Post by Icarus on Jun 3, 2011 18:29:29 GMT -8
Chapter 1: So I Guess I'm "Fired"
At the time, I honestly wouldn't have been able to tell you how it happened or what in the depths of Tartarus was going on. Flames, pure white flames. OK. I'll start from the beginning.
I'm Harry Jones, a thirteen-year-old living in Long Island, USA. One day, about a year ago, I was just finishing up my paper route. As I came in to the newsagent to give Mr. Delgado, my paper route boss, his bag and the, as always, leftover papers, no one was there. No one. I figured he was probably in the back doing some paperwork, just about to close up shop. I've known Mr. Delgado long enough to know that he does that sort of thing. I started walking casually to the door at the back of the newsagent. Past the comic books, past the food magazines, past the women magazines. I was there, at the door. I knocked three times - our special knock.
"Mr. Delgado? I'm back. Are you there?" I said, putting my ear to the door. No reply.
"Mr. Delgado?" I asked again. It was strange of him not to reply, so I opened the door, and tiptoed quietly past the printing room, and as I did, SLAM! went the door. I turned suddenly, expecting Mr. Delgado to yell "Boo!", but it wasn't Mr. Delgado - or was it? It looked similar to him, almost a vulture version of him. There in front of me, stood Mr. Delgado, but a female version of him, with black leathery wings and a nasty look on her face.
"Hello, Harry. Have a good afternoon?" asked the vulture in a raspy voice.
"What have you done with Mr. Delgado?" I queried, slight anger in my voice, with a bit of fear and curiosity mixed in. The vulture just gave me an evil smile, which, believe me, wasn't particularly fun to look at. She raised her right hand, which made me flinch. For fingernails, she had what looked like sharp, deadly, metal claws. Mrs. Delgado made a fist with her hand, and knocked on the door of the printer room. One, two three. It was him. The vulture was Mr. Delgado. I looked at the thing in horror, not believing my eyes, and picked up the chair at the desk behind me, ready to hit if she lunged, but she simply grabbed it, as if stealing candy from a baby, and threw it away, over my head. And, obvious enough, she made a lunge at me, but somehow, miraculously, nothing hit me. The next thing I knew was seeing white fire come from the palms of my hands and hit the vulture, causing the vulture to fall flat on her back. Singed everywhere on her body, the human-vulture said in an even raspier voice than before,
"We shall meet again." And turned in to dust, which soon blew away. It was all too much for me, so I pulled open the door, possibly breaking the door (I don't know, because I didn't turn back) and ran through the newsagent's, turned right, and ran head-first in to a man in a suit. It hurt my head a lot, so surely, I fell to the ground. When I had regained my vision, I looked up to see the man - it was my father, coming to pick me up. He had a look of query on his face.
"What--" but I put my finger on his mouth.
"Mr. Delgado – vulture – leathery wings." I said, still tired from running and head-banging. When I'd regained my breath, I told my dad all that had happened. After, he had, not a look of "you're-a-crazy-Harry", but "ah-I-know-what-you're-on-about".
"Son, I think it's time I told you the truth. What really happened to your mother." My mom was a sacred subject to talk about in our house. My dad always said that she died in war, sometime after my birth. This was an exciting time for me, as I got to know what really became of my mom.
At the time, I honestly wouldn't have been able to tell you how it happened or what in the depths of Tartarus was going on. Flames, pure white flames. OK. I'll start from the beginning.
I'm Harry Jones, a thirteen-year-old living in Long Island, USA. One day, about a year ago, I was just finishing up my paper route. As I came in to the newsagent to give Mr. Delgado, my paper route boss, his bag and the, as always, leftover papers, no one was there. No one. I figured he was probably in the back doing some paperwork, just about to close up shop. I've known Mr. Delgado long enough to know that he does that sort of thing. I started walking casually to the door at the back of the newsagent. Past the comic books, past the food magazines, past the women magazines. I was there, at the door. I knocked three times - our special knock.
"Mr. Delgado? I'm back. Are you there?" I said, putting my ear to the door. No reply.
"Mr. Delgado?" I asked again. It was strange of him not to reply, so I opened the door, and tiptoed quietly past the printing room, and as I did, SLAM! went the door. I turned suddenly, expecting Mr. Delgado to yell "Boo!", but it wasn't Mr. Delgado - or was it? It looked similar to him, almost a vulture version of him. There in front of me, stood Mr. Delgado, but a female version of him, with black leathery wings and a nasty look on her face.
"Hello, Harry. Have a good afternoon?" asked the vulture in a raspy voice.
"What have you done with Mr. Delgado?" I queried, slight anger in my voice, with a bit of fear and curiosity mixed in. The vulture just gave me an evil smile, which, believe me, wasn't particularly fun to look at. She raised her right hand, which made me flinch. For fingernails, she had what looked like sharp, deadly, metal claws. Mrs. Delgado made a fist with her hand, and knocked on the door of the printer room. One, two three. It was him. The vulture was Mr. Delgado. I looked at the thing in horror, not believing my eyes, and picked up the chair at the desk behind me, ready to hit if she lunged, but she simply grabbed it, as if stealing candy from a baby, and threw it away, over my head. And, obvious enough, she made a lunge at me, but somehow, miraculously, nothing hit me. The next thing I knew was seeing white fire come from the palms of my hands and hit the vulture, causing the vulture to fall flat on her back. Singed everywhere on her body, the human-vulture said in an even raspier voice than before,
"We shall meet again." And turned in to dust, which soon blew away. It was all too much for me, so I pulled open the door, possibly breaking the door (I don't know, because I didn't turn back) and ran through the newsagent's, turned right, and ran head-first in to a man in a suit. It hurt my head a lot, so surely, I fell to the ground. When I had regained my vision, I looked up to see the man - it was my father, coming to pick me up. He had a look of query on his face.
"What--" but I put my finger on his mouth.
"Mr. Delgado – vulture – leathery wings." I said, still tired from running and head-banging. When I'd regained my breath, I told my dad all that had happened. After, he had, not a look of "you're-a-crazy-Harry", but "ah-I-know-what-you're-on-about".
"Son, I think it's time I told you the truth. What really happened to your mother." My mom was a sacred subject to talk about in our house. My dad always said that she died in war, sometime after my birth. This was an exciting time for me, as I got to know what really became of my mom.