Vice City : The Bud

Chapter 3 - Beginnings Of The Angel

"It'sbeautiful," he can hear her saying.

"Theygrow outside my house and smell so wonderful as I leave for work, soI thought I'd bring you one."

Michaelglances at the flowers on his table, longing to scream at them.

"Ifonly I had brought her a flower," he says.

Swipinghis hand through the air he smacks the vase off the table where itshatters on the hard floor. It all happens so fast that Michael isunsure what to do.

"There'sno way they didn't hear that," he thinks.

"Afterall the walls here are paper thin."

Hehears a small ruffle and then a bump against the wall. Michael andLil would practically be ear to ear had the wall not been in the way.Frightened that she may know he's there, Michael begins to backaway, knocking the broken glass beneath his feet as he moves. Bloodbegins to smear from his feet as he backs off, it almost blends withthe reddened browns of the hardwood floors and it isn't until thesounds next door stop that Michael allows the pain in his feet toeffect him. He falls to the ground, grabbing a dishcloth from thehandle of the stove as he collapses. Dabbing at the bloody gashes athis feet the cloth quickly turns from white to red. As for the cutsthemselves they show no sign of slowing their pulsating trickle. Withevery dab of the cloth more blood hits the wood. Michael seemssomewhat calm in an otherwise frightful circumstance. Instead ofrushing around, calling for help or any other long list of possibleactions, he sits quietly and lets the adrenaline feed his patientresolve. He patches himself up with speed and efficiency, then sweepsup the broken shards from the floor. A few specs remain and can stillbe seen if the sun hits them at the right angle, despite Michael'smeticulous efforts. Reaching for the top cupboard in the kitchen hepulls out a new vase, identical to the one that had shattered.Growing outside the window in a small collection of window boxes is afield of roses. All the same as those that had been in the brokenvase. He picks four of the finest, shiniest and sun kissed he canfind, and places them in the new vase, its bottom now filled with acup or so of water. With great love and care he places them on thetable.

"I'msorry," he whispers to the memory of the last roses, now shreddedby shards on the ground.

Thewalk to work is a haze as there's nothing worth paying attention toin the vast clammer of city streets. A man could easily get hit atfull speed by a car, and the only people who'd realise somethinghad happened would be the man who was hit and the man who'd have toclean up the body. Vice is a city of self centred egotists who careonly for the weight of their own problems. The boring lives of thosearound Michael hold no interest, and so vanish as part of the mist ofmediocrity. Through twisted corners and bumping shoulders he reachesthe shop.

'AngelDolls' is written above it in italicised metal blocks. The store isold and has been many things in the past from a butchery to a babysupplies store. For the past six years however is has been AngelDolls. Michael's home away from home. A selection of his finestwork is on display in the front window. Each a small, well dresseddoll. Tags around their necks tell you their names, written inbeautifully calligraphic letters. Trisha, Mary, Sally and so on. Eachone a delicately made porcelain faced child, their eyes either widewith amazement or half shut like they're falling asleep. Theirdresses wrap neatly around them. Seeing the girls each morning bringsa smile to Michael's face. When he unlocks the door it opens and asmall bell above the entrance chimes, alerting the empty store thathe has returned. There are many more small china faces inside, andall around their cheeky grins can be seen. Michael flips the signhanging limply on the window from 'Closed' to 'Open', then makes forthe back room. The room in which he works his craft. Benches arespread throughout and each one has a small pile of different dollpieces. He heads for the farthest desk where an unfinished dollawaits, its legs swinging over the side of the table. The chairsqueaks as he sits down. Getting a needle, he threads it through thecloth without any attention given. He begins his work by sewingtogether the clothes of what will be a glorious toy or outstandingdecorative piece.