Darkened Pane - Day 14

Part III: Sarcasm

Donny rose out of his hollowed-out tree stump. Breakfast on the bark, and he was gone. A drizzle of rain got slower as it approached the ground. Donny reached out and slapped some droplets, frozen like gelatinous icicles. For his efforts they splashed him. A gust of wind, and they were gone. Rain continued to move as rain does: lines of careening water, lasering to a point on the ground. Donny, befuddled, continued. He wanted to slap more rain.

A sign cried out to Donny from the high point on a middling wall, "Sarcasm Today." Below the sign creaked Windowman's thick, though inconsistent, glass pane. Behind the pane sat Windowman as if presiding over a hidden heap. Donny lost his balance, then regained it, then lost it again. He stumbled over to Windowman. Windowman's gaze tranced Donny. Feeling claustrophobic, Donny launched his pocket lint at Windowman. Windowman parried, and his cold stare forced Donny into broaching the issue.

"Ticketing today?" inquired Donny, as he glanced solemnly at a roll of white and peppered tickets at the front of Windowman's domain. They were crisp today, Donny thought. Their scent carried for yards - or at least as far as the straight lines go before they become wobbly and unfocused. Donny felt his stomach churn at the thought of waltzing back into the wrenching plodding of his day. "Free for the taking," Windowman retaliated. Donny lunged at the roll. The sarcasm sign came crashing down, turning into blue ice cubes that obstructed Donny's lunge. Donny met the ice cubes.

Peeling off the blue ice cubes, Donny looked back up where the sign was, and found that it still was - or a new sign had materialized. Windowman offered no explanation. "The sign... it doth mean?" Donny cautiously questioned. "Sign is null," was Windowman's stiff reply. Donny's legs felt like oak limbs, taking root in the valley of Windowman's gaze. The rain had not abated, nor had it reverted to its hypnotic slow drizzle. Donny felt a wave of sadness overtake him like a slow and deep river finally breaching a poorly built levee. His feet were an iron and a steel hammer, clamped to the ground side-by-side, slowly being dug in by a damning force of acceleration. Windowman's sign seemed very far above now.

Desperate, Donny yelled at Windowman. Windowman parried and yelled back. Donny parried. Donny, sliding words out of his mouth now, pushed out the phrase, "Ticketing what ticketing, I have need, have no use for lofty sign!" at Windowman. Windowman absorbed, slurped, then frothed, "Buy paper, then pepper, then roll, and have ticket!" Windowman's tone and pitch met the natural frequency of Donny's melancholia, and generated a great amplitude of disturbance within Donny. Donny retched, fell backward.

The rain continued to pinpoint Donny, but now the Sun had finally dissipated the damp mist in the sky, and Donny felt its radiation slowly steaming the morning's drip off of his person. His head lay in the mud, and felt detached from his body, which he vaguely sensed as being situated below his chin - and as being in a state of turmoil. By now, Donny was unsure of what had caused the turmoil or what the extent of it was. Donny felt sleep overtake him. First in his shoulders, which made themselves known to him again just before they relaxed and nestled themselves into the mud. Then in his head, which seemed to fall into the night, a soft and quiet nothing.

Donny awoke, and it was dark, no longer raining. There was no sign of Windowman, and no sign of Windowman's sign. Donny stood up, caked in now dry mud. He felt like a seed freshly sprouted. He jumped. A cool breeze made Donny feel as though he had feathers that were being ruffled and tickled. He then looked closer at Windowman's deserted pane, no heap in sight. It was the darkest thing Donny had ever seen. To Donny, it seemed more lifeless than the distant expanse of the clear night sky above - until Donny stepped one more step closer and saw his own face reflecting back at him. "Hello in there," Donny said.