Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Day #1 Hangover



Ben is the kind of little boy people would call incredibly fearless or irreparably reckless. He climbs trees and scales walls, and he provokes neighbor dogs and cuddles stray cats. He’s a wild ten-year-old child, with a wild little grin to match. He’s up for an adventure, and that’s actually what he always has in mind.  

He’s headed for the End of the Street. The End of the Street was where people lived in houses as makeshift as his sword. The End of the Street was where people live in abandoned lots and people dumped trash. The End of the Street had a huge wall that kept it from falling straight to the river.

“There goes little Benjamin, off to take the sleeping giant,” he imagines someone saying, after quick clicks of their tsk-tsking tongue.

“Probably off to conquer the hissing dragon,” someone would interject, scandalized. He would puff his chest, but only subtly, because heroes don’t do well when they’re too proud.

“Why does nobody mind that boy? He’s a menace to my guavas!” He hears this, and ignores it. To be honest, there’s not much to hear with gum to be popped and with dogs to be teased. Heroes don’t sit around being nice little boys, they go out and look for action!

…but they must first seek guidance.

He’s reached the End of the Street and walks off to the end of the End of the Street. There, a shack barely stands and it’s a wonder it hasn’t been blown away. Two dogs rise from their nap, give him a second’s glance and run off to their own games. Ben may not be a stranger, but he’s no friend.

Ben sighs at the black dog. He quite liked that one, and he figures it would have been a nice ally. The white dog was too tiny and was easily portable for a man like his mentor, and would be too powerless.

He walks up to the shack, and with a sniff and a wipe of his nose on his arm, he knocks on a door that seems to want to be a wooden version of a welcome mat.

“Hey! Old man!” Ben gives the door a few more heavy taps, “Old man! It’s Ben!”

There’s a groan and a howl and soon a bottle comes flying out a paneless window.

Ben jumps and ducks too late. He’s lucky he wasn’t in the path of a bottle doomed to shatter on a stone road. He’s being tested, as heroes always are. Now he’s passed, and he should we welcomed…right?

“GO AWAY, YOU DAMN BRAT!”

 Words:  436; no edits.

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