B&B

The lonely porch stretched across the front of the house. The 150 year old screen door of the b&b creaked and then gave an echoing bang behind him. He looked around the dark room and saw no sign of life. He strolled over to a small counter in the far corner of the room and found no bell or button for service. He gave a little grunt and then an unsure, weak tap. A look of disbelief was on his face when Pintu stepped around the corner. The time of reckoning had come. Pintu leapt for him, consumed in rage.

Forest

The chains bit into her thin wrists and the clasps pulled at her fur. The room was painfully bright and smelled of chemicals. The embodiment of evil worked in the corner with his back to Cantu, humming a slow song. As her world began to spin and things went fussy, her mind drifted to a better time…They were walking, paw in paw, through a deep green forest; her and Pintu. The breeze blowing back her ears and his face covered in a silly grin. It was a special time. All was right and now she was there again and forever.

Airborne

Pintu sat at the deserted turnout of the sleepy airport, quickly but thoroughly running through his run-up checklist. The only sound was the deafening drum of his small engine. With his head buried in the checklist and vibrating dials, something off his left wing caught his eye. It was a fire truck half engulfed in flames with lights blazing and swerving down the dirt airport road. Pintu throw the list over his shoulder, gunned the engine and was soon airborne, just as the cacophony died in a cloud of smoke mid runway, and Brigg yelling in rage from the ground.

Early Morning Fog

Pintu stood on the porch overlooking the plantation that was drenched in the early morning fog. He fingered the 20 year old lighter and thought. Overnight he had come to realize that this was not a lead, only a side trail. He could not call it a dead end or even a diversion, for he had learned so much among the bean trees and their people, but now it was time to move on towards another destination. He said a quite goodbye, put the lighter back into its pouch and then into his pocket, and turned to gather his things.

Cantu

Pintu was close. The man’s stench was still in the air of this long abandoned safe-house. As Pintu stepped through the rubble he could smell decaying animals and powerful chemicals. He made his way to a still warm notebook lying open on the kitchen table. It was far too dim to investigate it properly so he moved to the only light source, the refrigerator, and opened the door. The name Cantu had been circled then crossed out. Pintu’s blood boiled. Just then soft footsteps and mutterings came from the other room. He quickly sat down, his back to the light.

The Clerk

The clerk, after reading the form carefully, finally looked up at the 19 year old Pintu with a furrowed brow. Pintu stood before her on a small stool with only his eyes and the tips of his freshly cleaned ears visible over the clerk’s desk. She spun around in her chair and grabbed a large book. After carefully checking several more books and giving several more furrowed glances she removed the cover on a large stamp and with a quick bang Pintu became official. With a still perplexed look she handed him his badge and gave him a halfhearted salute.

The Shadows

The shadows began to fade into the west Texas night. Two rabbits sat quietly overlooking a glowing red canyon. The evening was peaceful and the day was good. As the sky engulfed with silent flames the two sat thinking about their journey. Then suddenly a violent whoosh of wind, dirt, and net took them up and then blackness… The pair had just arrived from their mother land after a very long journey and they were looking forward to stability in this foreign land. The female was pregnant and due very soon. This sudden trouble was not part of their plans.

The conversation droned

The conversation droned on and on. The musty damp air of the century old home added to his trapped feeling. Relatives of friends of relatives told story after story about people that he had never meet. He was fading quickly until a name mentioned in passing caught him. Could this be the same man that has plagued his life for so many years? Did he really stumble upon a clue? He listened now with his full attention, searching the drudgery for another nugget. In the same sentence as “like another cookie?” he heard the words “Bucksport, Maine”. That was enough.

Sunny Walk

He did it again, but it was just too nice out to stay inside. The strong wind at his back had grab both of his ears and whipped them around his head and into his face. But as usual his left had picked up a present for him on the way around. It had made a large, slow-motion swipe across the top of his chocolate and butter pecan ice cream. The furry, sticky ear landed square on his eye, leaving a brown patch resembling the Little Rascal’s dog. He walked on down the sunny sidewalk, sucking chocolate off his ear.

Defeat

His ears and cheeks black with the soot and exhaust of defeat, Pintu walked through the now deserted lot. He had completed his assigned task but his head still hung low. He had not expected to place, in-fact he was not sure if he would even survive, with no training and so much on his mind to distract him, but the empty lot and the blazing sun found him in a funk. As he sat in his ’85 Corolla the picture lodged in front of the speedometer showing four smiling faces brought a smile to his face. All was good.

Some never

He listened to the music as he sat alone in the back of the room. He felt every word. “…my wheels drone on steady…” They took him back to another place. “…in the heat of the wide…” He remembered everything that had gotten him to now. “…the valley got a little too…” The close calls, the bitter mistakes, the wonder of blessings. A hint of a grin appeared as his eyes drifted off. “…some people sit still, some people go fast. Some go right to it, some never get past…” He was reminded that he would not trade it for anything.

a hometown carnival

He pushed his way through the crowd. It was a hot summer night and the fair was in town. He had gotten himself a big spool of cotton candy and already had it all over his ears. Through the maze of booths and lights and spinning screaming kids he strolled. The night air was filled with a million smells and his eyes were buzzing at the sights. Men yelling, engines roaring, and horses and elephants calling in the distance. He had seen many things in his twisted life but the wonder and amazement of a hometown carnival filled his heart.

two days before

The grass was soaked with the cool morning mist. The sun was finally coming up and his thoughts were finally settling down. As the sun sparkled on the landscape around him he remembered all that was still left. Yesterday’s events would not be what destroyed or defined him. His head lifted and he saw a red cardinal above him. Beyond him was a beautiful blue sky. Life and beauty still existed. Good was still present and that would be his focus. The bird filled the sweet air with his soft but proud song just as he had two days before.

Advertising

The evening was bitter cold. The wind scratched and gnawed at his cheeks. Pintu pulled his collar up a little higher as he moved a little more behind the stone wall that was hiding his form. His man had gone into the tiny door just across the square of this frozen Russian village and he was stuck here until he came out. Just above the door was a large dimly lit billboard. The image of a hearty man with a glass in his hand was the focus. As Pintu stared at the advertisement he heard the door bang shut.

Thes way pwees

“Thes way pwees.” The Asian waitress led him thru the maze of empty tables to one in the back against a large round window. A neon light buzzed in his ear as he peered out into the rain drenched parking lot. Would she show up he wondered. Would she recognize his worn and traveled face? The rain began to lessen. The cars in the parking lot began to thin. The waitress had stopped asking to fill his cup. The hours passed and he sat there alone. He would have given up long ago but he had nowhere else to go.

Road apples

The truck bounced over the old road and Pintu felt every hole on his sore tail. The farmer had said in a broken English that the town was just over the hill, but he had been riding in this truck bed for at least 30 miles. When he was about to ask how much longer, the truck’s brakes squeaked to a halt. Dust swallowed them. The farmer waved to Pintu from within the cab and Pintu jumped out. As the truck turned off, Pintu saw no town, no houses, just a lone tree and some fallen apples on the road.

No Way Out

Pintu’s ears twitched as he stopped to listen to the echoing footsteps. He stood silently, breathing in the cool, damp air of the long abandoned stone tunnel. His shadow cast long in front of him. The sound of gravel under foot forced him to slowly turn back toward the entrance. The harsh light burned his eyes as the black outline of his phantom pursuer stepped forward. Pintu’s breath quickened as his eyes darted around the tunnel looking for an option. “Finally, I have you” said the man. Pintu spun around and blindly ran into the dark, with no way out.

Crushed

The weight of a faulted life fell upon him. He felt his knees buckling as he strained to overcome. Many people passed by, some big some small. Some tried to lift the weight from him by themselves, while others just looked as they passed. Several had jacks that would have been perfect to help, but none used them and several even hide them so no one would know, thinking that if he was worthy he would not be under the weight to start with. Pintu seeing the need offered his jack and just like him he was crushed no more.

Victory Square

Mr. Simons sat with his back to the fire. Pintu leaned across the checker board opposite him. They each studied their moves carefully as the fire popped and crackled. Store patrons passed by and glanced their way. Neither spoke, just the checkers sliding across the board doing their talking. Finally after what seemed like hours, Mr. Simons’ finger lingered on a piece. Pintu’s ears dropped. Mr. Simons moved his piece slowly into the square. Pintu was pinned. Mr. Simons gave out a cry of victory that rattled the soup cans behind the counter. Pintu laid his dollar on the table

Coffee Table

Pintu waited patiently in front of the window, pot pie in hand. He stared up the street towards the main road. His eyes fixed on the bend in the distance. The pot pie steamed. Then suddenly his ears perked up, a large van came rattling around the corner. It came to an abrupt stop in front of his house. On the side read Tate’s Tables. Pintu’s ears went higher. As the two short men carried in a large box, Pintu turned on the TV. They removed a shinny coffee table and set it in the wanting spot. Dinner is served.

The Lighter

The dresser was clearly visible in the purple moon light that spilled in through the window. Pintu, his ears still damp from his tears, walked directly to it. He stood there facing it for a moment, memories rushing to him. He dragged a chair across the wooden floor and pushed it against the dresser. He climbed upon it and opened the top drawer. Inside was the lighter. Although he was sad he was not without hope. He knew where Mike was and he knew that he would be ok. The lighter shined in the dark drawer and Pintu’s eyes followed.

Poetry and Coffee II

The day had been hot and long. The steaming South American air had robbed the pickers of every last drop of energy. Pintu had deposited his beans in the bin along with the million others. As he sat there leaning against a tree and squinting through his heavy eyelids at the setting sun, one of the other workers began a soliloquy. “Soft and gentle, flowing straight, the sunlight from below, tomorrow waits. Tonight is ours, to lie and love, soft and gentle, our waiting dove.” Pintu’s eyes close as he thinks about home and all that waits for him there.

Poetry and Coffee

Two a.m. and the street was dark. The town had shutdown. One neon light shined on the wet street. Pintu walked slowly across the deserted street to get a better look. A low murmur could be heard seeping through the large plate glass. As he opened the front door the inviting smell of coffee hit him, but the beatnik sounds were abusive to his ears. He turned back to the street and the door flew shut behind him. Leaning against a parking meter was a dirty, ragged man. He looked up and softly spoke. “Brain, Train, Insane.”

Forty...III

The class was stunned as they watched the teacher stumble. Even the white-board marker seemed against him. After an awkward battle he threw it against the wall. His words forced,
“Ok class, you know this. How much is sixty minus twenty?”
He was right, but they dared not speak. Sweat plowed down his forehead.
Pintu in the back of the class pondered the situation. He knew this was not good.
Slipping out silently , he heard a cacophony of bangs and splats, and then a large and sudden boom. Then quiet. Pintu strolling away, thought to himself,
“I’m kinda thirsty”.