The item.
The doors snap shut behind me with a hiss and a clunk, and moments later the bus pulls back onto the road, nudging its way back into traffic like a fat man pushing through a crowd, leaving me behind. There's a light drizzle and the fading sunlight, filtered by the clouds, gives all the cars on the road that same anonymous, silvery sheen. I zip my coat all the way up and pull my cap lower to protect myself from the weather and I press my hands deep into my pockets, my left hand immediately finding the precious item I found earlier today, the item that will change my life.
FnordLying several dozens of yards away on the other side of the road, the river snakes itself through the landscape. In this light and at this distance, too far away to see the frenzy of dancing ripples caused by the fine rain and the sharp wind, the river resembles a mirror, duplicating the hazy, overcast sky just above the horizon. In fact, it quite resembles the way it looked a few months ago when the river was frozen solid due to the coldest winter in decades. The village council, bunch of old cronies, had even declared it safe for ice skating, a first in the 13 years of my life. I vividly remember one especially cold thursday afternoon when, after school, my best mate Spud and I, hiding in that small crop of bushes there, ambushed Lauren and her circle of Stepford daughters, pelting them with an impressive arsenal of snowballs. They clearly weren't amused, but we were all the more so; Lauren's mum even called my mum which led all kinds of drama at home, but boy was it worth it, because we laughed ourselves sick when Spud managed to hit rich-kid Patricia smack in the face. We did good, that day, Spud and I, because they had it coming, bunch of snobs. Good times. A smile breaks across my face at the memory of it.
FnordThe wind is Easterly today, so the line of trees to my left, stripped naked by winter, offers no protection from the rain whatsoever. The rain is of such a nature that the droplets settle themselves on the surface of your coat and jeans, the tiny pearls of water caught in the hairs and fibers of the fabric, incapable of drenching your clothes yet unable to free themselves. I cut to my left, into an opening in the trees, and enter Ellison park; its single footpath, lined by lamp posts and the occasional park bench, snaking itself between the crops of trees and past the pond. That's when I spot him.
FnordA man, tall, with a long coat and a broadrimmed hat enters the park from the other end and heads towards me at a leisurely though determined pace. I hesitate, clutching the item firmly in my left hand, and for a second I contemplate turning on my heel and taking the long way home, but I dismiss the thought. If he is really after the item, as I suspect, then he'd easily outrun me, so I decide to risk it, all or nothing, knowing I'll defend it with my life should he lunge for it.I keep walking towards him, and he towards me, the distance between us getting ever smaller. I pull my cap lower still and hunch forward, my left hand closing around the item tightly but carefully so as not to damage it. As we approach each other my heartrate soars, and I keep my eyes on him like a hawk; I can't make out his face but he probably can't see mine either. A few more steps. I swallow hard and hold my breath, bracing myself to fend off a possible attack. He steps towards me and I towards him, and he walks past me with a slight, almost imperceptible nod of the head. I pick up the pace, breathe out sharply and after several tense moments I glance behind me, seeing him exit the park where I entered it seconds ago. My heart rate settles but my mind still races: that nod when he passed me? Is he an ally, a friendly, someone who knows about the item and its importance and who is looking out for me? Whatever, it's irrelevant now, the danger's past.
FnordAs I exit the park and cut onto Pall street, three streets from where I live, my mind wanders and I cannot help thinking of the item and its implications, its unavoidable consequences. I still have trouble believing it all, despite feeling the item in my left hand; I cannot wait until I am safely home, in my room, where I can take it out and look at it, touch it, examine it, dissect it like a wondrous frog, just to verfy its existence to my sceptical mind. This item will change the order of everything, for me and the people around me, regardless of age and social standing. The entire high school hierarchy will be upended, both for geeks, like Amy and Spud and myself, people most likely to end up computer programmers, housewives and car salesmen, and the rich and beautiful and disgusting like Lauren and Scott and Patricia, people destined to become prom queens, rookies of the year or the next big thing. This will change everything.
FnordI fumble for my key in my other pockets before I realise I won't need it; mum picked today of all days to come home from work early. I walk in the front door and push it shut behind me. Almost immediately i hear mum calling from the kitchen, followed by footsteps, but I am leaping up the stairs, three at a time, before she even reaches the hallway. I catch her yelling something about dinner but I don't reply; I wont risk it, not now. I burst in through my bedroom door, slamming it shut and locking it. My heart's racing, both from all the excitement and at the prospect of finally beholding the item again. I slump down in my desk chair, its wheels digging into my shaggy carpet, and after a moment's hesitation I take the item out of my pocket. A small, nondescript, seemingly irrelevant piece of paper, torn from a simple notebook, folded twice over. I take it in both hands and contemplate the moment for an instant before taking a deep breath, swallowing twice, and unfolding it carefully. The crackling whisper of the unfolding of the small note drowns out all other sound and the blue-lined paper fills my vision. Once unfolded, I place it on my desk in front of me; the text written upon it, so few letters, containing such power, staring me defiantly in the face. Written with a green pen in a neat, attractive handwriting, the i's dotted with small circles:
This will change everything.
FnordLying several dozens of yards away on the other side of the road, the river snakes itself through the landscape. In this light and at this distance, too far away to see the frenzy of dancing ripples caused by the fine rain and the sharp wind, the river resembles a mirror, duplicating the hazy, overcast sky just above the horizon. In fact, it quite resembles the way it looked a few months ago when the river was frozen solid due to the coldest winter in decades. The village council, bunch of old cronies, had even declared it safe for ice skating, a first in the 13 years of my life. I vividly remember one especially cold thursday afternoon when, after school, my best mate Spud and I, hiding in that small crop of bushes there, ambushed Lauren and her circle of Stepford daughters, pelting them with an impressive arsenal of snowballs. They clearly weren't amused, but we were all the more so; Lauren's mum even called my mum which led all kinds of drama at home, but boy was it worth it, because we laughed ourselves sick when Spud managed to hit rich-kid Patricia smack in the face. We did good, that day, Spud and I, because they had it coming, bunch of snobs. Good times. A smile breaks across my face at the memory of it.
FnordThe wind is Easterly today, so the line of trees to my left, stripped naked by winter, offers no protection from the rain whatsoever. The rain is of such a nature that the droplets settle themselves on the surface of your coat and jeans, the tiny pearls of water caught in the hairs and fibers of the fabric, incapable of drenching your clothes yet unable to free themselves. I cut to my left, into an opening in the trees, and enter Ellison park; its single footpath, lined by lamp posts and the occasional park bench, snaking itself between the crops of trees and past the pond. That's when I spot him.
FnordA man, tall, with a long coat and a broadrimmed hat enters the park from the other end and heads towards me at a leisurely though determined pace. I hesitate, clutching the item firmly in my left hand, and for a second I contemplate turning on my heel and taking the long way home, but I dismiss the thought. If he is really after the item, as I suspect, then he'd easily outrun me, so I decide to risk it, all or nothing, knowing I'll defend it with my life should he lunge for it.I keep walking towards him, and he towards me, the distance between us getting ever smaller. I pull my cap lower still and hunch forward, my left hand closing around the item tightly but carefully so as not to damage it. As we approach each other my heartrate soars, and I keep my eyes on him like a hawk; I can't make out his face but he probably can't see mine either. A few more steps. I swallow hard and hold my breath, bracing myself to fend off a possible attack. He steps towards me and I towards him, and he walks past me with a slight, almost imperceptible nod of the head. I pick up the pace, breathe out sharply and after several tense moments I glance behind me, seeing him exit the park where I entered it seconds ago. My heart rate settles but my mind still races: that nod when he passed me? Is he an ally, a friendly, someone who knows about the item and its importance and who is looking out for me? Whatever, it's irrelevant now, the danger's past.
FnordAs I exit the park and cut onto Pall street, three streets from where I live, my mind wanders and I cannot help thinking of the item and its implications, its unavoidable consequences. I still have trouble believing it all, despite feeling the item in my left hand; I cannot wait until I am safely home, in my room, where I can take it out and look at it, touch it, examine it, dissect it like a wondrous frog, just to verfy its existence to my sceptical mind. This item will change the order of everything, for me and the people around me, regardless of age and social standing. The entire high school hierarchy will be upended, both for geeks, like Amy and Spud and myself, people most likely to end up computer programmers, housewives and car salesmen, and the rich and beautiful and disgusting like Lauren and Scott and Patricia, people destined to become prom queens, rookies of the year or the next big thing. This will change everything.
FnordI fumble for my key in my other pockets before I realise I won't need it; mum picked today of all days to come home from work early. I walk in the front door and push it shut behind me. Almost immediately i hear mum calling from the kitchen, followed by footsteps, but I am leaping up the stairs, three at a time, before she even reaches the hallway. I catch her yelling something about dinner but I don't reply; I wont risk it, not now. I burst in through my bedroom door, slamming it shut and locking it. My heart's racing, both from all the excitement and at the prospect of finally beholding the item again. I slump down in my desk chair, its wheels digging into my shaggy carpet, and after a moment's hesitation I take the item out of my pocket. A small, nondescript, seemingly irrelevant piece of paper, torn from a simple notebook, folded twice over. I take it in both hands and contemplate the moment for an instant before taking a deep breath, swallowing twice, and unfolding it carefully. The crackling whisper of the unfolding of the small note drowns out all other sound and the blue-lined paper fills my vision. Once unfolded, I place it on my desk in front of me; the text written upon it, so few letters, containing such power, staring me defiantly in the face. Written with a green pen in a neat, attractive handwriting, the i's dotted with small circles:
This will change everything.