Short Little Stories

They sped down the highway at just over 100 miles per hour, with Sammy “Gray” Saturday only loosely watching the road, one hand on the steering wheel as he casually weaved through the regular traffic, while his other hand he held out through the window to embrace the wind rushing past.

On the passenger side, Jimmy Jones was holding on tight to the sides of his seat, and managed to call out through the roaring wind, “Do we really need to be going so fast, with the windows down?”

“Ayeah,” said Gray Saturday, his soft voice completely unhindered by the wind, “This the best way, to hear what the air is having to say. And it has a lot to be telling me, it does at that.”

That morning it had been blisteringly hot, at a hundred and three degrees. Then, come afternoon, torrential rain had come crashing down upon them.

It was evening now, and no longer raining where they were – but they could see the storm in the distance ahead of them. They could hear no thunder, but there was no denying the red lightning that forked from above, and tore apart the sky time and time again.

Gray Saturday’s eyes were twinkling, nonetheless. He wore no shirt, only a pair of faded black jeans and a bronze necklace around his neck. His skin was covered in tattoos of red and black, and the skin beneath the tattoos (what little could be seen) was a strange coppery mix. He was the Keeper of the Ways, and poor Jimmy had found himself as his apprentice.

More lightning was striking in the distance, and Jimmy turned away from the sight, muttering prayers to himself. “Nature is out of control,” he said, “You really think we can stop it?”

Gray Saturday laughed. “You mistake the sympton for the cause, friend Jones.  Mother Nature, she’s not angry with us. No… she be sending us a warning on this day. Something else is wrong out along the way, and the air is screaming for us to lend our aid in putting things to right…”

“And I aim to do just that.”