500 v. 0.3

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Frank blushed, smiled, and shrugged sequentially. He bid farewell to Chuck, squinted at his watch and continued his sullen march down the street, this time with more focus and purpose in his step. Not only was he about to be shut down, financially speaking, by a large electronics store, but now some jerk who knew his name was going to be dropping his name at the mayor’s office.




He made a mental note to put forth more of an effort to keeping his thoughts to himself. He made a second mental note to stop talking to himself out loud. The third mental note he made had something to do with buying a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk, and a stick of butter at the convenience store on the corner. A fourth mental note was mostly unintelligible, but certainly worried Frank more than the previous three.



Frank picked up the pace of his stride, and was so lost in his thoughts that he walked right past his apartment building. He definitely wasn’t ready to be cooped up in his empty one bedroom living space after the events of this day. Fresh air was going to be the only thing that would help him sort out his thoughts right now. Well, fresh air and a cheeseburger. And a strawberry shake. And some onion rings.


He walked for two or three blocks more, and turned down an alley way. The alley was just like any alley you’d find in small-town America. One side was lined by a solid brick wall of a building whose previous owner had thought it wise or interesting to paint it some unusual shade of blue. The other side of the alley was lined by some kind of vine that had long since won its battle with a ten-foot wooden fence. A yellow and black butterfly was suddenly bobbing around Frank’s head.



The driver of a car passing by in the opposite direction failed to notice that said alley way was completely empty two seconds after Frank had turned down it, save for a small yellow and black butterfly.

Meanwhile, in a place quite some distance from Guernsey, North Dakota, a young man with pointy ears removed his goggles after the flash of light had subsided. His hair was singed, and soot covered his face.



“Well, that went well,” An older gentleman who appeared to be an instructor or mentor sarcastically commented. The marks on his sleeve identified that he was, in fact, an instructor.



“Perhaps next time, I should supply the barbecue sauce and some tongs,” the instructor continued dryly.



The young man did not reply. Perhaps he did not hear the gentleman because of the ringing in his ears. Perhaps he chose to dwell on his own perceived failure, and silently acknowledged his instructor’s tone. Whatever the case, the young man stared down at a pile of soot on the center of a solid white dais where a small flying creature had rested moments before.