2.26.2007

The Cacti Won't Serve Me Tequila Part One

There are things that are worth it. There are people to die for, and there are moments that deserve the whole of one's effort. There are times when the scales don't balance out at all, and you just go with it. Screw scales. There are things that are right. There are things that are worth it.

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Vincent was the first one to see the new Tommy Womack. Well, there is a slight possibility that Mrs. DeVae saw him on one of her frequent peeks out into the world of the living, but one of the downsides to being a recluse is the inability to tell anyone of any perculiar findings one may happen to lay eye on. And surely animals would have had to watch the child slowly making his was towards civilization, if only for the interest in a potential feast. It's a wonder he wasn't jumped by an especially bold Diamond Currant snake or even an impatient vulture. In fact, it would be a while before anyone even had the idea to ask him where he came from or what he came out of.

As things fell, Vincent was the first to lay eyes on the long lost prodigy of Cosavo. His jeans were blown almost entirely white from the sand his bare feet currently advanced upon, but they were about the only clothes Vincent knew. Some type of cloth was draped around his midsection, but it most certainly wasn't the cotton tee that all the Cosavo brawlers sported when it got "dog hot". Tommy was also completely bald, a less than understandable change from the unkept blonde locks he had previously sported from birth. His chest, still not fully through wrestling with the tail ends of puberty, shone with sweat like just about every other part of his exposed body. And he was marching. Not the military style, arms and legs straight march, but a flawless pace nonetheless, each step overtaking exactly the same amount of distance as the previous. If he kept up, he would walk right through a stop sign and then right through Vincent.

That was, if he kept up. It is imagineable that Tommy did not forsee Penelope Kepler screaming at the top of her 12 year old lungs and Mr. Benson shouting with his 58 year old pipes that the guru looked uncannily like that Womack boy what disappeared back then, and that Stevens should stop his sweepin for just a minute to come and see. Vincent followed the sound trail as it unfolded, all the time glancing back and finding Tommy just a few paces closer, until Stevens hoisted him up with one arm and ran back into his store with Tommy so limp over his shoulder he could have been paralyzed.

Confident that no one else would be wandering out of the abyss that morning, Vincent upped his pace so that he would just be late enough to miss all the names before his own on roll call.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Other than the fact that I'm so psyched that you're writing a new story, I'd just like to point out the face that I'm entirely stupid. I could have been commenting your posts THIS WHOLE TIME. Except I didn't realize I didn't have to be a member and I didn't think to check. So basically, I made the blog for nothing. But whatever. *headdesk*