Haystack, Chapter I

Okay. For my first post on these "blog" things everyone keeps making big shits about I would like to share the first part of a short story/novelette I wrote that I call Haystack! Feedback would be very much appreciated.


Haystack, Chapter I
Stanley

He never did like the city. But a man’s got to make a living somehow. Crops don’t sell themselves.

He was about to walk home without asking anybody to read it. He didn’t really like talking to most people, and most people, he thought, wouldn’t like talking to an old uneducated fool like himself. He looked up at the unnaturally massive buildings that seemed to scrape even the heavens. They both captivated and frightened him. He thought about how high they could possibly be: how close could one actually get to the sky? What’s the sky even like? He had known it was blue some days and gray the others. But could you feel it? Was it a thing? Could it talk?

 Something moving in the alleyway derailed his train of thought. When he noticed what it was he stopped and tried to hide his excitement. He hadn’t seen one in quite some time.

“Hi,” the old man called out.

The cat was unresponsive.

“Lovely day isn’t it?”

The cat stared for a while.

“I suppose,” the cat responded.

The man smiled. He always did have a knack for seeking out the talkative ones. Not many cats are talkative, as a matter of fact, let alone these inner-city-slums kitties. They, just like their people counterparts, have been thoroughly roughened and toughened by the harshness and cruelty of city life, the cats more so perhaps: cats can’t steal from a thrift store or hold a gun to threaten another cat for his fish and milk. They’ve learned to worry about themselves first, and make friends second, if at all. But this one just had that unexplainable energy, that something, which the old man could spot anywhere.

“Sorry about that; I was taken aback. It’s not every day I see a man that can talk.”

“My name’s Malcolm,” said the old man.

“Pleasure,” replied the cat, licking its paws.

If the cat was truly taken aback, thought Malcolm, his astonishment must not have lasted very long.

“What’s yours?”

“My what?”

“Your name.”

“Cats don’t have names.”

Malcolm wanted to explain that most cats, in fact, do have names. But he decided not to say anything.

“Are you a stray?”

“Stray?”

“Do any people look after you?”

The cat thought for a while. “There were, but I haven’t seen them for many years.”

“Do you remember what they used to call you?”

The cat paused to think again. “I don’t think they referred to me as anything” he said decidedly.

“Well, how do cats around here communicate, without names?”

“Just as you and I are now.”

“But what if you need to talk about somebody, how do you refer to them?”

“There’s never a need to talk about somebody.”

It was the old man’s turn to stop and think. “Okay” he said, “Well people, unfortunately, don’t work like that.  People like to put names to faces, it helps us remember things. A lot of the time, people have to remember things.”

            “Okay.”

“May I call you Stanley?”

“Sure.”

The man smiled. Cats may not be the best talkers, or even have the best memories, but they sure were easygoing. “Can you read, Stanley?”

“A little.”

Malcolm took a folded up letter out of his pocket. “Can you make any of this out?”

Stanley stared at the paper for a long time wagging his tail occasionally while doing so. Malcolm waited patiently.

“It’s from somebody important, I can tell you that.”

Malcolm frowned. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of words I never saw before. I think it’s trying to say you’re going to lose something?” said Stanley, concentrated furiously on the letter which he stood atop.

The old man was silent. He had dreaded this for some time coming. What he had dreaded for practically his whole life was finally coming true (or so he thought).

“Are you okay?”

“The bank is going to take the farm,” said Malcolm finally. He looked down. He didn’t want Stanley to see if he began to tear up. It was hardly necessary. Stanley was still fixed on the paper almost madly.

“No, you see that red cross at the top? That’s not the bank.”

“There’s no need to try and cheer me up. I’ve seen this for some time coming.” He sighed, “I’m gonna be a stray too.”

“Well if that does happen I’d happily let you stay in my alley. With you around it’d be much easier to get into the dumpster anyways.”

At this Malcolm couldn’t help but to crack a small smile

.

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

Malcolm turned around and began to start his long voyage home. It may be one of the last ever, he thought bitterly. It was reasons like this why he loved animals. And it was for reasons like this why he hated people.

Stanley still stood atop the letter. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for this man as he watched him walk home. He felt even more sorry he couldn’t help the poor guy. He looked down and saw a line of text: “We regret to inform you that you have tested positive for Osteosarcoma, more commonly known as bone cancer.”

Stanley sighed. If only I knew what any of this meant, he thought.