Mr. and Mrs. Catfish are people watching from their fourth floor apartment. They've kept a checklist of everyone they've seen since early morning. Each time they check off someone from their list they lower their spectacles zoning in on the next bypasser. It's currently 8:58PM and Mr. Catfish is yet to find a smoker, while Mrs. Catfish is yet to find two suburban mothers jogging side by side with twin baby strollers.
Generally speaking, watching people from a window in a tall building is a safe hobby to partake in. A watcher may for example see;
A teenager wearing bright colors.
A dog shaped like a mop.
A lamp shaped like a dog.
A man on stilts carrying a dog shaped lamp.
However, once in a while there's a bypasser, watcher's cannot look away from. Their eyes glue to the figure like a mouse to cheddar–more precisely like a harvest mouse to a pinwheel slice of Vermont sharp cheddar.
With a sigh Mrs. Catfish lifts her sunken eyes to the window. She tilts her head, and points to a bypasser, who is oddly, not passing; he is merely standing. Mrs. Catfish notes on her clipboard: Man Wearing Rabbit Mask.
It's unclear from this height, but behind the Man Wearing a Rabbit Mask lies a trail of thick dark damning footprints leading out from a low hanging industrial fog.
It's vital to note, no one leaves footprints like these, not in the year 2525, not in 3535 and not naturally in any year of living history. They're darker than brown mud, but from the fourth floor they appear to be mud and so Mr. and Mrs. Catfish continue to watch and note that too.
The Man Wearing a Rabbit Mask is staring into the fourth floor window from Tenth Street, while a firetruck blazes past him. He doesn't glance over his shoulder to see the sirens heading towards Twelfth Street for he has come from the same direction, and contrary to popular watcher opinion he hasn't laid afoot in mud since the previous century.
On Twelfth Street, Arnold Harness leaps from fire truck C, into the nips of flames along the perimeter of the paper supply store. It's his first shift back on the fire brigade, after a fatal experience with recalled canned broccoli from his World War VI bunker. Arnold isn't one to stir the pot with free thinking thoughts, in short he isn't a wise guy though he is tall. As a moment passes he can't help but wonder "Why would a yellow school bus be in service at 9:03PM on a Saturday evening?"
Arnold's Fire General waddles up to the flames like an Emperor penguin, but he resembles a chinstrap penguin, the way his scrappy beard barely connects under multiple flaps of chin skin. "Must you question everything Arnold? What if there's kids in there?"
"Why would there be children traveling in a yellow school bus at 9:03PM on a Saturday evening Fire General?"
The Fire General ponders over this question himself but can't let a free thinking mentality like Arnold's slide. He smacks Arnold across the back of the neck, and then takes off running–waddling, with Arnold in quick pursuit.
The bus is right side up, all is well at a glance.
Upon taking a second glance the yellow school bus is wedged into the paper supply store sliding front doors. The doors are still sliding back and forth slamming the bus from both directions. It gives new meaning to the hanging neon flashing sign: No Admittance, which is perfectly functional as the colors fade from white to pink to red and then back to white.
Arnold slams against the bus first, he remarks "it's filled with free moving dust." He continues "Why can't I get a clear visual?"
The Fire General rushes past him, flames yapping at his trousers. He slides along muddled pavement and yanks against the yellow school bus door. It doesn't budge.
YOU ARE READING
The Multi-genre Mashup SmackDown
General Fiction3rd Overall🥉 A prompt-based writing challenge for all writers of flash fiction and short stories.
