-sighs- I'm not sure how confident I am about posting this. It's overwritten. It's raw. It's boring. It's simplistic.
But, I'm trying to get a larger work out of it (this is a semi-prologue type thing), so I guess I'll just add on pieces as I go. Or I'll quit, depending on how bad I eventually decide it is.
You don't have to be nice, though. I appreciate any kind of critique! I promise!
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The world was melting.
The thorn bush wasn’t melting though—it sat stubbornly at the edge of the sidewalk, all brown and bristly and dead. And so Colleen watched from there—watched the sharp hues of spring turn muddy and run together like a child’s coloring book in the August heat. The wind shook as it rose from the asphalt, distorting the image of the white mobile home that sat primly across the street.
Colleen had always wondered why people called them mobile homes. She called them trailers—which as far as she could tell was mostly the same thing, only it didn’t upset people near as much when you told them you lived in a mobile home. Her mama drawled it out, like “tray-lore” instead of “traylr” which was what the girls at school said. Colleen figured it didn’t matter a whole lot, so long as you didn’t say either one in Ms. Waters’ room when you were learning to read and write and not be “IGnorant” which was what her mama always said when she dressed her up and kissed her goodbye.
School let out during the summer though, ‘cause no one caused any trouble when it was too hot to breathe or disobey or break windows like in the springtime. But also there was no one to play with, and so you had to sit all by your lonesome watching the world melt through the ragged embrace of a sad little thorn bush.
Colleen watched a dried up leaf get up and stumble across the road, like maybe it had found some wind and was making its escape. The leaf wasn’t really a danger, not when Colleen was all huddled up in her hideaway. She was tired anyways, and she was pretty sure there wasn’t a whole lot of evil left in the world to bother her. Colleen tugged at the corner of the bluish towel around her neck. She had fastened it with a big old ugly broach that nobody ever wore. Colleen’s mama said it was a cape and Colleen figured that was just about it, only she didn’t fly around or anything. Mostly she just used it for scare, like when Ms. Waters put on her glasses in case kids got to thinking they were smarter than her.
Anyway mostly the bad guys had got outta Dodge and so Colleen sat back on her haunches and waited for the popsicle man.
He usually didn’t take too long, not after Colleen got around to thinking about him, and today was no different. The squeaky left-front wheel of his shopping cart announced his arrival like one of those red carpets, and Colleen craned her neck to see him tottering down the road with his shoulders thrown sideways to keep the cart from tipping. Even in August he wore a heavy hat, like a cowboy hat only it bounced when he walked and slipped over most of his eyes. The man didn’t even sweat, probably ‘cause of all the popsicles.
Once he was a little ways away, the popsicle man lifted his hand in greeting. It was covered in calluses, like a farmer’s maybe except the ridges were in all the wrong places. But they were friendly hands, quick to lift in a jaunty wave that served as his customary hello and goodbye. His pace slackened and the shopping cart almost tipped before he could catch it, leaning absurdly sideways and losing his hat to the hungry asphalt.
Colleen rose and trotted over, dark hair twitching behind her in a knot of half curls. She was never shy of the popsicle man, but she didn’t reckon she had ever been this close before, and so as she handed him his hat she took a good look and gave him a smile. He smiled back, all gums and not so many teeth in his bristly mouth, and his eyes fled backwards into his deep brows. Thick creases threatened to crack across his face, but he bore this danger bravely, accepting the return of his hat with a sort-of bow.
He didn’t say anything, like he mostly didn’t, but he reached forward into the crisp, ice-laced popsicle box and drew out a slim white package. Colleen grabbed it eagerly, holding it out in front of her to see the color before accepting his gift. It was orange, her favorite, and she told him so, but his eyes just twinkled. ‘Course he already knew it was her favorite, or he wouldn’t have given it to her.
Colleen scrambled back to the sidewalk, where she stood on her tiptoes and waved. “Thank you!” She figured she didn’t have to add the last bit, but her mama always said to and it just sort of slipped out. The popsicle man waved back and started back along the street the way he had come. Squeak squeak squeak the wheels went as they shuddered under the cart. They stuck to the ground like they were melting too, getting sucked into the pavement like they were just another piece of road.
Anywho, if you have any questions let me know.
