By Natasha Blade
Note: this story contains mentioning of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, The Princess Bride, Star Wars and other stories. So if you haven’t read/watched all of these (particularly The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe), go do so then come back and read You killed Logic!!
Prologue
You meet me.
I woke up suddenly. I couldn’t breathe.
There was a pillow pressed into my face . . . Someone was trying to suffocated me!
I kicked out and . . . fell out of bed.
I tried to stand up but the blankets wrapped around me . . . well they didn’t help me much.
So instead I flayed out wildly while screeching at the top of my lungs (not every day I get to that, probably because my sister doesn’t want to hear it).
My screams must have scared my attacker away because when I finally sat up there was no one around.
I tried (again) to stand up, but, either because I was so tired or because I had almost been suffocated (I tend to lean toward the latter) I never made it and was asleep (or unconfused!) before I hit the floor. (or conked out. You could say conked out)
It was several hours before I was conscious of anything at all.
What had happened last night? The only thing I could remember was someone pressing a pillow against my face. . .
“I’m dead.” I blinked. Could that be true? From what I could remember it was a logical conclusion. That was good; logical things are always good. I might say this because me being Logic makes me bias but. . .
Yes, by the way, I did say (okay, it was closer to thinking it, but, give me a little slack) I’m Logic. It’s not just a name like ‘Peter’ , it’s a title. I. Am. Logic. My sister is Common Sense. (though at the moment she’s gone. No idea why. She probably told me but if so, I forgot.) Now back to me being dead. . .
There is no other logical explanation. I’m obviously dead. Last night someone snuck into my room and smothered me. I wonder who?
I got up and made my way downstairs. Can ghosts eat? (I was assuming that I was a ghost. What else could I locicaly be?) I made my way to the kitchen, intending to find out.
It turns out ghosts can eat.
I ate six scrambled eggs, four slices of bacon, half a gallon of orange juice (okay, that I drank), seven unfrozen waffles (I guess I should call them ‘thawed’ waffles, but they weren’t frozen. Very Logical.), and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, both with caviar (not as bad as people make it out to be).
When I finished my breakfast I set out to see what ghost did for. . . I don’t know. Fun? Well, whatever. I was going to do something.
Something Logical. Logically fun.
Chapter One
I figure out what to do. Maybe.
I skipped along (okay, ‘skipped’ probably isn’t quite the right word for what I was doing. I was really doing something like skipping. Never mind, I’ll just leave that alone.)
I skipped along (ahem!), making my way into the closest town (as close as any human town can be to where I live. Took some ‘skipping’ to get there). When I got there it seemed that everyone in the city was up (okay, I shouldn’t have said town, seeing it’s really a city. So sue me. [if you can!]), people were everywhere. What were all these people doing up? (I bet it’s because they all own cars and can’t resist driving them at all hours of the day and night) It wasn’t even six in the morning! (I, being a ghost, am aloud to be up at any time, day or night, for however long I want.)
I wandered along the side of the road. No one seemed to be able to see me. (most people, normally, would say this was proof that they were dead and ghost. I don’t consider this proof, as, even when I was alive, most people couldn’t see me. What would be solid proof, proving that I’m dead? Must think on that.)
I wondered if I could go through living things. (when I was alive I could go through some things but not others. Living things, such as people, cats, squids [speaking from personal experience here], lions, squirrels, rats, mice, deer, horses and such things. Except plants. I can go through plants. Doesn’t make sense. Maybe instead it’s logical. . . ?) I decided not to try.
It was interesting that for the amount of people up there were very few stores open. (there were lots of stores) I decided to go into one of the open stores. It was a book store.
I walked through the door, not wanting to alert anyone of the presence of a ghost. No one was at the counter. I wandered around and eventually found myself in the poetry section. I ran my fingers along the books and eventually chose one. I opened it randomly, somewhere near the end, and read.
If the world was crazy, you know what I’d eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or bicycle pie,
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,
An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast,
A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies,
And that’s what I’d eat if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I’d wear?
A chocolate suit and a tie of eclair,
Some marshmallow earmuffs, some licorice shoes,
And I’d read a paper of peppermint news.
I’d call the boys “Suzy” and I’d call the girls “Harry,”
I’d talk through my ears, and I always would carry
A paper umbrella for when it grew hazy
To keep in the rain, if the world was crazy.
If the world was crazy, you know what I’d do?
I’d walk on the ocean and swim in my shoe,
I’d fly through the ground and I’d skip through the air,
I’d run down the bathtub and bathe on the stair.
When I met someone I’d say “G’bye, Joe,”
And when I was leaving–– then I’d say “Hello.”
And the greatest of men would be silly and lazy
So I would be king . . . if the world was crazy.
I closed the book* with a snap. The poem had struck a chord. The author was assuming that the world wasn’t already crazy. (according to some people it is, but their opinion doesn’t count at the moment) The world wasn’t crazy. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Not yet. But according to simple logic the world will quickly go crazy if ever logic ceases to exist, dies, or just leaves. In this case I’m dead, thus the world will soon be crazy.
I can’t live (– er, die, be dead. Whatever.) in a crazy world. It’s the logic in me. (I can’t help it, you’ll just have to deal with it.) There’s still Common Sense but she can’t do both her job and mine. Just not possible.
So I decided to do my best to continue being my own voice; the voice of Logic.
Not sure how I’m going to do it, seeing how I’m dead and all.
I left the book store and wandered along, thinking about my ‘quest’. (I probably shouldn’t think, or talk, about it being my quest [parentheses or no] as it is [was] my job for thousands of years and even if I’m dead I’m a ghost and it should still be my job.) I don’t think my presence will do (when I was alive all it would take [usually] was my presence and people would start being logical.), I will need to speak and do something. But can anyone hear me? (when I was alive I never had to think about things like this, I already knew it from years of practice. [though, as I have already said, I could only ever be seen by some people and it was the same when I spoke; only some people could hear me [when I spoke to them and I could be heard by some humans all the time {and be heard by them} but, half of the people who heard me pretended what they were really hearing themselves] Sorry for all the parentheses, they’ve got to be rather annoying)
The best thing to do (probably) was to go to the most illogical people and speak (loudly, very loudly) to them, with the voice of Logic.
Where would I find the most illogical people in the world?
Well, until I figure that out I’ll just continue what I was doing. (whether that is being Logic in general or having logical fun [okay, that is a stupid line and I shouldn’t use it again], I don’t know.)
I’ll just not think about it, easier that way.
I decided that, since it was a nice day, that I’d go to the zoo. It took some searching to find it.
(While searching I found something very illogical. There was street called ‘Oak street’. It was lined with pine trees. [I would have just ignored it, that was, if that was all. But it wasn’t.] The street intersecting Oak street was Pine street. Lined with oak trees.
Why? Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why?
As Logic, it was my responsibility and I fixed the mistake. Oak street is now lined with oaks, not pines, and Pine street is lined with pines, not a single oak tree.)
At the zoo nobody saw me. (At least, not that I could tell. I know the zoo keepers at the hippopotamus cage didn’t see me, of else I’d be kicked out of the zoo [or whatever happens to people
([{*The book was Where the sidewalk ends, by Shel Silverstein and the poem: If the world was crazy. Both the author, the book and the poem are real. Naomi didn’t make them up.}])
who walk through hippopotamus proof walls and into zoos] So, as I was saying. . .)
At the zoo nobody saw me. By ‘nobody’ I mean no human saw me. Most of the animals could see me. Especially the cat.
You see, there was a cat, a stray cat. Somehow it got into the zoo and
Chapter Two
Numbers and addresses.
After the zoo I wandered in a mall till about five in the afternoon (or evening), then I found myself (after some more wandering, I’ve been doing a lot of that) in a park. (near where the people live. There should be a name for those sections of a city where people live and a different name for the parts full of shops, stores, factories, restaurants, and gas stations. It would be logical to have names like that.)
There was only one person in the park. She was sitting on a bench making a card. I strolled over to her and looked over her shoulder.
It was an odd card. The picture on the card was a big wardrobe in an otherwise empty room. (the room was blue.) Falling out of the wardrobe were four children, two girls, two boys. They looked rather surprised to coming out.
“What do you think of it?”
It took a moment for me to realize that she was talking t me. “Huh?” I said.
She smiled. “I asked what you thought of my card. It’s a greeting card. I was going to write ‘Welcome Back’ on it. What do you think?”
I blinked. “You can see me?”
She turned to look directly at me. “Yes, I can see you. Why wouldn’t I be able to?”
“Well,” I said slowly. “I’m dead, maybe also a ghost, and I didn’t think people could see ghosts.”
“Oh.”It was her turn to blink. “Well I’m fairly sure I can see you.”
There was a moment of silence then the girl asked with, a slight frown. “Are you sure you’re dead and not just avoiding answering my question?”
I straitened up, insulted. “Of course I’m not avoiding the question! I was genuinely surprised you could see me.”
“Oh. Alright then. What do you think of my card?”
“Wonderful art work, but I don’t understand how it’s a greeting card.”
“Have you ever read The Chronicles of Narnia? Specifically the second book, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe?”
I shook my head. I had never even heard of them.
“Well in the The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe four children, Peter, Susan, Edmond, and Lucy, go through a magical wardrobe that leads to a magical world. The country they come through to is called Narnia. The four of them, with the help of Aslan, the son of the emperor over the sea. He’s a lion. Well, with Aslan’s help they free Narnia from the White witch (and the eternal winter she cast on Narnia she one hundred years ago. The witch calls herself the queen of Narnia, but she couldn’t really be the queen as she wasn’t a daughter of Eve. The sons and daughters of Adam and Eve are humans from our world. To learn more about that you must read the first book, The Magicians Nephew.) After defeating the White witch Peter, Susan, Edmond, and Lucy become the queens and kings of Narnia. (Peter being the high king, seeing he was the oldest) They all grew up and forgot about there life in our world. Then years later, while hunting the white stag, they came across the lamp post and they think they recognize it. They keep going, beyond the post and suddenly they find themselves falling through the wardrobe, and they find out that no time had passed in our world.
“The card is a picture of them coming back into our world. So what do you think?”
“Um…” I blinked. She hadn’t even stopped for a breath. “What if the person getting the card hasn’t read the book?”
“I’ll make sure the person I give it to has read the book.”
“Then it’s fine.” I said. Then, not to hurt her feelings. “Fine as in nice; really nice.”
She gave me a big smile. “Thanks.”
“What’s your name?” I asked because I was fairly sure that was the polite thing to do.
“Quierra Callidapaeillee. What’s yours?”
“Uh, Logic. My name is Logic.”
“Logic, you say? That’s an interesting name. Did you say you’re a ghost?”
“Yes. I did. Why?”
“Do you read Shakespeare?”
“No, I don’t. Why?”
“Well, in one of his plays one of the ghosts, well, actually, the only ghost in that play. So the ghost says, right after he died, ‘Now my soul hath elbow room.’ and I thought that’d be cool to be able to say. But I’m not sure who you could say it to.”
I shrugged. Why I would want to say it was beyond me. I hadn’t even read Shakespeare, whoever he was.
“Oh! Look at the time! I really should be going. Nice meeting you, Logic. Goodbye.” With that Quierra Callidappaeillee got up and left.
What an odd name. I wondered if she had made it up. If she had, I would never know.
Alexandre-Randell, the city I was wandering around in (very long name. I wonder if it was named after anyone. And if so, with a name like that, I pity them), certainly had some odd street names. Schulyer, Ulissus, Bouvier, Vonnegut, Hallelujah Hill (not on a hill at all), Library Lane (not a single library on it. Very illogical. I would have put the Library Lane sign on the street with the library except I haven’t found the library.), Diamond, Chesskwana, Willow, Highland Road, and then there were the numbered streets. Why would anyone give a street a number as it’s name? How would they like if I called them by numbers and they had to remember what number as theirs? Not to mention they were very unimaginative names like 7th St. (street), 3rd Cir. (circle), 5th Ave.(avenue) and 14th Forest. (the closest one to acceptable that I saw, and were there really that many streets called Forest? 14Th Forest was the only one that I saw with ‘Forest’ in it’s name. Who on earth comes up with these names?) I understand the numbered houses (though I still don’t like them. Numbers are very silly and annoying.), you can’t very well have an address like Slavic house Chestnut street Alexandre-Randell, CJ 58656 (area codes are also annoying) now can you? No, of course not! But they still have addresses like 4777 NE 18th HY Alexandre-Randell, CJ 58656. Just plain silly.
And, by the way, who invented numbers?
And why?
Chapter Three
Cloaks are cool.
It was about ten at night and it was getting dark. I was wandering around (again) and I saw a group of young persons. (I hesitate to call them teens as some of them may have been in their [early] twenties) They were all dressed up. One young man was dressed as The Man in Black from The Princess Bride (I do read some), there was another dressed as a pirate (those black ‘piratey’ pants tucked into high black boots, a red sash, cutlass [I’m willing to bet it was real] that white white long sleeved shirt with poofy sleeves that all ‘traditional’ pirates seem to wear, a black vest, and a black, three cornered hat), one person (not sure if they were a girl or boy) was dressed as a Jedi knight (no one was dressed as a Sith lord) (they had the tunic, boots, light saber, cloak, and padawan braid), a ninja (complete with those Japanese sword things and throwing knives), and there was another person all in black. (black pants [not jeans or slacks], long sleeved black dress shirt, black hair, and a black cape).
I was utterly jealous.
I mean, capes are so cool. Especially black ones.
I stared at the library. I had found it! Now I could move the ‘Library Lane’ sign!
I sighed, sitting down. Now Library Lane, Oak street, and Pine street were in order, but what about all the other streets? Hallelujah Hill, Willow, 3rd Cir. , and 14th Forest? They were all misnamed.
Could I fix them as well?
YES! I jumped up. I could.
That was what I would do. I would make all the street names in Alexandre-Randell match the street they were on! A wide smile spread across my face.
I would make the names logically match where they were. (and after I’m finished with that I can work on the names of the stores.)
This could be fun!
First of all I would need tools. Green paint the same color as the street signs, metal (the same type as the street signs are made of), a hammer (‘borrowed’ someone else’s hammer when I fixed the Pine/Oak street names), nails (the same type as attach the signs to the sign posts), posts (like the sign posts), black paint, paint brushes, and a shovel. To get any of these things I either have to steal them or get money to buy them. (How I’d get the money is also a good question. Either steal it, earn it [which I can’t do seeing I’m invisible to most people. That is also a problem if I try buying the tools], or I could just get lucky and find some laying around) I also need a place to store all theses things.
I found several twenties (about fifteen) on the ground. (they were in an envelope. They will be very useful. I also found [in the envelope] a credit card. I wonder how you use one?) This should be enough to start my collection of tools.
With the money (and the credit card, but I don’t count it seeing I can’t use it) I went to a hardware store. (after studying street signs) First I bought the metal, paint, poles, and paint brushes. I didn’t have a problem buying them. The cashier, Silvanus Watergate, could see me and taught me how to use the credit card. (I pretended to have just received it [which I had]) After he taught me how to use the credit card I went back and bought everything else I had put on the list.
Who invented credit cards? Someone in debt I bet.
I started out with moving the ‘Library Lane’ sign onto the street with the library. Then I went to work on the ‘3rd Cir.’ problem.
First I went and found three streets that go in a circle.* Then I started making some street signs.
([{*called ’round abouts’}])
Using the sign that said ‘3rd Cir.’ I made two copies of it, except one said ‘2rd Cir.’ and the other one said ‘1st Cir.’
Then I attached them to sign posts and placed one at each circular street. (the ‘3rd Cir.’ sign I also placed at one of the streets, attached to clock in the little garden thing in the middle of the street. [I left the post it was originally attached to in it’s place. I’ll put a new sign there later]
That took most of the better part of the day. What should the street that used to be called 3rd Circle be named?
I found a nice hill with a church on it and decided to make it ‘Hallelujah Hill’. I moved the sign there and changed (with black paint) the churches name to Hallelujah Church.
Fit rather well I thought.
Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe I stained at the sign advertising movies playing this week. Where had I heard that name before?
Oh yes! Quierra Callidappaeillee’s card had been about The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
I looked at the sign again. The movie was playing tonight, in fact. . .
I walked into the theater. I was going to watch The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
I eventually got to watch The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but it took a while. Before I managed to watch it I saw several other movies (at least most of them. I missed a few parts, but they weren’t important), all. . . What are they called? Ah yes, ‘Westerns’ It was rather odd, but the bits I seemed to see most often were where the men dressed in black hats and had bandannas over the lower parts of their faces came in and robbed the bank. I learned a lot watching them. I figure that if I ever need to rob a bank I’ll know how.
It’s amazing what you can learn from movies.
Why are they called ‘movies’? It’s not like they walk around.
Chapter Four
Credit cards and yellow smiley faces are stupid.
Pilot Point St. That would have to be moved to where the airport was. I reached up and started prying the sign off the post. I was getting rather good at this prying stuff.
I wouldn’t need to take the sign from the airport, I had already done that. It had been some odd, long name with lots of numbers. Actually, it was all numbers.
This street had a small orchard of cherry trees so I would name it Cherry St.
When I got back to the hardware store I went to check my supplies (I stored all my tools and such things near the hardware store. You do not need to know where).
R.O.U.S.’s! I was running low, I’d have to buy more soon. With the stupid credit card.
The next day I went into the store (the hardware one), selected the items for logicilizing the city, and went up to the counter to pay (with the credit card).
Low and behold when I tried to pay with the card. . .
“Um, Mr. Montoya, (that was the name of whoever really owned the card, which I find cool considering that my favorite character from The Princess Bride has that name)” Silvanus said (Silvanus, Silvanus Watergate, He’s the cashier) “This credit card is canceled.”
“Canceled?” I said, stupidly. “What do you mean?”
“Canceled, as in it can’t be used.”
“Oh!” I said as if I understood (which I didn’t) “I remember now. I told” I frantically searched for a name. “Lucy to cancel it and, apparently, I totally forgot.” I hoped that I sounded convincing enough. When searching for a name the first one that popped to mind was Common Sense, and I almost said it to!
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the twenties (they were being saved for emergency. Though normally I wouldn’t consider a credit card being important enough to be considered an emergency. This time I would, seeing if I didn’t pay I would no longer be able to make the city logical in that way.).
“Will these pay for it?”
Silvanus nodded and excepted the money.
How was I going to buy more supplies if I was all out of money?
Cowboy boots caught my eyes and an idea blasted it’s way into my head.
I could rob a bank. In all the western movies (still haven’t figured out why they call them that, but I haven’t really worked on it. Maybe later.) there is a bank that gets robbed (or a stage coach. Something was always getting robbed by the outlaws) and I figured that I could do it and get away (the outlaws were always getting caught before they got out of town and it was always by the person with the white hat. Why a white hat? That is very illogical, a white hat should have been gray by then because of all the dust. And while I’m on the subject of hats, why are there bullet holes in all the bad guys hats [to show they’re tough, I’m guessing] and never a single one in the good guys hat. And why are they ‘good guys’? They kill people to.
Sorry. I’ll get back on track.)
A costume. I need a costume. A cool costume.
I raided a (kids) theater and borrowed everything I needed. A black hat, a black bandanna, gun holsters, guns, black (cowboy) boots, and black jeans.
After dressing in my costume I went in search of a bank. When I finally found one I was rather annoyed to discover the street it was on was named ‘Mountain Road’ Why?
With some difficulty I removed the sign (I had brought my screwdriver along, but a hammer did a better job at it) and tucked it under my arm (no difficulty there).
I walked into the bank and– okay. How am I supposed to rob a bank? In the westerns they always step into the bankers face and say “This is a hold up. Give me all your money.” I don’t think anyone could even see me.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I was almost ready to back out and give up when I saw the sign. It was a big yellow sign (smiley face and all) that announced, without the slightest sign or hint of embarrassment or blush, “Smile! You’re on camera!”
Why, why, why, why, why, why, why ,why, why?!
Without the slightest hesitation I practically ran over to the sign and started removing IT. IT was about half off when one of the bank staff came over to me (guess I was wrong about no one being able to see me). He wasn’t happy.
“What do you think you’re doing?! That’s illegal!” Everyone else in the bank stared as he tried pulling me away from the sign (it was still grinning like a maniac. I hate that grin.)
“I’m – I’m taking this sign down, is that not obvious?”
“You can’t take that sign! It’s–”
I interrupted him (I do not feel guilty. Some people need to be interrupted) “I have permission to take it. It’s my job to remove everything illogical in this bank.”
“Everything illogical. . ! I don’t believe a word of it. And why are you dressed like that?”
I didn’t feel like answering him. Instead I pushed him away and lunged for the sign, screwdriver at the ready.
Jaewon Rasool (that was his name, at least that was what his name tag claimed) grabbed at me and a pushing match ensued. One of Jaewons co-workers stepped forward and I shoved Rasool into him. They both fell to the ground and I used this to my advantage (as much as I could), but just I was about to grab the sign and run a woman walked in, saw us and shrieked.
“What on earth is going on!”
Most everyone (everyone but Jaewon and I, Jaewon had just struggled back to his feet and was going for me again) looked over to-ward her.
“What do you mean, miss Creeolshaln?” I’m not sure who said this (I was busy trying to take the sign down while being tackled, NOT easy.).
The woman almost shrieked again. “What do you mean? There are two men fighting over a sign in the middle of the bank!”
I let go of my screwdriver when Rasool grabbed for it and it rolled across the floor. A young woman tripped over it and fell against a security guard, causing him to meet the floor with (probably) more force than he wanted to. To avoid being hit by the guard a teenager (or so they seemed to be) jumped backwards and. . .
Domino effect and shouts (shouts, screams, shrieks, bellows, wailing’s, and many other means of loud, annoying noises) ensued.
Using the convenient chaos I ripped the sign down, grabbed my screwdriver (I got kicked in the face for my efforts) and fled the bank, my hat flying off.
This ghost business is harder than I thought.
I returned the costume (except the hat, I wasn’t going back for the hat) to the theater and hurried to the hardware store, around back, and to where I stored my supplies. There I plopped down and was annoyed with myself. I had messed up the bank robbery, now how was I going to get money to make the city logical?
I kicked the yellow smiley face sign. Who had invented it? Someone stupid was probably the safest bet.
Looking at the sign an idea slowly came to mind. What if. . .
I’d better get started.
I started by creating two big (and I mean BIG) bright orange signs with the words (in glow-in-the- dark green paint) “Smile! This city is now logical.”
Wonderful, isn’t it?
On the other side I drew (in black and glow-in-the-dark green paint) a big smiley face. (this one much better that the one from the yellow bank sign)
Taking these signs and the ‘Mountain Road’ (and copies of it) sign, I made my way to Alexandre-Randell’s East entrance.
I finished nailing the ‘Smile! this city is now logical.’ sign right above the ‘Welcome to Alexandre-Randell’ sign. Perfect job!
I turned around and saw two young men walking toward me, one with black, spiky hair and the other (slightly shorter) one had brown hair.
“Hello!” said the taller and thinner one. Hmm. More people who could see me. The number just kept growing.
“Hello to you too!” I gave them a big grin. “How are you?”
“We’re well.” (it was the black haired one) “Just out of curiosity, what are you doing?”
“Me?” I looked at the street signs I was holding. “Oh, I’m fixing the street names. What are you doing?”
The other one, with brown hair muttered something and I think I caught the word ‘kidnapee’.
The black haired one glared at him and said “What my friend meant to say was that our car broke down, so we had to walk to town. He’s just being funny. It’s not amusing.”
I nodded, in sympathy of the brown haired one. No one ever got my jokes either.
“Well I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t own a car, and I’m heading out of Alexandre-Randell, and into the mountains.”
“To use those signs?”
“Yes. You see, it’s very logical that the road going into the mountains be named ‘Mountain Road’ “
“Oookay.” said the brown haired one, dragging the word out. ” . . . uh . . . know any good libraries in town?”
I shrugged. “The only library I know about is on ‘Library Lane’. No idea if it’s good or not.”
“Library Lane, huh . . . he (meaning the brown haired one) trailed off and stared at the sign announcing that Alexandre-Randell was logical.
“Mountain Road and Library Lane? Logicality? Who are you?”
“I’m Logic.” I straitened up slightly. “And I am locilizing this city; starting with the street signs. You will never meet any city more logical.” I beamed at them.
They started whispering amongst themselves (love that word ‘amongst’) Very rude.
“What are you talking about? Or more correctly, what are you whispering about? It’s rude to whisper.” I half glared at them.
“Oh I was just telling Winchester that I like you.” said the black haired one, smiling.
“Thank you. I like myself to.”
“Well that’s good.” he continued, “Is life kind to the likes of you?”
The one named after a gun spoke to the other one. “You can stand here talking to him as long as you like. I am heading into town. I will meet you where we were planning to stop from the beginning.” then he walked off.
I looked after the retreating figure, then turned back to the black haired man. “Do you have money?”
He laughed and said “Sure! Anything for someone who made me laugh. How much do you need?”
Well, I probably needed three buckets of paint, I calculated silently, and it was about fifteen dollars and then they charge extra for some reason, so . . . What’s fifteen times three? “Lets say fifty dollars.”
“Okay, then.” he whipped out his wallet, pulled out a dollar bill and handed it to me. “Don’t go and spend it all in one place.”
Ha! I thought as I received the bill (it was a fifty dollar bill) Considering the prices at the hardware store, that’s exactly what I’ll end up doing!
“Thank you. You should probably catch up with your friend.”
“Oh no!” he said and raced off.
“Goodbye.” I called after him, but I don’t think he heard me. I shrugged and started walking toward the mountains.
I carefully removed the sign (the one naming the road going into the mountains, it was a number something like 1577th HWY. Really stupi- illogical.) and replaced it the one saying ‘Mountain Road‘ Then, following the road, every sign I came across saying ‘1577th HWY.’ I replaced with a ‘Mountain Road.’ sign.
I had just replaced the third sign when I saw the cat. It was the one from the zoo.
“Hello. Do you have a name?” The cat just kept walking and since it was going the same way I was, I followed it.
“Well, if you don’t have a name I’ll have to give you a name. What do you think of Stormagedon? No? Well what about Nashashuk? Fallon? Mawkish? Don’t blame you about on that one, I don’t think it’s even a name. Do you like Zaveara? Zbrzezniak? Nikolaj? Sabre? Czerny? Quentin? Dionysius? Tagliavini? Krzystof? Stasierowiski? To exotic? To . . . plain?”
I sighed. A name for the cat. Well . . . maybe . . . “Titanic?”
I’m not sure where it came from, but it seemed t fit. “Titanic you will be.”
Chapter Five
Blue paint and odd headlines.
Blue. The fire hydrant was blue. Why? Who had painted it blue?
“Meow.”
“Oh, hello Titanic.” I reached down and pet her. “Why do you think the hydrant’s blue? And where did you go yesterday?”
Titanic didn’t answer, she just sat there (at my feet) and stared forward (at the hydrant I think. Not sure).
But blue. . . Why. . . ?
“Oh. OH!” I repeated, excitedly hopping from one foot to the other. (this caused Titanic to jump away from me) “Water is blue (well, no really but it is perceived to be blue, at least by most people) and fire hydrants (why fire hydrant? I mean, it gives water) and that is exactly my point. It gives water and water is blue.
“Oh!” a grin splattered it’s self on my face as I spun around on one foot (looking absolutely ridiculous, I’m sure) “I’ll need lots of blue paint!”
I looked over my selection of blue paints; a pale blue, a dark blue, a navy blue, a denim blue, a pacific blue, indigo, and a bright day glow blue.
I took the blue day glow paint.
Silvanus Watergate (I’ve mentioned him before, he’s the cashier for the hardware store) looked distastfully at the cans of paint.
“Blue day glow . . . Interesting choice. Why’d you choose it? Playing at joke on someone?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I like the color and it stands out.”
Silvanus raised his eyebrows and made several opening and closing motions with his mouth and, after several tries (Not sure what was wrong with him) he said “Oh, really? Don’t like it myself.”
It was my turn to raise eyebrows (they were mine, not his. I don’t go around raising other peoples eyebrows) “Well, each to his own . . . paint . . .” I never did understand that phrase.
I was applying the last touches of blue to the no-longer-red fire (really should be called a water) hydrant when Titanic stalked up, a roll of paper in her mouth. She dropped the paper and (as it turned out) it was yesterdays newspaper.
PRANKSTER HITS THE CITY!
OVER THE LAST FEW WEEKS ALEXANDRE-RANDELL HAS HAD A PRANKSTER ON THE LOOSE.
SOMEONE HAS MADE VERY CLEVER COPIES OF THE STREET SIGNS AND RENAMED ALMOST HALF OF THE STREETS IN THE CITY.
WEST 37TH HAS BECOME ‘WEST DIMOND ST.’, THERE ARE NOW THREE STREETS NAMED AFTER CIRCLES (ALL PLACED AT ROUND-ABOUTS),THREE SCHOOL STREETS (PLACED AT CLOVER LANE, 29TH AVE, AND 14TH FOREST)THESE, AMONG MANY, MANY OTHERS HAVE CAUSED MASS CONFUSION, AS YOU CAN’T DEPEND ON STREET NAMES OR MAPS.
IT HAS BEEN NOTED THAT THE RENAMING OF THE STREETS HAS SOME SORT OF PATTERN.
FIRST OF ALL, “THE NEW NAMES ALMOST MAKE SENSE”
I smacked the paper. “ ‘Almost’? They almost make sense? Why they’re perfectly logical!”
FIRST OF ALL, “THE NEW NAMESS ALMOST MAKE SENSE” AS ONE VICTIM OF THESE NAME CHANGINGS SAID, “CLOVER LANE, 14TH FOREST, AND 29TH AVE. WERE RENAMED ‘1ST SCHOOL STREET’, ‘2ND SCHOOL STREET’, AND ‘3RD SCHOOL STREET’ RESPECTIVLY, AND THOSE ARE THE STREETS WITH THE HIGH SCHOOL, ELEMETARY SCHOOL, AND JOUNIOR HIGH. GUESS THE PRANKSTER HASN’T FIGURED UOT THE COLLEDGE IS ALSO A SCHOOL.”
OTHER OBSEVATIONS WERE MADE SUCH AS “LIBRARY LANE NOW HAS A LIBRAY ON IT AND WEST DIMOIND HAS A JEWERLY SHOP ON IT.” “MOUNTAIN RIDGE SEEMS TO HAVE DISAPEARED. WONDER WHERE IT WENT? VACATION?”
FOR MORE ON THE PRANKSTER AND OTHER STRANGE ACTS GOING ON AROUND THE CITY TURN TO PAGEs 9, 11, AND 16.
I turned to page nine. The nerve of those writers to call me a prankster!
Page nine went on to talk (in writing. It is possible to talk through writing) about other street names being changed and at the very bottom it started on about the bank I had tried robbing.
THE FIRST RANDELL BANK THAT USED TO ON MOUNTAIN ROAD BUT, UNTIL SOME TIME YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, WAS ON ‘EVIL SMILEY FACE ST. NO MORE ‘ SEEMS TO HAVE PROBLEMS AS WELL (STREET NAMES ASIDE)FOUR DAYS AGO JAEWON RASOOL, ONE OF THE BANKS EMPLOYEES, THOUGHT HE SAW A MAN DRESSED IN “BLACK OUTLAW COSTUME. LIKE FROM THOSE WESTERNS WE ALL SAW AS A CHILD.” THE MAN, WHEN RASOOL FIRST SAW HIM, WAS PRYING A SIGN IN THE BANK DOWN. THE SIGN WAS NOT ONE YOU’D EXPECT TO SEE AT A BANK. IT WAS YELLOW WITH A SMILEY FACE PAINTED IN BLACK ON IT. OVER THE SMILEY FACE WAS THE WORD ‘SMILE’ AND UNERNEATH THE SMILEY FACE WERE THE WORDS ‘YOU’RE ON CAMERA!’ RASOOL TRIED STOPPING THE MAN FROM REMOVING THE SIGN AND THEY GOT INTO A FIGHT
“I SAW JAEWON JUMP AT THE POST THAT HELD THE SIGN AND WNDERED ‘WHAT ON EARTH –’ THEN, WHEN HE SEEMED TO IMPACT SOMETHING, OTHER THAN THE POLE, AND I THOUGHT THAT MAYBE THERE WAS ACTUALY SOMETHING THERE AND I JUST COULDN’T SEE IT BECAUSE OF THE ANGLE SO I WALKED OVER AND THE NEXT THING I KNOW SOMEONE HAS KNOCKED ME DOWN AND I DON’T FEEL LIKE GETTING UP.”
IT SEEMED THAT ONLY RASOOL COULD SEE WHOEVER WAS VADILIZING THE BANK, THAT WAS, UNTIL MISS CREEOLSHALN ÆSCHYLUS ENTERED.
MISS ÆSCHYLUS ENTERED TO SEE THE ‘BLACK OUTLAW’ TRY RIPPING THE SIGN OFF AND NO ONE EXCEPT RASOOL DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT.
WHILE TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT WAS GOING ON APPERENTLY THE ‘OUTLAW’ DROPPED THE SCREWDRIVER HE WAS USING TO PRY THE SIGN OFF. IT ROLLED OVER THE GROUND AND TRIPPED KENNA ANTWON, A COSTEMER OF THE BANK, CAUSING HER TO FALL AND DONIMO EFECT ENSUED.
DURING THE CHAOS THE ‘OUTLAW’ DISAPEARED, THE SIGN WITH HIM.
THE NEXT DAY MOUNTAIN ROAD WAS RENAMED ‘EVIL SMILEY FACE ST.NO MORE’
IS THIS ‘BLACK OUTLAW’ ALSO THE CITY PRANKSTER? AND WHAT ELSE DOES HE HAVE UP HIS SLEEVE?
“ ‘Up my sleeve’? What does that mean? My arm is the only thing up my sleeve!” I threw the paper down to the ground in part disgust and part – what was the word? I was pleased that my efforts of logiclizing the city were being being noticed, but I didn’t know if there was a word meaning that. If so, it was well hidden.
“Hello, my name is Theophilus Bourgette. I work with the city. Why are you painting the fire hydrant blue?”
I looked up from my painting job and sighed. It seemed that no one saw the logic in blue hydrants, why couldn’t they?
“What color is water?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in my ‘You should know this’ teacher expression.
Theophilus rolled his eyes and shifted his weight onto one foot. “The answer I am sure you are looking for is ‘blue’, but water isn’t really blue at all. You see sunlight is made up of all the colors of the rainbow; red orange yellow blue green and violet. Some of the sunlight is reflected off the surface of the water, reflecting the color of the sky. Some of the sunlight penetrates the water and is scattered by ripples and particles in the water (this tinges the water, much of the sunlight is the color of the particles). In deep water, and much of the sunlight is scattered by the oxygen in the water, and this scatters more of the blue light.
Water absorbs more of the red light in the sunlight; the water also enhances the scattering of blue light–”
“True. (actually I had no idea if he was right or not, I just decided to agree with him) But water is perceived as blue and that is why I’m painting the hydrant blue. Understand?”
Theophilus gave a slow nod. “I think so.”
“Oh good.” I stood up and grinned at him. “Glad someone does.”
Before he could think of an answer I walked off. When I looked back he was still looking confused.
le da dum dum, le da dum dum. Le da du-
“No!” I jumped up from my hydrant painting job. “Not that song!” I grabbed my head, in hopes of maybe squeezing the very annoying and illogical song out of my head.
After a moment of hopping around and clutching my head (not mention all my mumbled “No” ‘s) I remembered I was still holding my paint brush . . . covered in paint.
I jerked my hands away from my head and franticly tried to see if my hair had any paint in it. I couldn’t tell.
“Great. I now may or may not have have blue hair.”
I rolled my eyes. “And (no “maybe” here) a stupid, Never-go-away, illogical, annoying, dumb, and, and . . . and EVIL song stuck in my head.”
I angrily knelt down and finished my painting job.
As I inspected my job (running low on paint; must pick up some more soon) the song galloped through my head, that is . . . I couldn’t remember one key word.
I stood up, frowning. What was the word? I mean, it’s bad enough to have the song stuck in my head, but to missing part of it . . .
I stood frowning and absent mindedly chewing on the handle of my paint brush (I had enough presence of mind not to put the paint covered part in my mouth)
I was like that for several minutes,then a young boy came up to me, walking his bicycle.
“Hey, mister, why did you paint the fire hydrant blue?”
“Rumpelstiltskin!” I jumped for joy, a big smile on my face. “It’s Rumpelstiltskin!”
The boy frowned. “Your name is Rumpelstiltskin? I don’t believe it.”
I looked at the boy, but didn’t really see him. “I’ve finally got it!” And still hopping around
(some people might even dare to call it dancing) I sang the song that had been annoying me for so long.
“Le da dum dum
“Le da dum dum
“Rumpelstiltskin is my name
“Le da dum dum
“Le da dum dum
“Rumpelstiltskin is my name
“The King doesn’t know
“The Queen doesn’t know
“Le da Dum dum
“Le da dum dum
“But Rumpelstiltskin is my name!”
(Okay, I admit it, I stayed for that part of the movie [I don’t what I was thinking] but I didn’t watch any more of that movie, so I wasn’t exposed to too much stupidity. [I wonder if the song even fit into the movie, I mean what kind of story has a short ugly person dancing around a fire singing a song like that while a person who just happens along hides in the bushes and listens? Never mind. I don’t really want to know the answer]).
The boy stared at me for a moment, then started backing away.
“Uhh . . . Never mind mister. I, um, need to be going. Right now. Bye.”
He swung his bicycle around,boarded it (or ‘mounted’ it if you prefer) and sped off so fast I think he would have been pulled over if any policemen were nearby.
I shrugged and waved to where I had last seen him. “Goodbye.
“Guess he didn’t really want to know why I was painting the water hydrant blue, did he Titanic?”
Titanic looked disdainfully at me (or at least seemed to; you never really know with cats) and yawned, bored like.
I reached down and pet her, then headed off in search of another hydrant to fix.
I stepped back from the hydrant and sighed. I wish I had a map of where all the water hydrants were.
“Logic! I didn’t expect to see you any time soon. What are you doing here?”
I spun around and blinked in surprise.
“Hello Quierra.”
She stepped onto the sidewalk. “and why is there blue paint in your hair?”
Rats. I did paint my hair blue. “Well, it seemed illogical that the water hydrants were red so,” I gestured at the hydrant I had just finished painting “I’m repainting them-“
“Blue?”
“Yes.” I grinned, sorta. How’d she know? “Ex-exactly!”
“Well,” Quierra looked away from the blue water hydrant (with a little trouble it seemed to me), “it must be hungry work. Would you like to come inside for some cookies and to wash the paint out of your hair?”
“Sure.” And we headed across the street and into Quierrs Callidapaeillee’s house.
* * *
I studied Quierra’s latest card. I liked it better than the last one.
It was dark gray with a Sith lord and a Jedi knight about to duel, the blue and red lightsabers practically glowed.
But that wasn’t all; the Sith lord had a handful of cookies (not sure what kind but they were most definitely cookies) and was munching upon them while the Jedi looked on with longing.
“Fantastic detail,” I commented “especially seeing the people are so small. How’d you do it?” I asked this with a raised eyebrow.
Quierra shrugged as she sat down with a plate of ginger cookies.
“I guess it just take lots of practice. Cookie?”
I took a generous handful. “Thanks.”
Quierra leaned back. “So Logic, where do you live?”
I waved toward the general direction of the house I had shared with Common Sense. “Before I became a ghost I lived out a couple miles. And up.”
“The mountains?” She frowned.
“No.” I bit into my third (or maybe fourth) cookie. “Just up.”
Quiera’s face cleared and she nodded. “So where do you live now?”
“Everywhere.” I threw my arms out in a gesture I meant to encompass the entire city of Alexandre-Randell.
“Everywhere?” Quierra sat forward, “you mean to say that you don’t have a home?”
“No.” I said “Not really.” I frowned; what was wrong with not living in a house?
“Then you will stay with me.” she said firmly, as if expecting an argument.
“That’s fine with me.” I replied and reach for another cookie.
Chapter Six
Common Sense (and illogical thought)
Only Alexandre-Randell. You just have to get through it and you’re almost home.
I yawned. Then my eyes popped opening surprise. Who had put that sign there and why?
There was a big (and by ‘big I mean little-brother-trying-to-get-attention-big) sign that looked like someone had tried removing it. The sign read, in bright orange and dark green colors; ‘Smile! This city is now logical!’
“That looks like something Logic would do.” I murmured “But he was supposed to stay home till I got home.” My pace picked up.
Surely Logic hadn’t come to Alexandre-Randell. He’s never disobeyed a direct from me before and wouldn’t unless something drastic happened.
But then again, who knows what ‘drastic‘ means to Logical. It could mean anything.
I couldn’t deny someone who seemed to think like Logic had been busy. Street signs had been switched around, added, and taken away all together. I counted at least five blue fire hydrants and the newspaper struck a very Logic sounding chord.
“Logic, my illogical brother you had better be home.”
When I got home (and I broke every record Logic and I had made before, racing each other there) I burst through the door, making it slam in a most irritating way.
“Logic! It’s me, Common Sense. Where are you?” I desperately hoped for an answer.
There was none.
“Logic!” I yelled again as I practically flew up the stairs of my gravity defying house. (It’s sensible to have house that floats; that way you can more easily move it from one place to another. And since it’s my house sensibility won over logic.)
I came to his room; the door was open and half his blankets (he has more than a dozen) all his pillows (four, but he has been known to borrow mine. I didn’t count them.), and his giant stuffed dog were on the floor.
“Oh Logic . . .” I moaned quietly. “I do not want to search Alexandre-Randell for you.”
I jumped out of bed starving. What did Quierra have for breakfast? Pancakes? Fish? Cookies? Fruit? Caviar? Peanut butter? Caviar with peanut butter (best breakfast in the world)?
I made my way downstairs, full of hopes. Caviar and peanut butter sandwiches are amazing. When I got to the living room I saw the clock. 6:33. Ohh. I mouthed silently.
Quierra had said she didn’t get up till seven and didn’t want anything to wake her up before then.
“Well,” I shrugged, “I can make my own breakfast.” I made my way into the kitchen. “And I’m not noisy in the slightest. No chance in waking her up.”
I leaned down and looked at the cardboard box being lonely in a taped up plastic bin labeled ‘RECYCLING’ in bold blue and black letters.
The cardboard box declared that it contained a shiny silver thing called a ‘toaster’. I straitened up and, on the counter, was the ‘toaster’.
“A machine for toasting things, how odd.” I leaned forward to inspect the toaster. “And I bet those slots are where you’re supposed to stick whatever you want toasted in.” I stuck first my finger, then my hand into one of the slots t see how deep it was.
I had some difficulty taking my hand back out.
“Now, what to toast . . .”
I walked over to the refrigeratoris and opened it (apparently the refrigeree had a mind of it’s own and didn’t want to be opened).
“Hmmm . . .” I frowned. “There’s nothing in here the right size to put in the toaster. Why have a toaster is you can’t toast anything in it because everything you have is the wrong size and I don’t know where the knives are!”
Then I saw a stick. A stick wrapped in paper. It was a long, thick, square stick that should fit.
I pulled it out of the rafrigerotergisily- oh bother that name. I took it out and walked over to the toaster while peeling the paper off.
The paper said, in large light greenish blue letters ‘B-U-T-T-E-R’. What was that supposed to mean? And why so many ‘T’s’? Very excessive on the ‘T’s’.
I shoved the square white stick into one of the toasters slots. By the time it was all the way in it wasn’t square shaped anymore.
“Now how do I make this toaster toast?”
I fiddled with the knobs for some time before a little red light went on and the toaster started humming.
“Got it!” I exclaimed, jumping back. “Now to wait till my butttt- B stuff is toasted.” (as I said, far to many ‘T’s’)
It wasn’t even a minute later when the toaster sparked several times and started to smoke.
I frowned and spun around in a circle, looking for cardboard box with a picture of the ‘toaster’ on it.
“Ha! There it is!” I snatched the box up and left the kitchen, heading for the phone I had seen in the living room (why is it called a ‘living room’? It’s not the only room in the house you live in).
I grabbed the phone and started punching (not literally) the number written on the box (it said to call that number if you had comments or complaints and I certainly had a complaint!)
It was ringing on the other end when Quierra hurried down the stairs and into the living room. I mouthed ‘Good morning’ to her and she responded rather oddly.
“Logic, where’s the fire?”
I turned around, confused. What fire? I didn’t know of any fire. And what was that annoying screeching sound?
I turned back to the phone as someone on the other end spoke.
“Hello. My name is Caragen Galifianakis-Zareara and I am with-”
“Do you make toasters?” I yelled into the phone in order to be heard over the screeching sound the little red boxes that said ‘FIRE ALARM’ in white letters seemed to be making.
“Um, yes. We make toasters.” She seemed a little taken aback. “Why?”
“Well I have a complaint. Nowhere does anything say that the toaster is supposed to spark and smoke when you put a white square stick of ‘B’ in it.”
“What stuff? What on earth is ‘B’ stuff?” she sounded annoyed.
“You know, ‘B’ stuff.” I turned to see Quierra spraying white fluffy looking stuff from a large red cylinder can at what appeared to be fire.
“Where’d the fire come from?” murmured, then I went back to my conversation.
“No. I don’t know what this ‘B’ stuff is you’re talking about.” the toaster lady snapped. “Homey? Bees wax?”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “It starts with a ‘B’ and has several ‘T’s’ in the middle. It also comes in white paper with writing on it.”
“What are you talking about? ‘Lot’s of ‘T’s’ in it.’ What sort of T?!”
Caragen seemed really rather upset. I wondered what had upset her.
“No . . . it’s the spelling.” I glanced back at Quierra, who seemed to be winning the fight with the fire. “It’s spelled whith lots of ‘T’s’ in the middle.”
“Wait a minute. Are you talking about butter?” That Caregen suddenly seemed calm scared me.
“Maybe, I’m not sure how it’s pronounced. If you could give me a minute I could –“
Quierra snatched the phone away from me.
“Sorry about that. Just completely forget about this call. I’ll make sure he never calls you again. Have a nice day and goodbye.”
Quierra hung up and turned to me, the red cylinder still in her hand (I could now see it said ‘Fire extinguisher’ on it).
“No more phone calls for you, Logic.”
I nodded and looked into the kitchen. The toaster seemed to have disappeared and in it’s place was a melted pile of, well . . . melted stuff.
I turned to Quierra feeling rather confused (I’m very sure I looked very confused).
“Where’d the fire come from?”
I growled in frustration as I made my way back to Alexandre-Randell. How long had Logic been gone? Hours? Days? And the peanut butter jar couldn’t exactly tell me the last time Logic used it.
Logic had never been all that logical that I could tell, maybe that was because I was Common Sense, and logic (capitiliized or not) is never sesible. Starting at the fact that he likes caviar, much less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with caviar and ending somewhere near blue fire hydrants? (I bet he calls them ‘water hydrants’) I know they give water and I admit the blue hydrants do stand out more than the red ones (even before the red paint faded), but still . . . it’s hideous.
I wonder how many people saw Logic. Probably quite a few, if the newspaper is to be trusted.
“Thank you Logic.” I muttered unhappily “Do you have any idea how long it will take me to sort this out?”
Than a thought acurred to me; If Logic hadn’t robbed the bank (it was very likely that was what he had in mind, though where he got the idea, I don’t know) then how did he manage to get the supplies to make the street signs and paint the fire hydrants?
I had a feeling that I really didn’t want to know.
“Titanic.” I wheedled (or at least tried to wheedle) (or maybe the right word is cajole. Whatever. I was trying to get the cat [Titanic] off Quierra’s roof). “Titanic, come on.”
(Coaxed! That’s the word!) I coaxed Titanic. “I want you to meet Quierra.”
Titanic just sat there, ignoring me.
“Logic,” Quierra looked up at me. “This probably counts as meeting each other, so you can come down and get off the ladder.”
“But, but . . .” I turned to protest and Quierra’s look (which was astonishingly similar to Common Senses) convinced me that coming down would probably be the wisest choice I could make at the moment.
“Oh all right.” I glared at Titanic and climbed down the ladder.
Once down I pointed to to Titanic. “Titanic. Quierra.” I pointed to Quierra. “Quierra. Titanic.”
“There.” I dusted my hands together. “You two are formally introduced. (though not as I wished they could have been, but Titanic wasn’t coming down and I wasn’t aloud back up, judging from Quierra’s look)”
As I turned to follow Quierra into her house I saw Titanic move. I spun around (but not in a full circle) in time to see Titanic leap from the roof and onto the ground.
“HA!” I dove for Titanic.
She ran.
I missed.
Missed Titanic that is. The ground I caught with my entire body.
“Logic! What are you doing?”
That was Quierra.
“In a moment!” I called over my shoulder as I scrambled to my feet. “She’s off the roof!” Then I started after Titanic.
Titanic streaked down the sidewalk (she moved almost as fast as the boy who asked me why I was painting the water hydrant blue and didn’t stay around for the answer) with me racing after her. I didn’t have dodge people very much because they were still off the sidewalk from leaping out of the ‘mad cat’s’ way.
Then she crossed the road.
“Titanic!!” I screeched, then ran across the road in pursuit of her.
I re entered Alexandre-Randell about forty minutes after my first arrival, when I had been hoping to go home and rest.
Well, since it’s day time Logic is probably “working”. I thought as I looked around helplessly. The question is where should I start looking for him?
I had just found another blue hydrant (why day glow blue?) when, from across the road, a young lady angrily exited a house and headed toward her car. She had just opened the drivers door when she saw me and froze, frowning.
“Hello.” I said with a weak smile. A search for Logic (especially in a big city) should never be slowed down.
“Hello.” she said slowly. “Do you have a brother?”
I nodded.
This may sound odd, but . . . What’s his name?” she reluctantly asked as if afraid of sounding mad. “It wouldn’t be Logic by any chance?”
That was a perfect reason for not wanting to ask that question. “Yes” maybe she knew where he was, if so then this might be easier. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, I don’t. But last I saw him, about two minutes ago, he was running that way.” She pointed down the street.
Rats. Rats, mice, R.O.U.S.’ and all other rodents too!
“Get in the car. It’ll be faster that way.”
It all depended on what Logic was up to.
I ran over to the car and got in.
Within the five seconds of entering (okay maybe not quite the right word) the road I almost got run over at least three times, but I could have miscounted and it was really four times. How did Titanic so easily avoid all the vehicles?
It took me approximately thirty seconds to cross the road, just to find that Titanic was heading for a even busier street. “Titanic.” I wailed after her, then kept on running, ignoring the shouts and honks of the angry car (van, truck, semi, and all other types of vehicle) drivers behind me.
When I came to the next street, five seconds later, it was full of busy, speeding cars (trucks, vans, etc. etc.) . . . and Titanic on the other side, cleaning herself.
I shook my fist at her. “Titanic! How did you get across without getting killed?!” Well, I was about to find out.
I backed up and waited, timing my jump. Almost . . . almost . . . There!
I ran forward, then, when I reached the street I JUMPED.
I landed on the hood of the truck I had aimed for . . . kind of. I would have slid off if it hadn’t been for the handy little wire thingy. As it was, the wire thingy bent very easily and I almost didn’t stay on.
“Thanks!” I called to the astonished driver then climbed onto the roof of the cab and jumped for the next vehicle. A van.
The van was much easier to hold on to then the truck, as on the roof (that was what I aimed for, but I didn’t quite make it), all around the edge, was a metal rod (attached very firmly, I might add) and I grabbed it, rather frantically.
The van was a tall one, so when people like me hang from the metal bars on top there feet don’t drag on the ground. Instead my face was pressed against the side window, several young children on the the side.
There was a moment when they just stared, open mouthed, at me. Then, while still looking at me, they started babbling and trying to attract the attention of the two people in the front seats. As the front window was open I heard some of their hurried words before I managed to pull myself onto their roof (this is as difficult as people in books make it out to be, but don’t, ever, try it).
“Mommy! Mommy! There’s a man stuck to the window and he just jumped from that truck!”
“Daddy! He’s climbing up the window!”
“Mommy! Did you see him jump?!”
“Monster!”
“Mommy-”
“Who is he?”
“Daddy he just –”
“Help!!!”
Once on the roof I only had to jump (but what I ended up doing was falling, I tripped over the metal rod) onto the black car below and then (this time I actually jumped) onto the sidewalk (yes, it did hurt, but at least my face ended up in the dirt beyond not the cement).
I looked up into Titanic’s face.
“Hello.” I sat up and rubbed my nose. “Do you know how dangerous that was?” I waved back at the honking traffic. “How dare you do that?! You could have died! Then what would I have done!? You are not aloud to run off again. If you do then, then I’ll – Where are you going?!”
Titanic was walking away, in the direction of Quierra’s house, if we had been several streets over. “You are not aloud to walk away while I am talking to you – Come back!” I jumped up and hurried after her.
“Where are you going?” I asked in frustration. Titanic had never answered me before, so I would have been surprised – no. Astonished, if she answered me.
“LOGIC!” I looked up to see two people running toward me. “Quierra! Common Sense! Look! I caught Titanic! She’s very lucky she didn’t die. What are you doing here?” (the question was more for Common Sense then Quierra, but that didn’t stop Quierra)
“We were looking for you.” she said “You didn’t tell me you had a sister.”
I shrugged and was going to say something but it was Common Senses turn to speak and she took it.
“Logic, why did you leave the house?” She looked really tired. Why didn’t she get some sleep?
“Well . . .” I said. This was going to be hard to explain. “I kinda died. You see, I’m a ghost.”
“No. I don’t see.” She put her hand on her hip. “Explain.”
“A couple days ago someone suffocated me. So I’m obviously a ghost.” I made a helpless gesture with my hands.
“Oh Logic.” She shook her head. “You can’t be a ghost or else you wouldn’t be able to do anything. It’s common sense.”
“Oh.” I blinked several times. “Then let’s go home.”
We waved goodbye to Quierra and Titanic then went home.
Octopencil 