ALL THAT WAS LEFT BEHIND

Nimbled Fingers

            Any second now, he thought.

            The gun spit out the bullet, firing it out into the world to slice the tension into millions of sprinkled fragments, each individually livid as components.

            And it was all triggered from him. Charlie’s nimble fingers.

***

The sky purred its deep luring growl, threatening to explode in any moment and to burst out into utter carnage in the skies.

            Wind ran across our lawn, kicking up the leaves on the ground, having them whip about in the air. Dark clouds coated the sky, thickening with each second, forming into a massive lump of darkness looming above the world, like a smoky admonition in its dwelling.

            “Pass me that yard bag, would you?” Doug said, motioning to the bag at my feet. I handed it to him, and assisted in shoving the damp crumpled leaves in his pile into the bag.

            The wind blew my hair into my face, and I rubbed it back with the back of my hand.

            “There are some more leafs over there, the wind picked them up,” I said, pointing farther up the lawn. They reminded me of strips of soggy flesh.

            Doug finished packing up the bag with the leaves, looked to where I was gesturing, and said, “Don’t think that really matters, doesn’t have to look perfect. I don’t understand why they had to be raked at all; with snow arriving soon.” He cleared his throat, and turned back to wrestling the last of the leaves packed into the bag.

            I nodded, and picked up the two rakes lying on the grass, hulling them over my shoulders, and then followed Doug. He had awkwardly picked up the yard bag, and was carrying it to the side of the house over to the shabby old shed. The wood was slowly rotting, and the window was boarded up.

            Strands of hair wouldn’t leave my face alone, and continued to tickle me as I walked. I tried not to hurt myself while doing so, for the rakes were rather bulky, and I was rather clumsy. I simply took one step at a time, minding my footing.

            Doug plopped the bag down, and grunted. He then motioned me to hand him the rakes, which I did, and he walked them over to the tiny shed right at the back of the house. I hesitantly followed, and tried to peer inside the peculiar hobbit sized building, for it was very new to me. What the scruffy grey walls of the shed concealed, however, was nothing out of the ordinary, simply lawn mowers, and other lawn equipment, along with assorted tools and such.

            When he emerged from the shed, he looked at me with an emotionless face. His eyes seemed to look past me, and he turned around to lock up the door with his still silent manor. After completing the task, he stepped back and headed up to the back porch, calling me to follow him for dinner.

            Thankful to be finished with the yard work, and out of the unpleasant rain threatening to poke a hole in the clouds to pour from, I followed the old brawny man back to the house, where the sneaky, playful wind couldn’t follow.

            In the house, it felt exactly how I always imagined a gingerbread house to be like. The kitchen was warm to the point where it was almost luxurious, and the lights gleamed a heavenly hue of blissful glow, and a sweet, deep scent of ginger drifted in the air. I was immediately uplifted and brought into the accepting world outside of the angry thundering sky that went on and on and on for an eternity of on.