Notes on Writing, Research and Editing

    Sasha ducked behind the trash bin and held her breath.  Why was she holding her breath?  She let it out.  She heard Blake calling for the other players moments later.  Time went by.  She heard a scream and a scuffle.  It sounded close by.  Was that – was that a man’s voice?  Sasha cowered down.  If the bin had been higher on its wheels, she would have crawled under it.  Someone kicked the bin and it lurched a little bit toward her.  Another scream followed.  Should she go out and find out what was going on? 

                Sasha leaned back against the hard concrete wall.  She drew her knees up to her chin.  She rocked. The scuffle went on for what seemed like forever. She would cry but she knew that someone would hear her. Instead, she aimed to make herself as small as possible and she tried to calm the thoughts going through her head, “My parents said we shouldn’t play in the alley. Where are the other kids? Why did we have to play hide and seek?”  The more she thought and tried to hide, the louder the commotion got until suddenly, when she thought she couldn’t get any smaller or any further into her panicked thoughts, silence burst into the air.

                Too afraid to leave her post, just yet, Sasha waited for what seemed like hours before coming out of her spot.  When she did, the shadows cast in the alleyway were darker, the sky held the fiery colors of a warm sunset, and the sounds of the city streets were coming to a bustle.   She crept along the wall, tiptoeing.  It was time to get home.  She called out for Blake, but there was no answer.  She called out for Simon and Jessica and everyone else.  No answer.  Maybe they heard the scuffle and ran home.  Her eyes began to tear up. 

                Sasha jumped.  Something perched on her shoulder, and it felt like a hand.  Before she could scream, a cloak wrapped around her and she felt like she was floating.

                When next she opened her eyes, Sasha was sitting in a field of purple grass.  Blake and the other children sat silent, some crying, some wide-eyed, some with their hands over their faces, some rocking – all oblivious of the fact that she had joined them.  She wanted to cry, and perhaps she should have cried, but she was so stunned by the purple grass and the green glowing sky that nothing would make sense right now.  Besides, she was the oldest, at twelve.  Twelve year olds don’t cry in front of their friends.

                Instead, she pulled at a blade of grass.  The grass was soft, fluffy, almost like a feather.  Each time she pulled, she thought she heard a tiny groan.  Timothy was crying.  It was probably him.  She pulled a final time with success, the blade came off in her hand.  She brought it up to her face to look at it.  Suddenly, lots of little sounds barraged her ears.  She looked around. “Did anyone else hear that?” 

                Blake motioned for her to be quiet and pointed at the purple grass.  It was waving back and forth as if the wind were blowing it, but there was no wind.  Each time it hit up against her skin, it stung a little bit.  Sasha tried to stand up, but each time she did, she became so dizzy she thought she might pass out.  She looked to her right.  Simon and Jessica were staring behind her, their eyes wide.  When she turned her head to the left, she saw a small man, at least ten thousand years old – he looked more like a tortoise than a man – with a black cloak.  His blue eyes shone out from a pale, wrinkled face.  He had maybe five hairs on his head.

                “I’m Indier Gray,” he said, “and I wouldn’t pull at the Fulz anymore if I were you.  They have a nasty sting.”  He turned from the children and pulled the hood of the cloak up over his head.  After a moment, he disappeared, cloak and all.

TBC

"Indier Gray" drawing @2009 Stan Levine