A Human Tale

A Human Tale (January 2019, Round 2, Day 5)

The tree had been there forever. It kept its leaves year-round and stretched up high enough to be seen from miles away.  The town, such as it was, had built up around it over time, and all buildings oriented in towards its trunk and placed around the roots that rippeled away from the trunk in twists and turns inadvertantly inspiring art along the way. Children were named after it, tourists came to see it, and celebrations were held beneath it. The tree was, simply, important.

The boy was new. He’d only turned up in town three days before and came without a history. He had dirty clothes – just the one outfit, it seemed – and dirty hair. His smile was pleasant and he was polite when he spoke. The people of the town mostly watched him from a distance, waiting for his presence to make sense. He didn’t ask for anything, he didn’t make or take anything, and no one knew his name. The boy was, simply, mysterious.

The Mayor was old. He’d grown up in the town as had his parents before him. He preferred to dress in three piece suits, even on Saturdays, and had different pairs of shoes to match his ties. He knew everyone in town and, for the most part, got along well with the adults. He’d never married, didn’t fully understand children, and lived alone. The Mayor was, simply, lonely.

The Pastor was worldly. He’d left the town for a bit and came back to take over the church when the old Pastor got too frail for the job. He was tall and handsome, perhaps too much for his own good, and led a rousing service every Sunday. He loved his parishioners and his chickens and tended to both with love daily. He spent hours on his front porch, ready and willing to have a long talk with whoever strolled past. The Pastor was, simply, available.

The girl was smart. She answered questions at school, helped her parents with puzzles at home, and had figured out all the best hiding places in and around town. She didn’t care what she looked like, unlike her older sisters, and wouldn’t let a little dirt get between her and a new discovery. She was quick to obey the rules that made sense, would fight to change the ones that didn’t, and found her way around ones that seemed unfair. The girl was, simply, bold.

The Butcher was strong. She had found the town later in life and brough with her a ripple of disruption that had only just died down. On work days she wore overalls over her pants and shirts, and an apron over the overalls. On Saturdays she wore dresses and pearls. On Sundays she wore outfits that seemed to have fallen out of a big city catalog. She ruffled the feathers of the old ladies in town and drew a lot of attention from the younger set – both boys and girls. The Butcher was, simply, cool.

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