The Squirrel, The Scrap Builder, The Delivery-boy and The Cub

She had always been there. Nowhere in particular. Just there, standing at the side of one stranger our another. The Squirrel made a great acquaintance, seeming to scurry into your peripheral vision whenever the particular urge to drop a snarky comment occurs. As any stranger appears, she was common and bountiful in her emergence.

The Squirrel was ironically squirrelly. Her range of motion included only quick or lazy movements with no in between. The Squirrel’s attention span bobbed with every motion of her bushy tail.

We made conversion from opposite benches as she shifted in her seat ever so often. The Squirrel spoke of a certain social gathering, the same that I had met The Assassin. I expressed my weariness about said social gathering, recalling the events that occurred between The Assassin and I. I remember these events and The Squirrel’s questionable judgement as I receive a text from her two weeks later inviting me to the home of a very familiar person.

I was hesitant, worried not only about the people there, but about the amount of work that I still had to do for that day. But I accepted, for I had had no human interaction for days.

I was doubtful as I pulled in at the tiny abode. The Squirrel greeted me at the door as I trudged up with my textbooks and papers in my bag. Inside was two stairwells, one going up and one going down. The Squirrel led me up the one going up to a small room on the right.

The walls were blue, small parts covered by messily organized shelves and coat pegs. Several unlit candles littered the large worktables as well a various power tools. The bed in the corner was unmade, only one sheet on it. My eyes caught sight of a gallon bag on the work table next to it, full of a white power.

“It’s baking powder.” I heard. My attention turned to a figure behind a wide computer screen. His hair was milk chocolate curls. His face was full yet his jaw was slightly defined. He swiveled in his seat, playing with a piece of shaped scrap metal in his pudgy fingers. I heard a grunt from the corner of the bed. I do not remember whether it was one of amusement or protest. I looked to the fluffy, black blob that was indeed a human being.

The figure, cloaked in inky material looked up to meet my eyes. His great orbs were electric blue, standing out above his pale cheeks. He had childish features but still had an air of maturity about him. His black coat was baggy and faded, but reminded me of a young bear cub.

On the other side of the unmade bed was another boy with dark, tanned skin. He lounged in his baggy jeans, gnawing on a doughnut with cloudy eyes. The Squirrel motioned to a box of doughnuts on a lower worktable, telling me that the lounger had brought them.

I sat upon the mattress next to The Cub, chewing my doughnut with care. The Scrap Builder conversed with The Deliver-boy as he played a deafening game over the speakers. The Cub didn’t say much, not anything at all to be exact, as I conversed with The Squirrel.

Everyone shifted about the room, picking things us, putting them down, speaking about this and that. I learned about The Squirrel and her family, The Delivery-boy and his. The Cub never said much aside from a few snide comments. We wandered the house, raiding the pantry, watching the TV, and exploring the backyard.

The edge of the yard was covered in forest leading to the highway. Small patches of yellow grass littered the yard in random spaces as was the various machine and vehicle parts. But on the right side of the yard in particular was what looked to be a makeshift half shed of sorts. Behind said makeshift “wall” sat more worktables with a series of parts scattered about, from rusty to new. I remember a small tub of water with various tubes and bits spilling from it. Although, you had to hop past a few weight benches before you could reach anything. But what The Scrap Builder was most proud of was the thing sitting directly in the middle.

The moped did not look new. It did not look old. It just had that rebuilt look, like that old car you’re neighbour has been working on for quite some time. The Scrap Builder revved the engine a few times as I took to a different part of the yard.

“Do you still use this?” I asked The Scrap Builder, gesturing to a children’s electric car by a pile of wood. A length of grimy rope hung off the silver trunk and knotted around a children’s wagon. I assumed that it was an old toy or something to wheel parts here and there, but I was proved wrong in an instant. I did not see their faces or expressions but I blink and their pushing the contraption into the front yard. I didn’t bother asking to what was going on for I knew that I would see soon.

“Get in.” The Squirrel motioned to the wagon with a smirk.

“Wha-?” But before I could protest further, The Delivery Boy hops in. The Scrap Builder squeezed into the “driver’s seat” and they took off into the road. I went wide eyed as they bolted down the street. When a car came, I yelled to them, but they kept riding. One car after another they “drove” with, lapping the road in some crazy real life game of Mario Cart. The Squirrel recorded these events as if the two boys were animals in some kind of circus show.

When they pulled back in, The Scrap Builder exclaimed with crazy eyes, “We’re not going fast enough!” And so he broke out a bike and The Squirrel pushed out The Delivery Boy before he could even protest and off they went. I took The Squirrel’s job and recorded the insane events with her lime phone.

Surely a normal person wouldn’t stick around such careless antics. A careful person would surely leave. But I am quite abnormal.


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