A short book of fiction by K. Shawn Edgar
Copyright © Publicrats United 2015 K. Shawn Edgar
“Woodheavy Brown? You know, he’s just one of those guys you meet; good at everything except making ends meet.”
— Edwin Meek, circa 1997
A Sliver of Hope
Look up, strugglers. Make good use of the stone, the hammer, and the word. We are never truly overcome. If you have feet, use them. If you have wheels, roll them along the highroad. As one strives to win a Boss fight, we strive to topple the cracked statues of stagnant governance.
One Good Night
I’d like you to meet Roger Lope. He’s taller than average, and he can out shadow his own shadow. Some call him slender, others slim. Addie and the kids love him to bits. They share a small place in the City. And they foster blind cats. Addie is a Virgo.
Roger’s known as Victor (short for Victory) by the Peoples of Kirkland. And it’s rumored, the Peoples of Turkistan nod their heads knowingly when his name’s mentioned: Victor raised our property values. Victor filled the potholes. Victor stopped the Christian Hordes!
“Butterscotch!” he says. “Butterscotch and pinwheels; you are on to something, Addie!”
“Flip this lever, turn past seven, rotate one full Altair”, says Addie, “and push up twice in the center. And we’re in.”
Slivers of light appear at contrasting angles along a giant slab of stone. Growing up from the floor, a beech tree, over several decades, has become embedded against the face of stone.
Quickly, Addie and Roger Lope pick up their toolbox and their kite, jumping to a position in front of the mighty tree in anticipation of the ancient door’s opening.
“Splinters, kitten.” Roger Lope exclaims, “This poor beech will be split to bits!”
“Wait. I brought shims,” Addie says. “Let’s wedge them between the stone and the tree with these mallets, gently prying the beech’s fine hardwood from the moving stone.”
“Brilliant. You’re always a lighthouse in the storm. I’ve got the left, you take the right.”
As the tall and crafty twosome work to free the mighty beech tree, our ancient stone door rumbles along its seldom used, hidden runners.
The humus beneath their feet is soft and a bit springing. A heady, yet comforting aroma rises as they ply their mallets to task with cautious welfare. The perks of an unknown, natural high lessening their stress.
“This grand old lady of the seed is determined to take these secrets to the grave,” says Roger Lope. “It’s a shame, but she’ll make a fine mantle piece for my fireplace.”
“You’re a heel,” replies Addie. “And a nob. And a clout. And a prince. And a bully.”
“ But of course I am, Addie. I’m a Renascence man.”
K. Shawn Edgar | Ember Newt | Asphalt Surfer | Dream Archaeologist