The Will of the Wisp groaned, a life of crime wasn’t for him. When he, retired actor and world-famed performer, burst into the shop and demanded to the assistant “Drop everything and give me ten…books,” she had laughed.
Embarrassed by the girl’s response he had run out of the store to find himself caught up in the New York Marathon. A runner in a terrapin costume hobbled by slowly, “Shouldn’t you be travelling quicker?” yelled Will over the muddle of voices. The terrapin yelled back in explaination “I have a bunion.”
Will, caught up in the tide of racers, was surprised by the amount of people who were wearing costumes in such sweltering heat. “What are you meant to be?” he demanded breathlessly. The young man beside him was wearing a leopard costume over which a chef’s apron was tied. A chef’s hat sat jauntily over his ears. “I’m a galleycat,” was the strained reply. Will broke the word down in his mind Galley…cat. It dawned on him a ship’s kitchen is a galley, he began to laugh. Now home he assumed the laugh was the onset of hysteria.
Eventually Will of the Wisp had left the race with its serious athletes and promenading poodles, sunflowers and terrapins, far behind and he had sat on the sidewalk, his feet sat in a puddle to cool. Above him somewhere he could hear the theme from the Bat Segundo Show blaring from an apartment. The noise was tinny. Surely the powers that be hadn’t put it onto DVD?
When his rest was over Will had meandered home, his neighbours kid, Simon, bounced towards him, “Like my new outfit?” The kid was wearing camouflaged khaki, the kind even the army didn’t wear any more. “Where’d you get those?”
Simon grinned “My mum got em off an old soldier,” the eight-year-old smiled, displaying a hole in the middle of a perfect row of teeth Simon would make a good TV vampire, he even had his own fangs. “What happened to your teeth?” demanded Will, “I lost em,” came the sheepish reply.
“Lost em huh? Is that like when you found your black eye?” a nod this time. “Tell your mother, she’ll sort this out for you. ” The kid shook his head and mumbled “No she won’t.” Will found he was ruffling the blond thatch of hair. “Kid, she’s a snark, your mother wears Army boots – one way or another she’ll stop anything.” With that he left and walked down a flight of steps to the door of his basement apartment.
Now he had woken from a nap, dreams of his life in show-biz played through his mind. Maybe he would try and return to the old life, get back on stage. His brief foray into organised crime proved he wasn’t capable of either organisation or crime, he would return to the roar of the greasepaint, smell of the crowd. He laughed at this thought “And boy were they smelly.” He said to himself.
Ya, this stuff is harder than it looks isn't it?
Scoring to come