Through the window of the Grounded Cafe, Ash noticed two men dressed in all black duck behind a blue minivan.
Ice ran down his spine.
His right arm shot to the Glock 10mm at his side.
Sucking in a breath he took a second look— They were gone. Black mist poured out from under the minivan and evaporated into the early morning air. He shook his head, closed his eyes.
Counting to ten, silently, Ash released the grip on his sidearm, which he now realized was a tape measure and not a Glock. Ash hadn’t carried a weapon regularly since he left the service (for this very reason). He kept them locked in a case until he was at the firing range.
He let his arm fall to his side, and wiped the sweat from his hands on his pant leg. Reality settled back onto his shoulders. A glimpse of himself in the glass window revealed a strong gray overtaking the sideburns. Other than a few wrinkles, he hadn’t aged that badly.
A woman in a purple hoodie walked by just outside the window, head buried in her smartphone. She bumped into Hank, the town’s crazy old homeless man who was headed the other direction. She didn’t even notice. He gave her a dirty look and kept walking the other way, mumbling to himself as usual.
The woman sat down at a table just outside the farthest window of the Cafe, he couldn’t make out her face, possibly one of the towns last tourists before the few stores left went into hibernation.
An orange Maple leaf lazily floated down to the table in front her. She brushed it aside, falling inside a pumpkin whose top had been kicked off. The leaf caught on fire from the candle inside, and slowly embered away. She didn’t take notice.
A white vapor swaddled her like a blanket. Hank stared at her from the corner of the building. A small green frog sat on his shoulder. The bottom half of the frog was a mist that disappeared into his spine. The frog’s red eyes stared at her, then at Ash, and it cocked its head to one side. Then it was gone, in a whisp of black fog that continued to waft around Hank as he walked away out of sight.
Ash didn’t see these creatures on every person every time. There were times where he would see only the mist, the town psychic called it an “aura”, when he explained it to her in a drunk confidence one day. She was a bit of a quack but he tried everything to at least understand it if he couldn’t get rid of it. The mists and creatures came from within each person and would go back into them, like human genie bottles. The Creatures weren’t all exactly alike, either.
“It’s called PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder”, his doctor had said.
They tried giving him a mountain of drugs to help him sleep and keep the delusions at a minimum. Nothing really helped. When the Federal government forced legalized medicinal THC on all the states as a human right, his Idaho doctor gave him the card he would need. He didn’t bother telling him that he’d already been growing it on his property for several years now. Maybe he’d start a small boutique now that it was legal in Idaho.
The magical medical folks managed to create a pill form with less hallucinogenic properties but twice the pain killing properties, but it cost too much and his VA insurance didn’t cover it yet, although the decision was before the Senate hearing committee for a decision, thanks to PTSD Health advocates.
Since Ash started growing it himself a few years ago, his sleep was more regular but the delusions came and went. He could still hear the diagnosis in his mind.
“As long as you are not a harm to yourself or others, you should be just fine. Think of it as an amusing distraction,” the doctor advised.
“Ash-”, Derek the Barist’ called his attention to the present. “Here you go, man. Extra large Java-Chip, almond milk, three shots, with peppermint and creme de mint, and no whip. I even through a few extra candied coffee beans on there for you.”
“Thanks, Derek”, Ash said as he turned from the front window and grabbed his coffee from the stand.
“Always my friend.” Derek kept smiling as he turned his attention to the next order.
Ash headed to his spot. The cool leather crunched and crinkled as he settled into his favorite corner chair. Up against a wall so nobody could surprise him. Within a quick few steps from three exit paths. Easy to be missed in the dark corner but positioned perfectly to scope the entire room at the same time. He couldn’t turn it off, it was like breathing, constantly taking in his environment.
A young man with a hoodie typing furiously at a keyboard.
A woman talking on the phone, failing to pacify the toddler in the stroller to her side.
Two men speaking in hushed tones at a table across the way.
Only a few tourists left this time of year so the cafe’ isn’t too busy.
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**Draw out this scene, paint a slower picture. Give him an interaction or something…**
[[ To enhance the middle of this scene and paint a more vivid picture of Ash's life and the town, consider adding elements that deepen the setting, character development, and foreshadowing. Here are some suggestions:]
[### Interaction with a Local Character
- **Friendly Banter with a Regular**: Introduce a character who's a regular at the cafe. This could be a light-hearted exchange that reveals more about Ash's personality and his relationship with the townspeople. For instance, a local shop owner who comes in for her daily coffee fix and shares a bit of town gossip with Ash, perhaps mentioning something odd happening in town lately.]
[### Detailed Observation of the Cafe
- **Vivid Description of the Environment**: Use descriptive language to portray the cafe’s atmosphere. Mention the aroma of coffee, the sound of milk being steamed, the clatter of dishes, or the eclectic decor that gives the cafe its unique character.]
[### Ash's Reflections
- **Internal Monologue**: Dive into Ash's thoughts. He could reflect on how much the town has changed, or hasn't, since he returned from service. This introspection could reveal his sense of disconnect with his surroundings and his struggle to find normalcy.]
[### Interaction with Derek, the Barista
- **Deeper Conversation with Derek**: Instead of a quick exchange, let Derek ask Ash how he's doing, showing concern. Ash might open up a bit, hinting at his struggles without getting too deep, showing his reluctance to share his true feelings.]
[### Introduction to Other Townspeople
- **Observation of Other Customers**: Expand on the descriptions of the other people in the cafe. Maybe Ash observes a couple arguing in hushed tones, a teenager looking stressed over schoolwork, or an elderly man reading a newspaper, providing a richer sense of community dynamics.]
[### Foreshadowing the Incident
- **Subtle Signs of Impending Trouble**: Before the car crash, include subtle hints that something is off. Maybe Ash hears distant sirens, notices people outside looking concerned, or feels an inexplicable sense of unease.]
[### Ash's Interaction with His Environment
- **Engagement with His Surroundings**: Show Ash doing something mundane yet revealing - like meticulously organizing his table, indicating his need for control and order in his life, or staring out the window lost in thought before snapping back to reality.]
[These additions can serve to slow down the narrative pace, allowing the reader to settle into the scene and get a better grasp of Ash's world and his state of mind. This approach will also build a stronger emotional connection between Ash and the reader, making the subsequent events more impactful.
darre, 11/26/2023 12:57 AM]]
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“That’s —“ the two men stopped talking and turned their heads.
Screeching tires—
Crunching metal—
Thud— the building shook slightly.
The small-town crowd that had been meandering between the few stores still open for the season began pooling just outside cafe window, blocking his view.
Ash took his coffee from the side table and headed out the front door.
The two men Ash had seen huddled in conversation across the cafe pushed past him on the way out the door to see what was happening. The taller muscle man bumped into his shoulder, hard.
“Watch it,” The man replied in a curt accent, East Coast of some kind, maybe New York or New Jersey.
Steam billowed from what was left of the front end of a 1990’s model silver Honda Civic. The car was T-boned into the side of a black Toyota pick-up. Both drivers had already gotten out of the vehicles. No one for Ash to rescue, so he started to walk past the crowd down the street. Too many people in one space for his taste, he decided to head home.
As he passed the scene, some movement caught his attention from the top of a third vehicle, an old truck.
“What do you care?” said Hank, the old man with a graying beard and brown plaid dress jacket who was climbing up onto the cab a pick-up. “Yeah— I know—” he yelled then her murmured something Ash couldn’t hear.
Great— He’s having another episode.
“Hank,” Ash said. “Hank, is that you old man? Why don’t you come down from there?”
Hank, the town Kook, as some called him, looked at Ash with a flicker of recognition which faded quickly.
From behind him, a dark mist rose from the bed of the truck.
Not again. Not now. Ash felt his chest tighten.
The mist grew until it towered over Hank as a father over his toddler. It grew arms with bulging muscles but the head of a bull, red eyes, and three white streaks across its chest.
Another smaller creature, akin to a hairless monkey, was coming out of Hank’s spine and whispering into his ear. Reacting to each murmur as though it were the other half of an invisible conversation.
The larger creature stared directly at Ash. It bent down and the smaller creature evaporated. The bull-man whispered into Hank’s ear and he too snapped his attention to Ash.
Then he leapt off the truck toward Ash, knocking down two men from the crowd on his way to the middle of the street.
Ash felt his feet sticking to the pavement as though they were glued. He raised one arm in defense as the old man tackled him, nails trashing at his throat.
“Jesus—,” Ash let out.
The old man stopped attacking, looking dazed. Ash needed no further opening. He struck the old man in the chin with his elbow and followed with a strike to the side of the neck with a knife hand.
Rolling out from under him, he hog-tied Hank with his own belt, then he sat on him with one knee to keep him from moving.
A single blurp from a cop car siren broke up the crowd and the Sheriff’s SUV pulled to stop next to them.
“You alright?” The Sheriff asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Danny,” Ash replied. “To be honest, I’m feeling a bit embarrassed. I’m loosing my touch to get tackled by an old man.”
They both laughed.
“I’ll take it from here,” Danny and his deputy took Hank and laid him in the back seat of the squad car.
“You need medical attention,” Danny said. “Your neck is all scratched to heck, man.”
“No,” Ash replied. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll take care of it at home.”
“Whatever you say,” Danny waved his deputy to drive Hank away, then turned to deal with the car accident.
Ash started to reach for the coffee that had miraculously survived the ordeal, when someone wearing purple leggings walked by and kicked the drink over, pouring it all over the pavement and the bottom edge of his jeans.
She was across the street before he could look up to see who she was.
“Great! Thanks, lady!” Ash yelled, as she turned a corner.
She either didn’t hear or pretended not to and kept walking away, into a small boutique that sells antiques and strange creations from locals.
“Could this day get any better?” Ash mumbled to himself as he walked down the street for home.
Shalom: Live Long and Prosper!
Darrell Wolfe (DG Wolfe)
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