Trying for a Miracle

A man of about 50 years sat at a table in a café, coffee in one hand, a book in the other. He had pale skin, contrasting a chestnut brown cut, and amber eyes. He wore ordinary clothes, under a dark coat. The morning rush of the outside city and the café itself didn’t seem to bother him; from the chattering voices to the shove of the people trying to get about.

The man sipped his coffee slowly, gaze fixed on the words of a page. So simple, yet so captivating. A waitress came with the man’s food order, and as he adjusted his position to take the order and eat, a flash of silver reflected from the window in his pocket. No one saw it, but it was there.

*     *     *     *     *     *

I looked myself in the mirror. Black hair that usually spilt over my face and covered my eyes was now styled to frame around my face. I wore formal yet comfortable attire; freshly washed and not a wrinkle in sight. “Today’s the day. Today, I, Forest Gallio, will make history.” I said, flashing a hopeful grin to my reflection.

I breathed out, nodding to myself for certainty before walking out of my small apartment, which was scarcely decorated with a few little trinkets. But, if all went well, then this apartment would be no more, and I’d be able to move into a real house, maybe even a mansion, if my success went international!

My palms were sweaty, and I struggled to hold onto the bag in which was the key to my success. A taxi pulled over and I jumped in. “Where to?” The taximan asked.

“The publishing corps. Downey Rd.” The driver grunted his acknowledgment, and the cab revved to life, driving towards the big grey box of a building that towered above any other building by a mile.

*      *     *      *     *     *

“This is utterly stupid!” I whisper-shouted, hands tearing through my hair in annoyance. I was sitting outside of the Board’s main office in the waiting room. I’d put my soul and time into that piece, only to have it shot down in the span of 10 minutes!? I was so… Angry.

“No!” I practically shouted, earning a confused look from the secretary, and a few annoyed ones from the few people also in the waiting room. I just sighed quietly, looking down at the bag clutched in my hands. I’d show them. I’d show them all.

*     *     *     *     *     *

I woke up in my same stupid bed in the same stupid apartment. “Today’s the day.” I tried again at a different publishing shop. It failed.

I tried again. “Today’s the day.” Each time I said that there was less and less enthusiasm in my voice.

“What am I doing wrong!?” I shouted, sitting in my sheets as the sunrise peeped over the clouds. 29 ­rejections… Was it really that bad? Or was it because a poor person like myself publishing something was simply unthinkable; simply undoable. It was sick. Selfish. So many people struggling to get by, and not even getting a second glance from those higher up.

I went to get my daily chai, sitting down at a table. A strange man was there. Pale skin, a neat cut, and dark clothes. As I reflected back on every other time I’d gone here, he’d also been here. Same time, same place. Every. Single. Day. Something in my mind was pulling me towards him. Perhaps to talk?

After resisting the urge for so long, I finally gave in, walking over to the booth the man sat in, and saying, “Hello. Is, uh, is this seat taken?”

The man looked up from the current book he was reading -I recalled every few weeks he brought in a different one. He was just starting to gain a few wrinkles. “Of course.” Was his reply, and I nodded thankfully, sitting down.

“Okay,” I murmured, preparing myself to speak. “Okay.” Before I got anything else out, I quick flash of silver from the man’s coat caught my eye, and they widened.

The man seemed to notice, and smiled. But it wasn’t a threatening, malignant smile, like it should’ve been. It was a sweet, innocent smile. Then I realized why. He slowly pulled out the silver… thing, to show me, and I braced myself to the worse. Then I saw it. It wasn’t anything like I thought it was, not at all.

A simple silver-chained necklace rested in the palm of his wrinkled hands. A locket and key were strung through the chain, the key’s head decorated with sapphires that were lodged in the swirling mass. The locket had a fancy swirl of lining on the outside in an oval shape. Its center was made of pearl, and something barely readable was etched onto it.

“Kyo Ashet”

I let out an audible gasp. “That’s… You’re…” I could barely contain my surprise and excitement. The man before me was none other than the son of the Kyo Ashet; The most famous person in the world! She was an author, and an artist in many different things.

The man smiled again. “Yes. That’s right. Cho.” I shook the hand held out before me and I shook it eagerly. Then an idea came to my mind.

“You can help me!” I exclaimed, and Cho gave me a puzzled look. “I’ve been writing this book for a while now, but no publishing office seems to think it’s good enough.” I explained.

Cho looked out the window thoughtfully. “Yes.” He decided after a painful wait. I was smiling from ear to ear, and expressed my gratitude multiple times.

*     *      *     *     *     *

I stood outside the -hopefully- last publishing office I’d ever go to. Cho was beside me, a warm smile crinkling his face. “Today’s the day.” The last time I’d say those words either. Cho nodded encouragingly.

“This time feels different than the others, yes? I wish the best for you, young Forest.” I smiled, nodding back, before walking through the tall glass doors, right into the hands that would decide my fate.

*     *     *     *     *     *

A man a very specific person had come to call a mentor now rested in a faded rocking chair, blanket draped over his legs and a mug of steaming coffee on a side table. A beautiful sunrise filtered through a large window which was also a door, silhouetting the man in the chair, and the rows and rows of books on freshly polished shelves. Grey overran his once chestnut hairs, wrinkles like rivers on his skin. But he was smiling to himself.

An old tortishell cat, greying at the muzzle, jumped onto his lap, a content feeling showing through her eyes. The man matched that feeling, stroking the cat curled against him. There were two books on the side table, next to the coffee and biscuits waiting there. One was old and weathered; well loved and read often. ‘Illumine’ was the title. The second was in much better shape, perhaps just bought. ‘The Journey of a Lifetime’. It wasn’t the story itself he was smiling about; though it still was an exceptional book. It was the author.

Forest Gallio. The man was beaming the most he ever had, and murmured to no one in particular, “You’ve a long way to go, young Forest, but I look forward to seeing you.”

Then, when the cat jumped away to do who knows what, the man stood, angelic white wings unfolding from seemingly nowhere, feathers only just brushing the bookshelves, before folding down, making them look much smaller. He walked out the door, into a cloudy haven, others with the same majestic wings dipping and leaping around.

“Till we meet again, my friend.”