His bright yellow raincoat squeaked as he came down the path that led to his hut. It was a delapidated little thing, and looked as thought someone of George Burns' stature could easily knock it over. But still, it was his, and it served its purpose.
The door squealed when he threw it open; he loved that sound. He giggled with delight at the shrill wail, and nearly spit out his mouthful of Mike & Ikes.
On the floor was a childrens play mat, the kind that looks like roads in a city. Koldor had accidentally stepped all over the cars, so now he just looked at it and pretended. Just looking at the mat was perfectly innocent, but what it concealed was much darker.
He moved the mat to reveal a trap door, which was heavily set with a mack chain and an old master lock. A search of his pockets turned up no key, so he nonchalantly broke the chain, and flipped the door open.
Koldor began descending the little latter which led down, and tripped on his coat. He landed with a thud, but was impervious to the pain of the 15 foot fall.
The entire room was organized so that he could easily make his way around in teh dark, at least long enough to light the small lamp which sat in the corner. He walked over to where it sat, and lit it with the lighter which sat right next to it.
As the room lit up, he looked over the posters covering the wall; they mostly adertised old movies, childrens toys, and recruitment into the US military. There was a shelf on teh far end of the room, upon which sat relics of Koldor's past, mementos of his wife and daughter who were murdered and raped by a pack of greaser Malkavians while he was away at war. He walked over and picked up an old doll. Her packaged name was Suzie-Q, but his Daughter Haley had renamed her
She's special daddy, she had told him. She isn't a suzie Q like the others. Shes a... a....
Brianna is a nice name, Koldor had told her. Brianna was his wife's name, and she smiled at him when she heard him say this.
No, she said, I think I'll name her Eliza. That's a pretty name.
Koldor found himself weeping softly at this memory, and set the doll down.
He moved over the contents of the table, until he found a tin rose which he had made for his wife out of a broken watering can. He was out shooting for target practice one day, and needed a target. So, he brought the can out with him and set it on the fence. The first shot from his old rifle knocked it over and split it wide open, and also managed to frighten his wife nearly to death.
She came running out of the house yelling at him for destroying her can, calling him a baffoon and asking him why he did it. He said he was sorry, and he didn't mean to do any harm. Brianna knew that Koldor was a good man, just a little loose in the head, so she forgave him and just asked him to buy her another one.
He picked up the scraps, and bent the remnants of the old can into a rose for his wife; as crazy as he may have seemed, he was very good with his hands. When he gave it to her, she started to cry. He asked her why she was sad, but she told him she wasn't sad, and that she was sorry for yelling at him. From that day forward, the rose sat on the mantle to the fireplace in the den, a reminder to Brianna of her husband's complete love and devotion to her, as well as to remind her to have patience with the infantile man.
He picked up the rose which was as shiny and untarnished as the day he made it, and sniffed it gently. To a normal person, there would have been no scent, but to Koldor, it had the aroma of a thousand fields of flowers, simply because it had belonged to his wife.
As he turned to place the rose back in its spot, he knocked over the lamp which was burning gently on the corner of the table. The fuel spread all over his precious items, and the quickly started to burn. After fighting with the fire for a few moments, the walls had lit up, as had the musty carpet. Koldor grabbed his daughter's doll and climbed the ladder as quickly as he could, and fled the little shack. He watched as a thousand memories turned to smoke and disappeared forever.
He began crying once again. The only thing left to do was seek shelter somewhere, and since he was very familiar with the area, he decided on a close by cave.
He didn't sleep at all that day; his tremulous crying had kept him up through the light hours. He returned to the spot where his shanty had been, only to find a square crater in the ground, where his basement had been.
He hoisted himself down into the pit, and began sifting through the ash, trying to find anything salvageable, another connection to his past. He kicked around the ash, and stubbed his toe on the base of the lamp, the one he had the night before. In a rage, he picked up the lamp and hucked it at the now dirt wall. He turned back around, and saw the rose, sitting delicately on the floor. He bent over to pick it up, and as he did so, a little bat shaped pendant fell out of his shirt and hung around his neck.
he took it in his hand and looked at it. It was small and purple, yet highly detailed.
Cascadia, he thought, as he set out into the new night, headed for his former and future home.


((Ok ok I haven't written in a while but give me a break. I'll improve with time, I promise :smile:

((man, i thought it was great! welcome back :smile: