In a world where ash falls from a lavender sky, two unlikely compatriots meet and are promptly changed.
“And … the glorious end!” the young lady announced, as flakes of ash began to fall from the lavender night ceiling.
She aimed her Dotronic Tool at the last gas lamp on Devonshire. With a gentle pull of the trigger, she blasted a steel bolt through the metal-framed piece of parchment. It hung neatly for all to see. The frame, made of copper bedecked with rhinestones, played soft metallic tunes, as a music box might. Handwritten in lovely calligraphy on the paper within was a simple message:
“Looked for his eyes yesterday.
Could not find them.
If found please
Return to Mee.”
The young lady brushed ash from her midnight blue corset, then stood back to admire her work.
“Pardon.” A tall, thin man dressed in a black suit and stove top hat appeared out of the night.
His dark, lank hair hung down past his narrow shoulders in vast contrast with the unusual scarlet hue of his beard and mustache. His eyes were hidden behind dark spectacles. His eyebrows were wide and magnificent. His nose was long and strong. His lips were white and thin, as if someone had thrown them on as an afterthought. Things that existed simply to hide his teeth.
There was a moment of silence as each tried to recognize the other and then realized they could not. They’d never met. And yet their eyes kept searching each other for a recognizable birth mark, a memorable raise of the eyebrow or twist of the mouth that would breed familiarity. Nothing appeared.
The young lady found the man odd. As she watched his dark form, she noticed no obvious rise or fall of his wide, scarecrow chest. This shadowy, sinewy gent gave no sign, other than by standing in front of her, that he had any business being above the ground. But for that, she surmised that the strange man who stood in front of her didn’t appear to pose any immediate danger. Dead or alive, whatever he happened to be was his business.
The ash fell heavily now and she opened her black lace parasol to protect her blond hair and fair face from being stained.
“Are you Mee?” he gestured casually towards the bejeweled sign, even now playing tinker tunes around the couple. A firefly flew lazily past him and the man’s face tilted downward, possibly to look at the Dotronic Tool that the young lady’s gloved hand held tightly by her thigh.
She nodded.
“I’ve found the objects you seek,” the man said. He reached into his breast pocket and retrieved two eyes from within the fabric. With an open palm, he offered them to her. “They were at the Astrid’s Pub on Ginger Lane, just sitting on the bar. They don’t seem to be wet or damaged in any way. I intended to keep them for my own uses, as one might. Until I saw your signs.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Mee exclaimed. With delicate fingers, she plucked the eyes from the bluish hand of the man and dropped them in a small purple velvet satchel that hung from her waist. She tied the bag tightly with a black leather lace.
“Thank you,” she said. “His green eyes are much more loving than his blue. Or his brown, for that matter. His brown eyes are always wandering. Makes a girl jealous from time to time. I prefer his green eyes the most. They are quite charming.”
She bowed her pretty head with gratitude, turned on the pointed heel of her boot, and began to walk away.
“Well, my lady,” the young man coughed awkwardly. “Is there perhaps a reward?”
“No,” she called out. But then, as if a change of heart had occurred, she slowed her gait and called over her shoulder. “Well, yes, actually. One good turn and all. If one day your eyes should ever need a place to rest, they may rest on me.”
She walked off, parasol held close, into the lavender night. The man removed his spectacles and watched her disappear into the distance.
"I would like that," he whispered, watching her go.
"I rather doubt it will happen, though." He coughed again.
Another firefly alighted near the dark man, promptly flared and went dark. The ash continued to rain.