April Hums

April hums to herself, a tune without much pattern or rhythm to dull out the nagging voices of the other months. She looks down at the thick glass globe, which has discoloured greatly over the last few centuries and wiggles her long fingers some more. 

A light shower of rain trickles down onto the leaves, the seas and the people on earth.

‘Too much rain,’ declares the ever-knowledgeable September in monotone. He strokes his long moustache and raises his eyebrows, causing rows of wrinkles to fall like dominos up his large forehead. April continues her hum.

‘I agree,’ says May, flashing her stern, wrinkled eyes, ‘it’s supposed to be getting nicer, even March didn’t have this much rain.’

Out of the corner of her eyes, April sees March nod his head in furious agreement, his bright red hair flickering like a campfire.

‘March created a snowstorm on the twentieth,’ she says brightly, ‘and besides, they could do with more rain, the grass could be a bit greener.’

‘She’s right,’ August says, removing his circular sunglasses and looking to the others. A sphere of light that radiates a gentle heat orbits around his head. He swats at it slowly and it disappears with a small ‘poof’, reappearing instantly beside the globe.

April hums as they bicker.

‘Too much rain!’ Exclaims January, throwing his long arms in the air.

‘Leave her to it,’ November says, giving January a shove that made a sound something similar to ‘thwack’. January stumbles backwards and bumps into April, knocking her into the globe.

‘Will you all just stop it! Leave me to do my job, you’ll all get your own turns when the time comes and I won’t bother you. It’s an equal process,’ April snaps.

‘Not that equal,’ February snivels, bringing a tissue to his dripping nose. March pats February on the back.

‘This is ridiculous, what harm will a little extra rain do? Novembers out here creating tornados for month's sake!’

‘Hey,’ November mumbles, fiddling with the strands of her dark hair, ‘I was on your side.’

‘Sorry Nov, thanks… I just wish you would all leave me to it. It’s not sixty-six million years ago anymore, it’s not like I’m sending out any more asteroids.’

‘I warned you against that,’ sniffs December.

April turns to face her, and her cheeks flush red. ‘Oh, you warned me, December? And whose idea was it to create a little something called the Ice Age? That very nearly destroyed the entire office.’

December slumps into her armchair with a huff, her icy hair spilling over the edges.

‘Now, does anyone have anything else they’d like to add before I get back to my shower?’

The months are silent. June gulps and his Adam's apple bobs on his tanned throat. April starts to turn back to the sphere when October says, ‘Ehm, April…’

‘What,’ April snaps, ‘is it now?’

‘The sun is gone.’

She laughs. ‘Don’t be stupid, the sun is right th-‘ Her face turns as white as fresh December snow.

April scrunches her blue eyes and scans the room desperately. She catches sight of a light glow coming from the corridor. ‘I’ll be right back.’

April runs.

April runs out of the main office and into the hallway. The sun bounces from room to room peppering breadcrumbs of sparkling rays in its path.

‘Get back here now,’ April screeches as it explodes into the kitchen with a bang. Its heat is so strong that the uncooked popcorn kernels pop and pop and pop. It darts from the kitchen back to the hall. April grabs a glass jar from the counter and dashes after its rays.

‘Come back, they need you,’ she shouts, her voice cracking.

It leaps into the bathroom, bursting in on July who wails like a January storm. 

‘Sorry Jan!’ April cries, rushing to the exit door where the sun begins to push. It rotates to face her and sticks out its pudgy yellow tongue.

‘Don’t,’ she cries, ‘they need you, without you, they won’t exist. They’ll die, Sun.’

The sun stops pushing at the barrier. It rolls on its head and faces her upside down. It rolls its eyes, looking to the floor. April twists open the jar as the sun begins to shrink in size until it’s small enough to hop into it.

April closes the lid and brings it to eye level.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

When she returns to the office, it has now effectively, gone into meltdown status. The walls are painted a crimson red, the kind of colour that in the morning signifies Shepard's warning, at night Shepard's delight - though it was the evening time, a Shepard would likely not be pleased with the current situation.

February is crying. November and January are at each other's throats again. December has moved from her armchair and is now rocking back and forth in the corner, staring into the distance with glassy eyes.

‘I have it,’ April says. She is out of breath and panting. Beads of sweat leak down her forehead.

The colour of the room melts from red to its usual white, and she brings the jar to the globe which is now cast in shadow. She carefully unscrews the lid.

‘Well go on now,’ she says sternly, shaking the sun out of the jar.

It grows again. The dark curtains are pulled back from the globe. The earth is bright once more, and, April thinks, perhaps a little greener. She doesn’t wiggle her fingers for the rest of the month. She lets the sun shine.

* * *

‘Dad, I’m not a baby, there is no way that’s what happens!’

‘It is, Francis, I promise,’ Dad says. ‘Now come here, and put on your special glasses, the sun will be back in a minute, April just has to find it.’

‘Well…’ Francis scrunches her face together, ‘what if April doesn’t find the sun?’

‘She will, I promise.’ He rests a hand on her small shoulder.

Francis puts on her glasses and looks up into the black sky. After a moment, she turns to face him again, ‘but, how are you so sure?’

‘Well, it’s like how the sun goes to sleep every night, it always wakes up before we do, and it’s there in the morning, isn’t it.’

Francis looks unconvinced but nods and presses her lips together. She furrows her eyebrows and squints towards the sky.

‘Eh - and,’ Dad adds, ‘I happen to know that April is very good at her job.’

‘Okay, I believe you,’ Francis says.

They look up.

Sure enough, the sun starts to peek its head out from behind the moon and its rays shine across the land.

* * *

April smiles and hums a tune, this time, with some pattern, and rhythm.