Notion

Get Up and Go

Wake up.

The knock on the door was hazy emancipation from the nostalgic life he never had. He was still buffering as if half of him hadn’t finished transitioning from his dreams into reality. He dragged his feet, wondering if he genuinely had to leave.

Knock knock.

It wasn’t going to stop. Time to go, even though it felt like leaving something exceptional to return to the ordinary. The tingling lingered, however, as if traces of the reverie were crossing over as well. Sad, but also heartening in a way as if they knew something he didn’t. Perhaps he was feeling the impatience of something exceptional waiting for him on the other side of today. There’s always a chance.

“Come on; you have to see this!” Mark exclaimed.

Locke rolled over from his side and acknowledged the familiar face in the doorway. Napping in the storage closet was a tossup, as it was never long before someone would come barging in looking for a refill of something.

He didn’t mind, though. In fact, at this point, he had it all memorized to the point where he’d hand over whatever they were looking for like a concierge. It wasn’t unusual for someone to open the door and utter, “paper towels,” or “cleaning solution,” or “rags,” knowing that Locke would probably be there, ready to reach down from his hammock and conjure it for them. Everyone knew that Locke lived in the storage closet.

“There’s a girl in the plaza, it’s a performance or something,” Mark explained, hurrying him up. “You’re going to want to see this, trust me.”

As the trash-man, Mark was a scheduled acquaintance. He swung by the garden every couple of days to collect the garbage from their respective bins. Being in the same place simultaneously, the two of them engaged in small talk, but neither went out of their way for it. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies, either. It was just a real see-you-when-I-see-you dynamic. The fact that he was inviting Locke to do anything was already out of character.

Locke slunk out of the hammock, still clearing away the condensation of whatever dream he was having. His eyes harshly adjusted in the sunlight. Closing the door behind him, he made sure it sealed tight, as coming home to a possum stowed away in his bed wasn’t an experience that he needed twice.

He had to fail miserably to learn anything. Crash and burn. Advice bounced right off him, and it was difficult for new things to penetrate his daydreaming skull. Trial and error were how he grew, which was a turbulent method, but eventually, all roads led to the same place.

Locke followed Mark out of the garden. An ivy overran it that crawled like a giant green spider over the surrounding building’s walls with pink flowers blooming along with it like freckles. The dirt bed in the middle of the yard was barren and rimmed with bricks in an oval shape. Nothing had grown there for years. Everything Locke planted in it seemed to wither and brown, no matter how often or how little he tended to it. Even the most potent seeds couldn’t survive in soil that no longer wished to grow.

They side-stepped through the narrow alleyway that led in and out of the garden. The walls on either side pinched together like two giant fingers, touching up above but allowing crawlspace. The back door was locked today because there was no class. They had to squeeze themselves like toothpaste tubes through the side-alley if they wanted to enter or leave.

The two of them stumbled out the other end but caught themselves before rolling off into oncoming traffic. On the sidewalk and in the street, people were flooding in towards the central plaza. The crowd was substantial, and onlookers were making their way over, still.

“Woah,” Locke blurted as he narrowly avoided the stampede.

“I told you! Come on,” Mark insisted, taking his arm.

They rushed into the depths of the gathering, becoming one with the sea of townsfolk. Soon there was less and less space in between every other body. The closer they got to the plaza, the louder and more concentrated the voices became. It was increasingly challenging to weave in and out of the lines of people.

Pushing and shoving ensued as they tapped shoulders and squeezed themselves sideways. Angry looks and irritation greeted them with every step inwards towards center stage. Finally, the pair popped out right behind the first row to determine what was taking place.

“That’s the girl?” Locke asked.

“Yup. That’s her,” Mark confirmed.

The center of the plaza where the four principal streets intersected was shut down in its tracks by a young woman, whose identity was hidden by a black gaiter wrapped around her face. She had more skin on display than clothing, and along with the mask, she wore a matching black bralette and shorts that hugged her figure.

“Another volunteer?” she called out to the surrounding audience.

“Watch,” Mark whispered, nudging Locke excitedly.

“I’ll give it a go,” a man replied, emerging out of the lineup. “Let’s get this little charade over with, shall we?”

The man was a specimen. A heavyweight sculpted from pure muscle. Clean and lean. His arms stuck out of his tank-top like swollen roots of a tree. He could’ve been a model from the neck up and a statue from the neck down. As he approached her, he was at least twice the size of her.

“Psst,” Mark nudged Locke. “That’s Ferra. He was a regional combat champion a few years ago. He’s an animal.”

“Wonderful,” the girl declared, greeting her new participant.

“Let’s make this interesting, yeah?” The man speculated. “What do I get if I win?”

“Whatever you want,” she stated, winking back at him.

“Well then,” the man began, turning to the rabble and holding out his arms as he addressed them. “How about a kiss?”

Laughter rang out. A few whistles as well. The man smiled and innocently shrugged as he turned back to her.

“A fair trophy, no?” he insisted.

“Whatever you want,” she humored him.

“All I have to do is pin you?” He asked, rubbing his chin.

“Pin… submit… knock me out…” she explained, placing her hands on her hips. “A finish of any kind.”

“I like the sound of that,” he announced, egging on the masses, who responded with more hooting and hollering.

“Whenever you’re ready, big boy.” the girl told him.

“As you wish,” the man replied.

His feet began to bounce as he limbered out, shaking out a few kinks in his neck and rolling his wrists. Once loose enough, Ferra shuffled playfully forwards, closing the distance between the two of them.

He clapped the air in front of her face as a distraction before shooting in to take her down. As he wrapped his monstrous arms around her thigh, it seemed like it was all over, but she shoved his head straight into the gravel and ripped her leg out from his grasp. He tumbled down onto all fours as she twirled away and waited for him to get up.

The people laughed and cheered.

“Slippery, aren’t ya?” Ferra laughed, wiping the asphalt off his forearms.

The burly man inched his way back into range again, cocked like a tiger, and ready to pounce. This time he dove in immediately for her ankle. As she stepped out of his grip again, he climbed up her legs and bear-hugged her from behind. The girl vanished inside the man’s massive embrace, and the nail appeared to be in the coffin. She somehow broke his hands from each other and dragged his arm over her shoulder before throwing him onto his back.

The gathering roared.

“Alright,” Ferra grunted, wiping more gravel off himself.

He bull-rushed her, planting his forehead into her chest and tackling her legs to take her off her feet. She sprawled backward, placing her hands on the back of his head and guiding his face into the asphalt.

The spectators weren’t laughing anymore. When Ferra got back up to his feet, his nose was broken and bleeding. He was livid.

“Forget this,” he spat, wiping his face.

Ferra ran at her, swinging fists now. First, a jab. She evaded it cleanly. Next, he crossed his right hand at her, but she was gone before it ever got close. He ferociously kicked at her stomach, but she eluded it with grace.

She twirled back out of range of his assault and stood in waiting for his next attempt. Goading him further, she placed one hand behind her back. Ferra stomped over to her as she stood still, heels together and immobile. He launched a haymaker at her face with enough force that the front row felt the wind of its passing.

Gasps rang out. Hushed murmurs in the audience. The girl caught his fist. Ferra shook himself, grabbing her wrist with his other hand and trying to wring it free, but it was no use. She held his fist closed in her petite hand, sending every jaw in attendance plummeting to the floor.

“What is this?” Ferra cried out, still trying to wrench free his captured fist.

She opened her hand, releasing it, and in the same lightning-quick motion, palmed him in the chest and sent him flying onto his back and sliding as if he were on ice.

The viewers were stunned.

Ferra got up to his feet and brushed himself off. He wiped his nose and held his chest where she struck him. Shaking his head, he retreated from the plaza and dissipated into the ranks of the gallery.

“He’s gotta’ be in on it,” Locke whispered to Mark.

“I dunno’ man, did you see his nose?” Mark whispered back.

The girl adjusted her mask and clothing and stepped back into the center.

“Another volunteer?” She asked. “Bigger and stronger, if you would.”

The attendance parted on either side like blades of grass to an oncoming breeze, all turning towards one person.

Monty stepped forward until he towered over the girl in the heart of the plaza. He was a giant, standing head and shoulders above the next person, and many times as massive.

“I’m not a fighter,” he admitted. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Then allow me to borrow you for a demonstration?” she asked. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“I guess so,” he agreed, scratching his head.

The girl got in close quarters with the giant, to the point where she disappeared from where Locke and Mark were watching. Suddenly, a wave of astonishment rang out.

Monty was horizontal in the air, hoisted above the girl’s head as she pressed the mountain of flesh towards the sky with her own hands. She turned around in a circle, showing off the feat for all to see. Monty flailed his legs in panic, as he was like a big dog that was unaccustomed to being picked up.

She gently set him back down and patted him on the back as he stared at her in disbelief. After she thanked him, Monty waddled back to his spot in the audience, almost tripping over himself.

“Your best fighter, please,” she called out, with a growing sense of urgency in her voice.

Everyone broke down into whispers and gossip over who would emerge next into the arena of absurdity, but eventually, an older gentleman came forward. He was fit, but his hairs were graying, and the days of his prime were long behind him. All the same, he made his way casually towards her until there were only a few steps left between them.

“I’m probably the most accomplished fighter this place has to offer,” the man began. “…but I couldn’t hope to compete with you. I don’t know how you’re doing what you’re doing, but you’ve made your point.”

The girl nodded back, respectfully.

“Why don’t you tell us what it is you want?” the old man grinned. “We won’t have any tough guys left if you keep this up.”

He bowed his head to her and returned to his place in the ranks as casually as he came. The girl glanced around the courtyard, taking advantage of all the eager eyes around her.

“Do I have your attention now?” she addressed them. “You’ve seen what I’ve done here today. Are there any doubts, still?”

“I call bullshit,” Locke blurted out.

“Locke, seriously?” Mark whispered.

“Fake. It’s totally fake.” Locke called out as Mark shook him by his arm.

Locke stepped out to meet her as all the eyes in attendance fell on him. Mark groaned as he watched him prance forward with his puffed-out chest. A few people laughed while others whispered amongst themselves, but all of them were chomping at the bit to see what came next.

“Yeah, I don’t believe any of this,” Locke stated, waving her off from head to toe.

“More kindling to the flame,” she noted.

The girl shot her hand down and grabbed Locke by the ankle, proceeding to hold him in the air like a freshly reeled in fish.

“H-hey, what the hell?” Locke squirmed from upside down. The blood rushed to his head as he looked from the girl to the many faces around him. He whipped back and forth, flailing like a salmon. Mark facepalmed from the front row.

“I shouldn’t be able to do this,” she declared, carrying Locke by the ankle. “And yet, you’re watching it now with your own eyes.”

The girl circled, presenting her trophy like a true showman. Eventually, Locke grew tired of fighting it, opting instead to hang limp and listen.

“How can I swat your toughest warriors like flies? How can a little girl hold a giant over her head like a case of feathers? How am I able to do these things that shouldn’t be possible?” She asked them.

After a moment’s pause, she opened her hand and dropped Locke onto the ground.

“Ugh,” he exhaled, feeling all the wind in his lungs evacuate as he landed on his back.

“There is a dark cloud on the horizon, and it’s heading your way,” the girl stated. “It hungers. It wants to sink its teeth in and devour you.”

The people began talking among themselves.

“I need volunteers,” she stated. “I need those who would join me and take arms against this looming threat. The dark cloud will be upon you soon, but I can show you how to acquire the same power I’ve displayed here.”

“It’s a sales pitch. I knew it,” a voice laughed from the audience.

With that, everyone started packing up and trickling away.

“Fun while it lasted,” someone chuckled.

“Gotta’ get back to work,” noted another, and plenty of others echoed it.

“Wait, hear me out! You’re in danger!” The girl pleaded, but the volume of the crowd drowned out everything she hoped to get across. Within minutes, the mass of people utterly dispersed, and even Mark checked the time, coming up with somewhere else he needed to be.

The girl stood in place, deflated, and head hung low. The only semblance of life left was the trash rolling by at her feet like tumbleweeds. She sighed, placing her hands at her hips and staring up at the sky. Her demeanor indicated that she’d cast her net out similarly and many times before, only to yield comparable results.

“I mean… I believe you.” Locke admitted from his back, holding his arms behind his head. “I think.”