Vice City : The Bud

Chapter 11 - Agatha's Wings

Authors Note - please be kind, I'm not a professional writer I do this as a hobby - Leave a vote/comment if you enjoy as every little bit helps

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Chapter11 - Michael Standom - Agatha's Wings

Morningarrives with the silhouette of idealistic hope. From the light comeslife. A fiction told by the philosophically ignorant. There alwaysseems to be a failure to mention that without the light there'd beno shadows cast over us with dominating grandeur over ourbelittlement. These are precisely the thoughts of Michael as hestands at his bedroom window watching the sun peak into view. Hewaits there in his pyjamas with a tear trying to force itself from aresistant eye. He tugs at his top as if it's too small and needs tobe stretched to fit. There is of course nothing wrong with it, thepulling is just a sign of his growing anxiety. Today's the day, asspecified by Mr. Well, that Angel Dolls is torn down. EverythingMichael has worked so hard for is about to crash down in a cloud ofdust. His reputation, his work, his dreams are all soon to be gone.The sun has passed the horizon and its rays creep up the buildinguntil Michael himself becomes lit. He appears as a heavenly creaturestepping into the light, only there is no place to stride forward.And so he turns from the sun and walks into the sheltering dark witha mournful slump.

Hechanges for the day into a full black outfit. Stepping out the doorhe glances over to Lil's apartment and it reminds him of what shehad said the last time they had spoken.

"Thingsalways get better," her words ehcoed in his mind.

"Perhapsshe was right," he thinks with a smile.

"Maybethis isn't so much the end of the most important thing in my lifebut rather the beginning of the next chapter instead. This could begood for me."

Hechecks his pessimistic view and rephrases the last sentiment.

"Itwill be good for me," he tells himself.

There'sone last thing he decides needs to be done before leaving thismorning. He grabs a small strip of ribbon from an end table by one ofthe single armchairs and heads to the window. He lifts it open with agood deal of pull back from the hinges and looks out on the roses inthe window box. They stand tall and reach for the shine that has yetto grace them with its presence. Looking out on them he searches forthe one, for there is always one, that stands out as the most vibrantof all. He finds it and, with great love and care, he cuts it fromits soil bed. Next, with a small square of card in hand, he writes anote of thanks for the gift that Lil has provided him. A gift ofhope. As neat as he can he dictates his gratitude in words as best ascan be done.

"Nevergiving up," he says as he scribbles the very same words onto thecard.

Heties the ribbon to the tag and the tag to the rose. Finished ofcourse by looping the ribbon in an elegant bow.

"Whata splendid gift," he thinks to himself.

"Sheseemed overjoyed when a flower was given to her by whomever it wasthat stayed the night there."

Helifts the gift up above his head as if praising it.

"Thenwhy wouldn't she feel the same way about this ?" He convinceshimself.

Heleaves the note signed unsigned. Although to Michael's mind thereis no one but himself who grows such perfect roses. Before he leaveshe places it in her mailbox by the entrance door with a small sliceof ribbon and the corner of the tag visible from behind the lockedmetal catch.

Inhis life Michael has found such affectionate longing for no other,but the worry that always tugs at his shoulder is the idea that suchfeelings cannot be reciprocated. After all love is such a rarephenomenon. It's easy for one person to love another. It's nextto impossible to find two that love each other without the aid of thefeared loneliness. There is no doubt in his mind that he cares forLil. The last remaining question is whether the fear of her ownsolitude outweighs the distaste he knows she must feel when she'sforced to interact with him. Only time will tell.