No. 7 bus passed by and he saw that the blank check was stuck to one of the rear wheels and so like a dog on the hunt for a rabbit he began to pursue the elusive paper. When the bus reached the stop at Griffin Street, Fishman was able to retrieve the object that had caused his thundering headache. It was a little wrinkled and somewhat wet from the journey in the street, but for the most part it was still legible and Fishman placed it into his left pocket and headed straight for the Enormous Cookie Factory.
With a quick glance at his watch Fishman saw that he had a total of fifteen minutes to make it to the factory before it closed, so he hurried his pace and hoped for the best. He was three streets away from the factory, so close that he could see the enormous chocolate chip cookie on the roof of the building; when he felt something hit the top of his left shoe.
Gazing downward Fishman saw his keys lying on the sidewalk and wondered how they had gotten there. To the best of his knowledge he had placed them in his left pock…quickly he shoved his hand into the left pocket of his trousers and found at the bottom; a hole that was quite large, and nothing else. No keys; he knew where those were, no change and no blank check, what was he to do now? He turned around in the direction that he had come from, knelt down and began to pray. Fishman was not a very religious man and he couldn’t even remember when the last time he had prayed was, but he had heard a preacher say one time that it is never too late to pray and even if it has been a long time since you have bowed a knee to pray; just do it because God wants to hear from you, because He cares for you and wants to meet your greatest need and as far as Fishman was concerned his greatest need was finding that check and delivering it to the Enormous Cookie Factory.
It was something small that caught Fishmans’ eye, there on the walk was a shiny copper penny that was reflecting what seemed to be a beam of sunlight directed right at it. Fishman went to it, bent down, and picked the penny up and it was from that angle that he noticed more change on the ground and the strange thing was that every time he picked up one coin the sunbeam appeared to move down the walk and stop on another coin.
Two blocks and $1.83 later Fishman saw the most peculiar thing he had ever witnessed and it was this: that sunbeam moved from the last coin and made a sharp point down the darkened alleyway stopping upon the chest of a homeless man sitting near a dumpster and when Fishman drew near enough to speak to the man he saw in the man’s hand the object that he had been searching for; that blank check. For a moment he thought about just letting the man have the check and giving up because Fishman believed in his heart that this nightmare was not over.
Why would the light lead him here into this alley and show him the check if he were not meant to have it? “Oh sir, I see that you have found my directions to my destination,” Fishman said. He was aware that the man could not see well enough to know what he was holding in his hand because the downtrodden vagabond had crumbled the check up and put it into his left pocket. “Would you be so kind as to return it to me?” “I thought that I might use it for starting a fire later tonight, it gets mighty cold on these here streets,” the shabby old man said.
Now Fishman was desperate and willing to do anything to complete his mission and so he told the man that those directions were very important to him and he would be willing to give anything for them. --anything? -- Yes, I will give you anything that I have on my person.
Fishman walked away from his encounter with the homeless man with a smile upon his face, and a blank check folded neatly and tucked away in his wallet which he now carried with a tight fist wrapped around it in his right pocket. The homeless man, well, he walked away from the “chance “meeting with a very warm coat and three hundred dollars in his hand.
--This prayer thing really worked out for me-- Fishman thought to himself; today my greatest need had been met; “are you sure?” his brain echoed out to him.
It was 4:56 when Fishman entered the lobby of the Enormous Cookie Factory and was making his way to the counter when his phone rang. “Tear up the check, I’m cancelling my order for the enormous cookie; I decided to go with a gigantic pizza instead. Get back here right away and pick up my Visa Gold, Platinum, Copper credit card and go pay for it. Hurry now they close at 7:00.
Fishman couldn’t believe what he did next neither could the eight witnesses that observed his actions.
Insanity is something that people either keep within or let loose of; Fishman could no longer keep it to himself.
Penelope
I never thought that I would quit falling. The manhole cover was gone and I stepped into the portal to oblivion. Thud, the pavement was hard and my head hurt and yet I went forward to someplace else; yes that was the name of the place on the sign; Someplace Else. The whole place was black as coal except for a white glow on the horizon; that was my objective.
The gate is locked and not free, insert 600 Smubles to enter you see. I had no Smubles to give, and so there I was blocked from the Ice Palace.
Thursday morning had started out like any other day of the week; miserable if not worse than that. It was one of those days that we all have, a day when we just knew that it was almost a crime to even get out of bed. That was how my day began; I tripped over a lone sock that was in the floor while trying to make it to the bathroom to begin my morning routine of showering, shaving, and singing to myself one of those old familiar tunes that I had known from my childhood.
The first thing I met was the floor and it was just as hard and unforgiving as it had always been. Then the next thing I encountered was that scary face in the mirror, how anyone could look as good as I did when I went to bed and as horrible as I did just eight hours later was a complete mystery to me. So there was this ugly man staring at me from the mirror and laughing at me for my misfortune with the sock, and what was my intelligent response to him? “I ought to belt you a good one in the nose buster,” which I proceeded to do and I ended up cutting my hand on the broken mirror. “Well, what next?” I said to myself.
The rumbling and roaring of the engine in my ’69 Charger soothed the throbbing pain in my head while the smoothness of the shifter engaging the gears distracted me from the pain in my hand as I crossed the end of the road and began the thirty five mile trip into town. There is nothing like American muscle to make a man feel like there is true meaning to his existence; my world had begun to make sense as I realized my purpose for today. Speed, and more speed was the order for the moment and I was not worried about what was going to happen for the rest of the day or my life as well. Sixty, ninety, one hundred twenty and the needle was still climbing, upwards as a toddler climbs a pile of dirt; fearlessly stretching forth into the unknown. There was no fear in this Moparian beast and its attitude flowed into me as the two of us sailed down the road into the vastness of the open country; with the mornings mishaps long forgotten as a history exam from years gone by.
The office of 64 Pickles was very quiet this morning and it reflected the mood that I was in at the moment. The morning cares and frustrations had blown away into the chilly sky as the “Beast” and I made our way into town and now I sat at my desk relaxing and waiting for the rest of my staff to arrive. 64 Pickles had been founded upon the idea that there were many unknown authors in the community that needed to be discovered and promoted and that was our purpose in this life to see that the world was introduced to their work.
For a yearly fee of 64 pickles (dollars) we would assist the new author in all that was required to get a work published in this new world of “On Demand” publishing. We also provide the tools and staff to bring their work in print form should they desire to do so.
Mary and Terrie, the two college age students that work on the staff of 64 Pickles were the first of the team to arrive this morning and they greeted me with their usual dual “hello boss” nod and wave. They were twins from somewhere in Minnesota and had taken up residency here when they began school last fall. It was almost impossible to tell who was who between them unless you looked very clo
se; for they both had blonde hair and blue eyes and had the same body shape and build. Terrie had one blue eye and the other was not quite the same blue, but an almost green color and it was very hard to see the difference unless you looked very closely and then if you did she might think that you were staring at her. I solved that problem though, by employing a very effective technique; name tags, one said Mary and the other Terrie. I have a feeling that often they would switch them around so that I would not be talking to the one that I believed I was talking to.
Will and Wilbur were the next two that walked into the office of 64 Pickles. These two were not twins, but they both liked to dress alike. Their favorite clothing items were jeans and red polo’s and a gray visor. Wilbur was the oldest of the two brothers and Will was the one with the “I know everything” attitude and the worst part about it was that Will did know everything; he was a certified genius and his brother, well let’s just say that he wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. However, what he lacked in that area he made up in his great sense of humor and he was very capable of giving great suggestions to new writers through our writers advice line.