POSTS
Good day
By hisham
“Good stuff,” he said, not looking at anyone in particular. “All I want is good stuff. Nothing more, nothing less. I want my little bit of sweet, and to have it more than the bitter. Way more.”
Jeffrey Mistlethorpe had not yet realized the calamity of the situation he was in. It was the sort of calamity that takes time to dawn on its victim. A calamity of proportions so great that only its shadow was seen by Jeffrey. It loomed over his frazzled head. Poor he.
“Will you look at that fellow over there. Poor thing he is if you ask me,” an elderly woman said.
“Oh, mother, he’s just the way he wants to be. It’s young folks these days. They do things that you or I would never understand.”
And so time passed: hours, days, weeks, months; and all that Jeffrey did was walk under the shadow of this great calamity. The mother of all calamities.
He looked up. “That’s it. I want sunshine. I really do. I want that damn cloud to dissipate, to melt away, to vaporize out of my life once and for all.”
He took a few steps by the river Mistlethorpe, named after his great-great-grandfather, founder of Mistleville. A crackling, thunderous, booming sound rained down.
“Oh, my,” Jeffrey said as the sound waves knocked him over.
Jeffrey awoke to find himself as he was by the river Mistlethorpe. Yet something was different. A gentle, calming warmth penetrated his skin. Squinting, he looked at the sunlight that surrounded him. He stood up and patted his clothes clean.
“Good stuff,” he said. He smiled from ear-to-ear, his gleaming whites glinting in the sun.
With every morning, Jeffrey’s days got sunnier. His demeanor took one of gentle grace that allowed him to sail through all the tumultuousness that life tossed his way.
“Will you look at that fellow over there,” an elderly woman said.
“Oh, mother, he’s just having a good day.”
“I’d say.”