The Child wandered through the small village. Houses had
been ram shacked; some burned down. Debris was all over the street and glass
glimmered in the twilight. Darkness was
slowly descending upon what must have been a striving little town. The Child stopped before a worn down, scaly,
painted house with no windows, no doors, and half of its roof caved in.
“Who lived in such a shack?” She said loudly.
“A family of eight,” said a voice behind her.
The Child screamed and turned to face the unknown voice.
“Who are you?” She
asked looking down at the pair of eyes observing her.
“The name’s Coon, my dear Child.”
“I’ve never talked to a raccoon before.” She said and began
to laugh. “Never even knew they could talk.”
“It’s Mr. Raccoon for you,” he said, hurt at her laughter, “And there’re lots of things that you don’t
know, Child.”
“Okay, Mr. Raccoon. Am I dreaming?
“No.”
“Then, what are you doing here?”
“Passing through.”
“Passing through? It’s twilight and too dark to travel.”
“Not for me, Child. I
travel at night.”
“Oh.”
“What are you doing here, Child?”
“I was hoping to find a place to sleep tonight.”
“Won’t find a place here.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you see the village is deserted?”
“Yes. I was wondering where all the people were.”
“Hiding in the mountains.”
“Why are they hiding?”
“Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding. I’m on my way to meet someone.”
“Well, then, I’ll be seeing you.”
“Don’t go, Mr. Raccoon. Don’t leave me alone.”
“But you’re meeting someone.”
“I am. At least, I hope so, but I don’t know when.”
“In that case, you’re welcome to travel along with me.”
“Okay, but I need to rest.”
“Not tonight, Child. If
you’re going with me, we’ll rest during the day.”
Shalom,
Pat Garcia
