally jumped on Burt’s back.

“Let him go, let him go.”  She beat on Burt’s back. 

Burt shrugged her off, and she tumbled into the snow in the medium between the sidewalk and the curb.  “Need your little sister to rescue you?”

Timmy heard tapping and the gate clasp flick.  “Turn that boy loose you, filthy bully,” Mrs. Davenport called in a raspy voice and waved her crane at Burt.

He let go, stood and took off down the street all in the same fluid motion. 

 “Are you all right, young man?”  Mrs. Davenport hadn’t put on a jacket in her haste to save Timmy, leaned on her cane and peered at him and shivered.  “You’re bleeding.”

Mrs. Davenport looked to be turning blue as her thin blue shift.  “Oh, I’ll be okay.  I’ll run home and get mom to look at it.”  He touched his hand to his head and came away with red on his fingers.  “You go back in, Mrs. Davenport.  It’s too cold out here.”

She hesitated, nodded and slowly turned and headed back toward the house.

Sally regained her feet, retrieved Timmy’s glass, handed them to him and stood next to him as they watched Mrs. Davenport disappear back inside.

“Thanks, Sis.  I don’t know where Burt came from.  He took me by surprise.”

“I hate him.  He picks on everybody.”

“Let’s get home.  Mom is going to be mad at me for getting my head busted.”

#

                Timmy and Sally hung their coats in the mudroom and pulled off their overboots before entering the kitchen. 

                Mom was writing out Christmas cards at the table.  Stacks of green, red and white envelops sat to her side.  “Hi Kids,” she greeted without looking up.

                “Mom.  Timmy got hurt.”

                “What.” She looked up.  “Oh my gosh, Timmy.  Let me look at that.” 

                He came around and presented his head to her.

                “We need to wash you up.”  She got up and pulled him over to the sink.  “Sally, get me a clean washcloth from the drawer.”

                Sally handed it to her.

                Turning on the sink faucet, she stuck her fingers in the stream of water when she seemed satisfied with the temperature. She wet the cloth.  “What happened?” she asked as she washed the frozen blood off.

                “Slipped and fell.”

                “Did not, Mom,” Sally interjected.  “It was Burt.  He hit Timmy with a snowball.”

                “The Ferguson boy?  Were you playing?”

                “Yeah, we were playing.  Not a problem, Mom.”

                Sally harrumphed and stomped up the stairs.

                “You boys have to be more careful.”

                “Mom,” Timmy changed the topic.  “Can I have the old tree we bought the year before last?”

                “Tree”

                “The short one we got when Dad remodeled the living room.  It’s in a box in the shed.”

                “Sure, if you want.”

#

                Timmy took the lead with Sally carrying the rear of the four-foot Christmas tree in its box. They had waited until they saw the Access Bus stop in front of Mrs. Davenport’s house and pick her up to take her downtown.

                On the porch, they took the tree from the box and assembled the pieces, hung several ornaments.  Timmy left two boxes of purple and silver ornaments in the box along with some garland.  In the branches, he stuffed a card.  In the card he had written:

Merry Third day of Christmas

Your neighbor

                Placing the tree next to the front door, Timmy and Sally went home.

#

                “Timmy, you still want to check on Mrs. Davenport?  It’s dark out,” Sally asked.

                “Yeah.  Let’s do that.”

                Timmy and Sally on tread on freshly fallen snow that the starlight lit the sky despite the sun setting an hour ago.  They stopped at Mrs. Davenport’s mailbox.  Instead of the dark windows as usual, through the curtains of the front window, they saw a multicolored glow, with sparkling lights of the Christmas tree.

Timmy and Sally took a high-five and headed home.

Second day of Christmas

Second day of Christmas

The weather drizzled late in the afternoon and turned to rain in the night.  It was just light the next morning as Timmy looked through his bedroom window and saw the sheets of ice hanging down on the power lines and the trees looked like Sikorski crystal figurines.  They sparkled.  He pulled his phone out and took a picture.

            Single-mindedly, Timmy was moving fast he traversed the kitchen.  Dad was sitting at the table sipping a hot chocolate not doing anything particular.  “Tim.”  That brought him up short.

            “Dad? Morning.”

            “It’s single digit out there.”  He smiled.  “You need some breakfast before you go out.”

            “I’m not…,” Timmy started to protest.

            “Don’t matter.  Most important meal of the day.  Have some cereal at least.” 

            “Okay.”  Opening the cupboard, Timmy pulled down a bowl and set it on the table.

            “Take your gloves and coat off.  You can put them back on when you go out.”

            “Dad,” Timmy said between heaping bites.  “What would it take to fix a gate hinge that came loose?”

            Hid dad leaned back in the chair.  “Well, it depends on why it came loose.  Ought not to be too tough to repair.  Why.”

            Timmy told him about Mrs. Davenport’s gate.

            “I’ll take a look at it.”

#

            Timmy walked along with his dad pulling a wagon until they were in front of Mrs. Davenport’s house.  There were no lights on inside or out.

            “Here, Dad.  Think we can hang it back up?”

            “I’m sure we can do something.”  Lifting the corner, he wiggled the gate, and the top hinge let go of the post.  Timmy’s dad chuckled.  “Looks pretty shot. I’ve got some new hinges in the garage I haven’t used.  We can fix this.”  He pulled a tape measure out of his coat pocket and stretched it around the post.  “I have some cedar boards we can cut to clad this old post with.” Lifting the gate to inspect it.  I think we’ll just make her a new gate to mount.  You want to help.”

            “Yeah.  But I have something to do first.”

            His dad looked at the wagon.  “I see.  Come on home when you’ve finished.”

            “Okay.”  Timmy watched his dad head back up the street with the gate in his hand. 

Grabbing a pound coffee can out of the wagon he dipped it in the sack.  It only took ten minutes to salt Mrs. Davenport’s walk before towing the wagon back home. Then he pulled out the spade.

#

That evening Timmy held the new gate in place while his dad drove the screws in the stainless-steel hinges with his cordless screwdriver.

“There, good as new.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

#

            Timmy opened the card to double check the message and slipped it in the mailbox.  He heard the door open on Mrs. Davenports house.   He took off at a brisk step and stopped at the corner where he could still see her.

            It took Mrs. Davenport awhile, but not as long as before for Timmy scrapped the troublesome clumps of dirt off the walk with a shovel when he spread the deicer.  The ice was all melted from her path.  She stopped at the closed gate and studied it.  Reaching out a hand she flicked the clasp and pulled the gate open and slipped by it to the mailbox.

Reaching in the mailbox, she took out the card.  As Timmy had before he mouthed the inscription as she unfolded it.

Merry Christmas on its second day

Your neighbor

First day of Christmas -

Timmy peered through the thick leaves of the branches of the Willow tree that’s branches hung to the ground.  He and his sister, Sally, watched the hunched over Mrs. Davenport hobble down her broken-up walkway that had more clumps of dirt and uncut grass than cement.  There were patches of snow scattered about the yard but the walkway was clear.

                Mrs. Davenport didn’t have to open the gate to the picket fence since the bottom hinge stripped out from rust and laid a corner on the ground open to the world.  She reached into the mailbox and came away with nothing.  Below the empty mail box was an open-ended paper box harboring a local valuepac of coupons for the county.

                Folding the papers in half, Davenport tucked them under her arm and with cane in the other took six shuffling steps in place to turn and face the house.  After a brief pause, she undertook to regain the porch.  It was slow going as she picked her way testing each step before put her weight on the step.  Timothy just knew she was afraid of falling on a refrozen slab of ice. 

                “Let’s go, Timmy,” Sally said.  “Mom will want us home soon.”

                “it’s only four.  We have half an hour.”  Timmy dropped the peep-hole he created with his hands.  “Okay.”

                He followed Sally through the branches on the far side of the tree and headed home.

                Timmy pushed the back door open with Sally following him into the kitchen.  Mom was pulling out a five pound sack of self-rising flour.  “You gonna make cookies mom?”

                “Yes.  You want to help?”

                “Is it okay if we make some extra?  You know to give away.”

                “Sure, Hon.”  Mom mixed the dough and rolled out it into sheets.

                Timmy cut the dough into stars and Christmas trees and camels.  After coming out of the oven Sally frosted them in red, green and white icing.  She decorated some with sprinkles of blues, greens, reds and purples.

                It was nearly six-thirty when they finished ten dozen cookies.  “Mom, can I have some to take?”  Timmy asked.

                “Sure.  Use a giveaway keeper.”

#

                Timmy set the container of cookies down on the rickety porch in front of the door and pounded on it.  He heard a thunk and rustling and ran for the willow.  He dove under the branches and parted them to watch.

                Mrs. Davenport opened the door and peered about and down.  She picked up the container and opened the card.

                Timmy read it from his memory as she studied it.  Afterall, he wrote it.

Merry Christmas

On the first Day of Christmas.

Your, Neighbor

UNEXPECTED - Flash Fiction

UNEXPECTED

By Emmett Hall

     I admit it.  I love the lab library.  The library is a stark contrast to the antiseptic white scrubbed walls of the lab with its myriad of glass windows cordoning off one function of study from another.

     The library is in the original building now nearly two hundred years old.  The University built the lab onto it before the county and city cared about historic preservation.  Once local government caught on to the idea no one could change a doorknob on the library without someone appointed to the historical society’s approval. 

     All that didn’t make any difference to me as I walk through the threshold to the library. The transition was like walking into the past. 

     Every day while my cultures were cooking in the lab, I would explore the library catching snippets from this old book and that. 

     Today, Eleanor, on the other side of a panel of glass looking to me like a mural depicting efficiency, set up a series of recombinant studies.  I finished sliding my six trays of cultures in the oven, stripped off my containment protection clothes and stepped out in the slim hall.  Eleanor was there.

     “Sean, you going over to the library?” 

     I supposed it was common knowledge I went over there every chance I got.  “Yes.  You want to come with?”  Why did I invite her?  Then occurred to me, maybe she was interested in me.  We never really got to know one another with our different work hours where we came in between our classes.  The containment suits made us look like slim Frosty the Snowman impersonators.  Not actually the sort of thing to spur romance among co-labbers.  I had no idea what courses she took because I never saw her around campus outside the lab.

     I’m a pragmatic guy, I know her interest was in the library not me.  “Have you been in the library?” I ask.

     “I’ve just seen it through the hallway.  I’ve meant to explore but circumstances… well, you know hadn’t permitted.  I’ve seen you go in a lot.  I figure you know your way around.”

     “I do, if you want a tour. What sort of thing interest you?  The library has a wide array of stuff.”

     “What do you like best?”  She intoned in a smooth, lilting Asian accent that I didn’t have, being third generation American.

     “There is a section on the second floor I like in particular.”  I glanced at her room and caught her dark eyes when I looked at her.  “How much time do you have?”

     “My samples have to sit for at least four hours.” Her smile accented her black bobbed haircut.  A practical, wash, brush and go style for a sensible girl.  I wore my hair long for most men and pretty much in the same fashion as hers.

      She was between me and the hall to the library, so I gestured her to take the lead.  I tell myself I wouldn’t have noticed her well-formed bottom, but she had what I decided was Bluebells embroidered on the patch pockets of her dark-blue, new looking jeans.  Then I wondered if she misted her jeans with water to get into them.  I realized I liked flowers more than I thought I did. 

Stepping through the downdraft from the air blower over the threshold that helped to maintain the lab’s slight positive pressure we entered the library. 

After trotting up a spiral staircase, we came out on to a wooden floor.  “See, the limestone pavers along the landing?” I asked.

     “Why, yes.”

     “See the skylights overhead?  They were installed by some forward-thinking people.  The sun shines on the pavers and heats them up.  They will give off heat all night long from what is stored in them that way.”

     “I see.  That’s pretty smart.  I don’t like to be cold.” Eleanor studied the route as I took the lead touching things. I didn’t mind, not that it was my place to worry about materials in the library anyway.  The ambiance lent itself to having hands put upon its things.  No one could walk two feet without wanting to pick up or touch something.

     “Here we are.”  I pointed into the narrow alcove between two tall shelves.  Eleanor slipped in before me and switched on the swing arm lamp at the end of the first shelf.

Turning to face me she smiled.  “I like it here.  So quiet and rich in antiquity.”

     Then the nerd in me broke out.  Mentally, I screamed to myself don’t do it.  But I did it anyway.           “Here’s a whole set of books on chemistry.  I think you’d like this one.”  I pulled it down and opened it and took a glance at it.  The section open was on forbidden combinations.  I snapped it shut and handed it to her.

     She took the book low next to my hand brushing the side of my finger.  A crackle-snap jarred both of us as the static electricity discharged.

    “Wow, That was something,” I laughed.

    “That’s nothing,” she cooed.  Eleanor grabbed the lapel of my shirt and pulled my head down.

     Then my glasses fogged up. 

Not so long ago - now

By Emmett Hall

The call came from Todd, Sarah’s brother-in-law.  We were sitting arm-in-arm on the couch watching an old rerun of Cheyenne with Clint Walker.  As is Sarah’s habit when she saw it was Todd on the caller ID, she answered by speakerphone.  “Hi, Todd.  How’s it going?”

“Not too good,” was his response.  My interest was piqued.  I don’t generally contribute much to those calls being content to listen.  Todd sounded strained. 

“What’s the matter?” Sarah asked.

“It’s Penny.  You remember the infection she got a few months ago.”

“Yes.  I thought that was cleared up.”

“We did too.  Evidently, it morphed, or something and backed up into Penny’s kidneys.”  Todd sniffed in the phone.  A cold, I wondered?

“Her kidneys?  What does that mean?”

“She had to go into the emergency this afternoon, and they have her on dialysis.  They say she is stage four, end-stage – pretty much the same.  She needs a kidney, or she won’t make it.  She would be upset if she knew I called you about this.”

I was on the edge of my seat by this point.

 

“I’ll be right down,” Sarah said.

“No, no.  It’s too late.  Penny will be on the machine another four hours.  That puts her back in her room little after two A.M.  Come tomorrow.”

Sarah looked at me.  I nodded.

“Todd, I’ll bring her down in the morning.  We’ll be there by eight.  Where are you, which hospital?”  I Asked.

“Paul, we’re at Good Samaritan at NW 22^nd Ave.  Thanks, she’ll want to see you.  I have to go.  Love you, Bye.”

“Bye, love you too,” we said together, and the connection was severed.

 

I looked at Sarah.  Tears were welling in her eyes.  “She’s only, what two, three years younger than you.  That makes her twenty-six or seven?”

“Twenty-six.  I can’t believe this is happening to Penny.”

“Let’s go to bed.  I’ll set the alarm for four.  It’s only a three-hour drive.”

~~~#~~~

We had taken a change of clothes in case we were there overnight.  We were.

Todd and I sat on a soft burgundy sofa in the surgery waiting room for families.  Another group of five were in the far corner conversing about grandpa’s open heart.  I only heard bits, but I figured grandpa was in his early seventies.  Sarah offered a kidney for Penny without hesitation.  I fully supported her decision.

The side door opened and Dr. Samuelson entered.  Todd and I stood.

The doctor began his report, “Mr. Pierce, your wife took the surgery fine and is in recovery.”  He looked at me and sweep the surgery cap off his head. 

“Mr. Holland, we had a complication with your wife.  She developed a bleeder we couldn’t find.  I’m sorry.  We gave Penny both kidneys.”

The room twisted.  I had no breath.  Next, I knew I was on the sofa being jerked to consciousness with smelling salts.

~~~#~~~

Sarah passed sixty years ago.   I chose hospital hospice, there is no one left but me.  For a long time, I felt the pinpricks in the middle of the night.  The beeping alarm for bag changes and the antiseptic smells.  The heparin flushes gave me a flash of rotten fish taste.  That’s how I knew the PICC was still working. 

“I’m a DNR you know.” I probably said it every shift change of staff. 

The nurses are sweet turning me this way and that.  They helped me order meals.  Providence has a killer hamburger.  Not that it’s an issue now.  I haven’t eaten anything since, since… I can’t remember.  It doesn’t matter.

Todd was there.  No, I guess he wasn’t.  He’d passed on twenty-some years ago, Penny too, I think.  I’m losing track.  I hate that.  I felt the nurse put the compression socks on my feet.  I wanted to tell her about Sarah.

“Nurse?” I whispered.  I wasn’t sure she heard me.

“Mr. Holland, is there something I can do for you?”

“No.  I just wanted,” It was so hard to talk.  I never felt so fatigued. I whispered again, “Sarah… she’s here.  She looks the same as when she left me.  She’s wearing a pristine white dress, her hair is brunette with highlights and is sweeping up over her head as she descends.”  I smile so hard at a time when I thought I was done feeling, made my face hurt. “Must be dark for our journey, she’s carrying a lit candle.”  I heard a steady tone for a bit. Then silence.

Sarah landed on the floor and put her hand in mine.  The expression on her face was as serene as I remember it being when she fell asleep by my side all those years ago when I ran the side of my finger along her cheekbone and kissed her closed lids.  I’m glad she’s here.  I’d missed her. 

  

The nurse was done with me.  I got up and went with Sarah.

End

Letter Home - Flash fiction

Coney Island Dreams by Subway Doodle

Letter Home

By Emmett Hall

Hi Mom and Dad,

This letter will take a while to transit to you once it’s been beamed.  I’ll get it off soonest.  I’ve had what started out as the most horrifying experience.  Remember, I’ve written before the gravity here is less than half of ours at home.

Consequently, I’ve gotten a bit sloppy with my being careful of heights.  I've fallen off my sled three times.  This is about the last time.

Let me give you a time-tick.  This is my fourth year studying the life on E2324.  E2324, the native life refers to as Earth. The most communicative species are the humans (I sent you some pics). Yet, not the most intelligent group, and somewhat dangerous at times.  The Dolphins are the smartest, even as fond of the humans as they are they won’t talk to the humans in any of their dozens of languages.  It also took me a couple years to get through to the Dolphins enough for them to trust me.  Oh, the Dolphins are a fish like an animal, by the way (more pics). 

Anyway, I don’t do much with the Oceans.  You know we blue coats soak up a lot of water and don’t swim worth a hoot.  Hoot is a term I heard the humans use to refer to minimum accomplishments not worth mentioning.   Their water is thicker than ours.  I dropped into the Loch Ness, it’s a big puddle,  to see if I could find this monster they talked about and had to bottom walk out.  But I digress. 

Back on point, I was traversing to the North Polar station, it’s right next to the Fortress of Solitude – never mind, you wouldn’t get that – when I was somewhere near a place, they call Chicago, and I hit a flying animal.  I shouldn’t have been flying so low, but I had radar masking on. 

I felt terrible.  It was a huge animal and bent the wing edge over the air intake obstructing air to the left engine.   I switched to hover and went out to clear the poor thing off.  I walked out over the sled wing.  When I got close, I slipped on, I won’t say what precisely, but some of the animal.  I couldn’t catch myself even with my tail.  Over I went. 

It wasn’t all that far only a couple thousand feet.  But I didn’t land well, even after relaxing into soft-mode.  Here’s what happened.

I vaguely remember hearing, “Jake!”

“What.  Why you yelling at me.”

“You dropped one.  You idiot.”

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did.  You overloaded your wagon. It’s right here.”

I felt myself being picked up and cradled under an arm.  I peeked a look.  Jake was atypical of the younger set of human males.  Long black shaggy hair that was trying to get a foothold on his face without much success like when we go through first stage growth and our patches fill in.

Whoever it was that picked me up grabbed me by the horn and extended me out to Jake.

“Little heavier than the usual stuffs you’ve got over there.”

The human Jake took me and tossed me on top of a pile of ‘stuffs’ on the wagon. I freaked for a second.  I thought it was a cart of dead Trustians.  Then my head started to clear and seeing I was the only one on the planet that couldn’t be the case.  It was a cart full of colorful reproductions of Earth animals real and imagined. 

Jake stopped at the back of a small building and unloaded us onto a bunch of shelves.  I got a corner seat and thought I’d watch awhile.  The front of the building was open with a counter.  Under us was a bunch of backboards with netted hoops.  I was wondering what it was all about until Jake started yelling out the front.

“Right here, three simple hoops and walk away with the critter of your choice.”

Several teenagers came up and gave Jake some monetary remuneration, and he gave them each three orange rubber balls which they threw at the hoops.  After a few seconds, they went away.

Next, what I took to be a father-daughter combination, stopped at the counter and the Dad gave Jake some money too.  He swooshed all three shots, and the little girl pointed at me.  Jake pulled me down and handed me to the little girl.

“That’s a pretty one, Honey,” the father told her.  I felt pretty good about that.   

She wasn’t much taller than me and had a bear hug on my neck.  I’ll have to explain some of these terms when I get home.  Needless to say, a tight grip.  They took me all over the place.  On the lap of the little girl, I was spun, twirled and sprayed on at the log run and so on.  I have to say I can’t remember when I had ever had so much fun.

Finally, I decided I needed to get away eventually and plotted to be ready.  It came on the Loop-to-loop.   I found my chance.  We were upside down, I wiggled just enough for her to lose her grip and the dropped straight down to the foundation of the ride.  I must have hit a bolt or something.  I’m not sure how long it’s going to take for the divot in the middle of the top of my head to popup. 

I rolled under the framing into the bushes and made my way out of the park.  I’ll have to admit I had a bit of regret when I slipped across the street and looked back at the park.  It was a great experience, but I don’t think I’d care to do it again.  I slipped back into the alley across the street and waited for dark when I called my sled down to pick me up. 

It still flew okay so I waited until I got back to the station to repair the flying animal damage. 

That’s it.  Just had to tell you about my day. 

Love,

Bluedon