Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Oh, how she missed home some days. She hadn’t returned in many years—at least ten. Once she started getting ill, she rebuffed Poet’s offerings to fly her there to visit her old family and friends. Was it shame? The fact she did not wish anyone to see that her memory was getting fuzzy around the edges.
Worst of all, she’d suffered so much in life, showing up would simply be a miserable experience of forced smiles and pretending to be something she no longer was. She’d made it—escaped poverty, got an education, married a great man and adopted a child, but now, all of that was gone. Yes, going home wasn’t possible… for it would remind her of all that she’d lost, while certain undesirable family members would surely gloat and roll about in glee at her misfortunes.
When the song was over, she heard a strange, buzzing noise, loud enough to tear her away from her thoughts.
She peered out of her bedroom window, but saw nothing more than Poet’s orchard trees, and bags of mulch. She slipped her fluffy white robe over her pink satin pajama shirt and pants, and padded down the steps. The cold wood shocked her senses and made her walk a bit faster, bouncing along like a ball. When she reached the front door, she caught sight of a huge, scary-looking truck. Like the one belonging to that tall man with the big skunk-striped beard. The skull’s eyes were a dull red now, its life drained as the truck sat parked, devoid of electrical juice.
Another buzzing sound.
She craned her head from the doorway—still nothing. Nobody.
Is that tall man here? Poet didn’t tell me he was coming. She looked down at her watch. Poet wasn’t due back from work for at least two hours. Slipping into a pair of navy blue rubber flip-flops that she kept at the door, she headed towards the side of the house where all the ruckus was coming from.
As she drew nearer, a rock and roll song was playing from what looked to be his phone sitting on a stack of tools. The big man with the beard was a towering tree. A frighteningly beautiful sight to behold. What did Poet say his name was? I don’t remember. It began with a ‘C’. No, a ‘K.’ He was shirtless, a silver chain swinging from his neck, and below his waist, dirty blue jeans and work boots. His skin was covered in a tapestry of black ink, more than she’d ever seen on someone’s backs, arms, and neck before. His arm and back muscles flexed and strained, shiny with sweat and taut with repetitive movement. She reached for her rope necklace and squeezed it. My word. Mukha naman siyang mabait.
“Heeey!!! Tall man! TAAAALLLL MAAAN!” she hollered over the buzz of his saw and the music, but he didn’t seem to hear her. She popped up and down, hand framing her mouth to amplify the sound, then began waving her arms.
Suddenly, he turned his gaze to her, a giant being rising to the sky with clouds for eyes. With a smirk, he turned off the chainsaw, making her feel like a mere grasshopper when he looked down at her.
“Well, good afternoon, Ms. Aunt Huni. Nice to see you.” He grinned from ear to ear.
“You’re making too much noise!”
“Well, I’m so sorry that I can’t put a muzzle on this here chainsaw. It’s well past noon, and I figured you’d be up and at ’em by now, considering that—”
“Does Poet know about you?”
“I reckon that she does, Ms. Aunt Huni, seein’ as how she allowed me in ’er house the other day, introduced me to you, quenched my thirst ’nd all.”
“No, not like dat! Does she know that you are here? Right now?!” She pointed indignantly at the freshly turned soil.
“Yes ma’am. I called ’er and told ’er I’d like to continue on with this here project today. She knows. She’ll be here in,” he glanced at his phone, the rock music still playing, “…a bit under two hours.”
Hmph. She crossed her arms and glared up at him. He looked mighty confident and pleased with himself.
“Well, I need to get back to work. I promise to not dally longer than necessary.” Turning, he started up the chainsaw again.
“LUNCH!” she screamed over the racket.
She could see his shoulders slump as if he were annoyed, and then he turned off the loud thing again.
“I didn’t catch that. What did you say, Ms. Aunt Huni?”
“Come in for lunch.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I had an apple and some peanut butter ’nd crackers on the way over here.”
“Dat’s not lunch. Dat’s a snack. Come. Now,” she snapped before marching back inside the house.
When she made it to the kitchen, she heard the front door open then close. She pulled out a plate to pile on leftovers from dinner the night before. The tall man entered the space, casting a shadow. He barely fit into the arched doorway. “Sit.” She pointed to one of the six dark wooden chairs at the table, on which sat Poet’s mail.