Ruddy Toddler Crossing [LOWWC]

Solomann never seemed to be on the right side of anything. It's hard enough when there's at the very least three sides to every story, and you can only really see one at a time. For as righteous as the riot contained in name he was rolled out into; as is every unit in their ineffectually solitude existence; never were the rites of passage any more than a passing of time. He was born sloppy; without the use of his neck muscles. In some places babies can lift themselves up after only a few hours of puffing on that clear, dry air. These babies fly high above those wandering the cities, and the few still hiding in a muggy shack or a rust riddled Chevy out in the countryside, where the sun still rises like a peach so sweet you wished it was just a little salty. Lick the palm of your hand and take a chomp. And it is good. Solomann would never live up to the expectations placed on such children, but neither would he be banished to the recycling bin. Thank you Siddhartha. You played your part. A nasty old bald-headed man left your book on a playground bench. I wonder what possessed him. I would look at him and say, "The power of Christ compels you", but never really believe it.

We inherit our lives in a certain condition known as “as is”. Just as some girls grow to be arm-candy, and some husbands in all their serious achievements and beaming aspirations are sloshed around half mast like a sparkly diamond bracelet bouncing and bobbing on the splintering wrist of a rapidly thinning, over-watered girl (just call us if she disappears all the way), some of us are trophy-children. “Our own oasis”, Solomanns' nearly dwarf-sized mother would refer to him as, herself gushing more of his invigorating properties than he would ever be able to bottle let alone produce on his own. Being sloppy wasn't Solomanns' only inherent quality. He was also so fortunate as to have a constant stomach-ache, one of which there was no cure; and possessed exceptionally long shin bones. These hinted of things to come. Like the columns of a great stadium, or a grand old southern plantation, these legs stood tall and straight, with plenty of room for his water balloon body to grow in to them. Sometimes to pass the torch means to give something of everlasting value to the person who has earned it long before receiving it. Sometimes to pass the torch is the literal exchange between hands of something fire starting. Or a pillar already burning. Like drinking warm whiskey when you'd really rather be eating hot food, or doubling up on your personally advised and appropriately doled medication because that's what the doctor ordered. We never take our own advice, Solomann being no exception.

Pausing between the dusk and the dawn, the essence of what he pawed became less than what he saw a big bright moon shine all night for. Howling at the milky bulb would not suffice; he would scream with all of his spongy soul. He had a voice like hot mustard that woke all the alleys' assassins, curious and a bit disturbed by what could deliver such a gnarled and sinewy belt. Highs warbled like a pack of hyenas being crushed by a metal fist against an iron grate floor, and lows moaned out like thrown-up rocks, possibly sand and nearly glass by the time they surged past those pointed lips. Nobody ever mentioned that if you yelled for too long, the soul was light and wispy enough to be snatched away in a funnel of hot air like a plastic bag drifting over a very old Galapagos Tortoise on the crispy side of the beach. Why there was ever a plastic bag to begin with beats me, but not as bad as my own conscience. I was born here too, just in time to witness the atrocity.

What goes up must come down so you're barreling now, so fast your whole head and body burst into flames, along with your perfectly acceptable face and all your lovely flowing hair, except your broken wing because it was wrapped in off-white athletic tape.

So you're a wing, you're lurking the perimeter and stalking the baseline. What would be the difference between two 3s or three 2s. Time to tie the shoes tight so they hug your ankles like a fat lady scatting in a corset. Drooling sweat from hidden pores as the spider legged bass-line traipses up the long straight highway of the river stone smooth fretboard, as notes and sounds flee from between her manatee chin and walrus upper lip, like bubbles oozing a stream from out the head hole of a snail that mulled over a kosher line. Roll up the sleeves and make a quick move. A decisive incision. With size, came forcefulness; and ability. The finer points were lost to the razors edge that seemed to cut a deceptively simple path in the rose bush garden, still sweet and dripping with the first splashings' of a stubborn morning. There are times where the only way to deal with a stubborn morning is to kick it in the hip and demand for it to stand hands up. It'll spit out a sort of mirror; memories like a scratched CD. Do magnets really destroy cassette tapes? I'd be impressed. That'd be the problem. I woke up one morning hating the rain. I still couldn't hate my rain songs, or the pleasant, predictable sound the two made as they hobbled in loosely looped semi-circles, hand in hand. No, I could really only complain of how it soaked my shoes and made my feet cold, attached to my weak ankles, connected to my unimpressive shins. Solomann had all the shin in the world, yet no feet to stand on. He was easy to topple right over whenever he started acting like king stick bug. I was grateful to curse the rain and not drown.

And I learned from Solomann the secret of good luck, who learned from a scarecrow looking, dust covered 'slinger. He had a broken arm and no gun. What you do is you cut off a lock of a girls hair and tuck it safely in your pocket, where it stays. I only kept maybe a stray straggler or two, but I held them closer to my heart, somewhere between the back of my mouth and the bottom of my throat. Solomann and I will grow up to be the next Simon and Garfunkel, but we won't necessarily grow our hair into lopsided clouds or claw a six stringed pine-box to the derby. We will however take whatever ride will get us there, padding our luck on the way.

Wooooo. Very well done.

Such a complicated plot, but it holds to the theme. You just need to figure out how to pimp this story out. It deserves (In fact, needs) to win.

You have talent, my friend. Hope to see you toss another entry in.

If this is any indication of something more, we have another Writer contributing to ATS.

reply to post by LizardSlicks


Good job

I can tell you put in a good deal of effort.

S & F

reply to post by Druid42


Thank you so much, it had been a long time since I tried to write anything but became inspired last night and through the morning and the afternoon added and elaborated on it until I felt comfortable posting it amongst all the Writers of the site whose work I read and respect. I would love to obtain Writers status but either way will be contributing with you guys in the short stories forum whenever inspiration strikes. Your praise means a lot, especially since it was my first Short Story here and I was a bit tentative about posting it.



reply to post by SLAYER69


Thanks for reading and for the compliment. I enjoy your writings.

reply to post by LizardSlicks


Fantastic Writing.



Extremely well written. You have a way with words, my friend.

Wish I could star and flag this one, a couple of times............and this is one of the best I have read so far, if not "THE" best. Please consider on entering some more stories.

Again, Fantastic!

S&F

LizardSlicks
You wrote a great story i enjoyed the read i can tell you put your heart into writing this!! peace,sugarcookie1 F&S

reply to post by sonnny1


Thank you for your praise and encouragement. It was the first thing I'd written in a long time, but as long as I don't hit any dead ends, I intend to start writing consistently. Thanks to you and the rest of the Writers here, it's a good environment to show your work to others and get some feedback and a lot of kind words to keep the confidence up enough to stay at it.




reply to post by sugarcookie1


Thank you, I'm pleased that you liked it. I enjoyed your story as well

Well, here we go...that was excellent !!!!

You are very talented. Awesome entry !!

S&F.

reply to post by LizardSlicks


Wow. That's really good.

I first read it last night with the TV on in the background and I didn't really understand it. However, today I gave it my full attention and read it three times back to back, now I love it. There's so much imagery and so many powerful phrases in such a short piece.

reply to post by SonoftheSun


Thanks a lot!


reply to post by merkins


That makes me very happy. I'll be trying to write some more here.