I’m just a door man at an old ratty hotel in an impoverished part of Chicago. Whoever thought to give me the job of delivering this box must be crazy.
I sit here with this cumbersome cardboard box on my lap, yes it will pay more than my day at the Old Renaissance Motel, yet I wonder if it’s really worth it. What might be in it? It isn’t all that heavy. I just keep thinking I didn’t ask enough questions. I feel as if I am a criminal doing something wrong. All this hopping from subway to subway to. What is an old man to do?
This is my second of 4 subways to get to my drop off point. I have these strict instructions, and I am not to deviate from them at all. I feel as if I am part of the Mafia my God all be damned if I end up in cuffs.
I can’t but wonder what is in the box. I don’t want to shake it, as then to maybe break it. I am feeling leery of what I might have gotten myself into. My stomach is suffering with anxieties pangs. Most likely gonna end up with an ulcer at my ripe age doing these kind of things. I am also growing hungry with each transfer I make.
Finally the stop, and I was in an even sketchier part of town then where I work. This was a place they say if you don’t need to go there, don’t go! I had no idea this was the final stop until I saw the sign. This just can’t be good.
I patiently waited to exit with the awkward box in hand, and began my walk. I was to go straight per my instructions. I walk passed people passed out on the street, stepping over feet. The box was hindering my view. The last tall green garbage-can which was tagged with hot pink it said. Okay that should be easy enough.
There it was, and I was on time. So looking far as my ancient eyes could see, I see a small boy holding what looks like a ladies hand. Figuring it is his mother, I proceed to walk on. Out of breath I reach the place written on the paper. I set the box down.
The boy dressed in just a long t-shirt with no pants, and no shoes gave me the brightest toothless smile. “Wow sir” he said. It had to be maybe 40 degrees if that. The lady had tears in her eyes. She struggled to speak. The boy ripped open the box. Throwing to the ground a coat, shirt, jeans, socks, boxer shorts, and the coolest tennis shoes this ol’ man had ever seen. “Oh boy this is awesome,” he said! Standing up he reached his arms around my waist looking up at my face. He squeezed me so tight. He then proceeded to let go, and place all his new clothes back in the box.
They proceeded to walk off with him in push of that box down the street with his bare feet. That was it, all in days work. I just had the most rewarding experience I had in my lifetime. Worth every penny was that toothless grin. Even though his mother never spoke, I saw the tears well in her eyes. I saw her weary head lower in sower for what she could not provide. My high lifted spirit led me back to Subway Route #331. My heart was undone in the wealth I felt from that little boy filled with joy! He was set with winters best, in that box he pushed down the road.
This week we shall venture into a Fairy Story around the theme of The Witches Garden.
Luring, its cast as it catches you right in your upper lip. You bit down hard. Mesmerizing, not surprising, as the darkness reels you in
Your skin dampens with brisk air, your hair on your arms harden making them heavy as you draw nearer the garden. Popsicle toes, and your nose rose red. You can feel the dead
Ghostly you keep walking yet you can’t feel your feet, floating closer to the witches gate. Echoes of groans, and moans so loud in your ear. Muffling them it grows ringing stinging your lobes
All you want to do is run the other way, but you can’t turn from it. You’re caught, it is alarming how it seems almost beautiful yet so terrifying at the same time
You hear the gate lock behind you, you’re in. Laughter all encompassing. No words come from your mouth as it moves in speech. Your body frozen, as you try in lift of your limbs. You have no idea what is happening, your brain can’t even form a thought
You are now caught in what is the the gloom of the witches garden. You knew better to even walk that route, but the delusion so great for what lied behind the garden gate. Bewitched it is now past too late
Behind the moss, and stone built wall through a cut out in the rock was a hidden secret room. I believe to this day it was all mine to find.
Not a single person on this earth knows what lies behind that stone in that of my own secret dwelling place. I have a blanket, and pillows I brought from home. In make of my dwelling place comfy from the cold earth floor.
I can lie in billows of my reality on those pillows for hours upon hours knowing no one can find me. I am free from what is allowed to happen to me outside the protection of that stone wall. It is my panic room, my safe haven, my place of rest. No one can see the tear stains upon my chest. The puddles of mud from years of crying. I get to stand up wipe off my face, and pretend for another day I will make it.
I will make it back to my hide, and no seek room. My place in the middle of no where behind the moss, and stone built wall through the cut out in my sacred place. That is where for hours I get to let out all my pain, scream and no one hears. This has been my secret hiding place for years and years and years.
An hourglass of time, you would think it divine. How fast the sand sifted its way to the bottom of the glass. Swirling with memories of last. Picture books in my head. Turning the pages, ages ago. Older, taller, wrinkly, all in the blink of an eye. Time passes us by.
Recollection in a collection of layers. Tears, laughter, grief, sorrow, each pebble a marker for something passed. Alas all my expectations never met. Sitting there I am reaching, but my hand can’t quite touch the tales of time. I guess it is meant to be left behind. Someone else from above is in reach for it too, let it be for they now have the chance to turn over the hourglass of their own making. It is theres for the taking.
Let them begin just as I did, a memory of a lifetime in the hourglass of time. Yes I will attest it has been divine.
Oh she was a beaut! 69’ Dodge Charger. She was a little rough around the edges, but so am I. It was not a tough sell.
There she sat the car I dreamed of since I was 16, and I had saved every penny earned to buy her.
As I put “my” key into her ignition, and pushed the gas pedal full throttle, she was now my model. Cherry Lane was going to be her name, and she was going in for a new body image. Cherry Red Sky was the color I had already picked. It didn’t matter she was not mint. Cherry Lane was mine. She was oh so divine, and we would go miles together in this lifetime.
Yeah I am no stranger to this. Who the heck names a dog George anyways? It is too damn cold to be out here. “George come here George”. I plead under shivering teeth.
This is ridiculous I tell the kids it’s your dog, you will care for him. Yet who is the one out in the 12 degree weather calling for him. Who will be the bad guy in this, me!
I never wanted a dog in the first place they are so much damn work. We barely get the thing potty trained, and now he has gone, and run off. Animals are stupid!
Half past 4 o’clock it is going to be getting dark soon. I am about ready to turn around. Yeah I am no stranger to this. I don’t even see a set of footprints resembling paws. I tell ya I am going to put my foot down the next time a topic of any sort of animal is breeched in my house. I don’t see the kids all eagerly dressed in their winters best out doing everything they can in search of their dog. “George”. I called out so loud, I heard a tree branch crack behind me from the crisp breeze whisping the trees. My knees were cold, my feet felt damp.
I will give it one more hour down this path, one more hour to see if that dumb mutt might come running amuck. Really who names their dog George? Yeah I am no stranger to this! I am pist! An hour more…maybe a little more. “George”!!!!
This is my first ever attempt at a writing prompt! Encouraged by a few in here! Well here I go, there is a first time for everything! Please let me know how I do. Stine Writing, and Sadje thanks for all the encouragement! Let’s do this! 👌
I suppose the kids are right at the bottom of the stairs. Oh joy! This is really happening, I have made so many promises to quit. I have tried it all. I have tried drinking beer only, limiting my number of drinks, never drinking alone, never would I drink in the morning, drank only at home, switched from Scotch to Brandy, and even swore off drinking all together. Hand over heart, “I shall never drink again.” Like a broken record. I have said it again, and again.
The shoe oh they have seen this all too many times before. Promises slurred from under rank toxic breath. “C-c-come hear kidsss can you help your mumsy back up”? I can’t even help from laughing the situation so fantastic yet so old.
Of course all I hear is them walking away with complete disgust, and my husband he saw it all. I already heard our bedroom door shut with weariness. Most likely when I can manage my composure I am going to find my pillow at the front of my bedroom door. The couch will be my bed instead tonight. I only drank just ______? I was only going to drink ice tea to. Oh I have no idea how much I drank, and I am betting I will not even remember this awkward moment when I wake tomorrow morning. I will sleep it off.
If I can stand back up after this I will place my hand over my Hhheart, oh who cares. They don’t! Why should I? No I am not going to cry, (wiggle wobble of my leg). I hope I don’t fall all the way down the stairs. Well though maybe then they all would come to me in care. I am not about to frown nor cry who do they think I am? They are the ones insane. Can’t even enjoy a good laugh. I only drank ____? Like I said I will most likely not even remember this in the morning.