club.
She was amazed how much she was able to check off her list after only less than two decades. It could have been more of course, but a life was a life.
“So you gonna sign the papers?” She had nearly forgotten.
“Alright, alright. But I’m just going to fill my name into this form because I think nothing will happen. And also nobody shall say about me that I refuse giving autographs to fans.” A flicker on her side. “Have you got a pen for me?” She fumbled in her pockets and provided one.
She watched him sign, like he was teaching her to write, until he handed the pen back to her out of old routine. She wouldn’t have needed it back.
He picked his glass up, sipped at the whiskey, all in his head again. They were waiting. But she didn’t dare to destroy his thoughts with practicing pieces and she already had finished her Chandler; how she hated boredom.
It became unbearable quiet. She checked her watch, nine-twelve. She wished he’d become more communicative in the next hours, maybe talking more about the old days, but as it seemed he had finally nodded off, while still holding his glass.
“Ackred? Mr. Ackred.” She moved over to shake him up. “Hey! Mister Ackred!”
Her voice turned from gently waking to rattling fear. What else was she ought to do but trying to wake him? He didn’t move by himself anymore. She didn’t notice; she didn’t want to notice.
She had grown familiar to this old Mr. Ackred. She had started liking this new Aged Ackred. He had lost some of his pep but that was outbalanced by more wisdom and a lot of memories.
“Zedekiah, come on now!”
He might not have been the Zedekiah Ackred but a guy equally worth meeting.
“Zeddy, wake up!!” Life had finally been sucked out of him. Her fist was pounding hard against his chest, not to reanimate him, the problem wasn’t there. She was crying now. “Come on, you can’t do this, not now!”
It was dark outside; no shadows but she felt it anyway, which was followed by a cry that wasn’t hers. It hadn’t been a man following her and now nobody – nothing - was coming for her soul. The deal was off.
“Hey, listen to me, what am I supposed to do with a whole life time?!”
###
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Other titles by this author
Special Thanks to all the people who had the nerve and patience to read and re-read all the various version of “The Owl’s Call”, which helped more than a great deal to finish the final story.
About the story
This story was started a few months after the writer’s own eighteenth birthday and had been largely inspired by the usual fears, privileges and upcoming memories that go along with such sudden adulthood.
There have been heavy attacks of Nostalgia ever since.
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