On a mural painted covering a small section of stone wall; a brown haired woman’s face, inside a white rabbit suit, casts a shadow, looking at an open pendulum timepiece, in balance, hanging from flowering fruits over, the Bird’s of Paradise.
I snapped a photo.
From behind me a woman steps past me and says randomly,
“hava ah bea lested day muy frend.” Her stare was long, too long, and for too many steps. In those steps the bottle in her hand answered my struck curiosity by the length of time in her stare. In her world, her words, have a blessed day, likely came out clean, crisp, and quick. In time she’ll regain her cognizance.
I didn’t have time to write. I wanted to. There was a peculiar orange haze rising in the distance. I wondered what it was.
I looked at my device, it read, 20:18 and then ticked 20:19.
Suddenly, blurring passed the mural.
A young man runs with confidence holding a beeper, beeping. His rubber souled shoes gripped each step with meaning. He didn’t sidestep passing the slow moving woman.
His other hand, in stride, reaches into his breast pocket bringing out a ring of keys.
His steps are fast. His unashamed flapping cheeks display his determination. The only thing that existed was what was in his immediate path.
The man’s pace covers thirty meters in a few seconds. He purposefully strides to a locked gate.
He stops, inserts a key into the gate’s lock and pushes it open in a well practiced seamless manoeuvre.
His urgency is very present.
He slams the gate behind him shut while flipping to another key on his ring.
His fingers, instinctively, dance to another key, another lock, and swiftly he opens the entry door into Glastonbury’s Fire Department.
Less than a minute later, one of three large station doors began rolling up.
An engine starts.
The running man, now accompanied by his team in the engine, accelerate out of the holding garage a short distance. He, now operating the engine looks left, then right. His hand bumps the interior roof of the engine compartment and back to the turning steering wheel.
A siren sounds.
They enter the street.
The engine, full of men, speed away.
I looked at my device,
it read 20:20.
I thought to make a wish,
but I missed it’s time.
The time ticked to 20:21.
--END--
Thank you for reading my, maybe shortest, installment of “writing what’s goin on around me.”
This marks my Twenty Second. 22nd
Author note: I heard from some locals that a fireman had lost his life recently during his duties. I can’t confirm who or when, but the reports were within a day that I observed this running man, and his team, speed off.
“Something” put me right where I was in that moment. I wrote what I observed. I’m rarely ever out and about writing at that time. I may be writing inside, but not, outside.
This is my way to acknowledge a man, who I never met, lose his life putting flames out.
This might be your shortest, but it’s one of the most powerful. Keep writing these small windows into life. They matter more than you probably know.