• NEEDS COMMENT AND CRITIQUE
    I know its a little long but bare with me; I dont think you'll be disappointed.

    Completely, Whimsically Insane

    The ruined man named George Prigmore is like a fun house mirror. Every being that sees this man sees him from another angle, another lens, another perspective; and when looking at the ruined man named George Prigmore, even the slightest skew from one view to another, even the slightest degree of rotation from the kaleidoscope of one's mind, will cause quite a different image, to appear on the other side. Needless to say (but say I shall), because of the ruined man named George Prigmore's funhousemirror-esque qualities, there are quite a few opinions of him (one million men, one million opinions; and each with a maw to voice it for twice what it's worth). There are, however, two things that are similar in every opinion of the ruined man named George Prigmore. One of them is that he is completely, whimsically insane.

    The other is the awareness that this man was not this specimen of human rubble when he walked from the womb (perhaps they come to this conclusion because they wouldn't accept that the thing they call “God” might create a ruin of a man so wretched, but this is a digression from what is important. What is important is that they are correct in their presumption). The ruined man was once a preacher. The preacher of Pratt Street. He had obligations and hobbies and friends (And enemies. But we'll get to that later) and hopes and worries and time. He had time. He also had a family. He had a wife, a son, and a daughter. That is where the tale begins. With a daughter.

    Haley Prigmore trotted in that un-world weary spring-step achievable only by the very young. She was almost tempted to break into a carefree skip along to gray cobble of Pratt Street, but of course, only children skip. Haley made her way along the dust dry stones toward the magnificent, sculpted arches of Pratt church. Haley felt a slight passing wind and paused a moment to look up at the brilliant orange and purple hues of the twilit sky. Haley regarded them, and the passing breeze tingling on her face, with a youthful indifference. Appreciation for those things was usually only found in the old, experienced dwellers of Pratt street (and the completely, whimsically insane). Haley was neither. She might have developed a greater interest in such things in her more seasoned years, but her youthful demeanor tore her eyes from the rainbow skyscape to the task at hand. But not quickly enough.

    Early that morning, a blacksmith was delayed from finishing the one hundred steel nails he had promised a patron the would be ready the previous day by a morning breeze that happened to lift a flicker from the forge onto his bare thigh. 1 second. The man who had ordered the nails was offered a discount for the extra day of wait, and had to search in his purse for a copper coin to pay with instead of a silver one. 2 seconds. Because of the customer's pause in payment, he accidentally walked in front of an incoming coach attempting to carry a woman into town before she was missed and the coach stopped to let the man cross. 5 seconds. This slight delay caused the already paranoid woman to be a bit more apprehensive about sneaking into her husband's house before he awoke, and for her to pause in fright when the third floorboard from the right of the table gave a slight creak. 2 seconds. The woman entered the bedroom at the exact moment her husband awoke for his job as a town officer. The woman gave an elaborate explanation as to why she had been at the doorway so early. 120 seconds. His wife being in the doorway was the final clue the man needed to get the whole picture, he made a stop at the local tavern for a “House Brew” before heading to his duties. 1800 seconds. The man arrived late for his run and was penalized three silver coins and an extra hour on his shift because of it. 32400 seconds. When the man finished his shift, he went back to the tavern for two more “House Brews”. 1800 seconds.

    It's funny how one blacksmith being delayed one second can affect things so drastically. Perhaps If that blacksmith hadn't been burned things might have gone differently for Haley. Perhaps if the man had already had a copper coin in hand things might have gone differently for Haley. Perhaps if the woman had had a faster coach, things might have gone differently for Haley. Perhaps if the man hadn't already been suspicious of his wife's nocturnal doings, Perhaps if the man had not decided to get a drink, Perhaps if the man had not consumed two more drinks afterward, things might have gone differently for Haley. Perhaps perhaps perhaps. Perhaps if that breeze hadn't tingled Haley's face and caused her to stare at the sky....


    Haley Prigmore had begun to continue her way to the church to locate George Prigmore, her father, and bring him home. George's duties as the church's preacher often kept him past decent hours and Gabrielle Prigmore wanted him home tonight. When Haley asked why, her mother, in her usual terse tones, said, “Things need doin.” and sent the girl off with her note. A note that verified Gabrielle did demand George home and that things indeed, needed doin. Haley was interrupted in her regular stride by the clank clank clank of a town guard raiment. Haley didn't know much of the world, but even she could recognize a drunk man when she saw one. The “House Brew” seemed to have that effect on the people of this town. Haley's suspicions were confirmed when the man strode closer to her and she smelled a torrent of sour ale musk radiating from him. The man staggered just a little too far to the side and his iron clad hand smacked into Haley's shoulder, jostling her to the side.

    It's not important that the man was wearing clank clank clanking iron armor. It's not important that the man was a town guard. It's not important that the man was drunk, or that Haley smelled the acrid aroma of “House Brew”. To a point it's not even important that he staggered into her. It's not important that Haley noticed the sour stench of “House Brew” on him. It's not important that Haley noticed the man's stubbled face was someone she thought she knew. What is important is what Haley didn't notice: a leaflet of paper flutter out of her dress pocket, and off into that colored skyscape. Her Mother's paper.

    George Prigmore was reading one of his many ancient texts when he saw his daughter open the oak doors of the chapel and bound towards him in her youthful (or completely, whimsically insane) spring step. The corners of his mouth twitched down, he hated that step.
    “Do you require something Haley?” 
    “Mama wants you to come home early today,”she said. 
     “I don't have time for games Haley. Go cause your mischief another place.” 
     “No really!” she protested “She sent me with a note.”
    Haley dug into her pocket for the leaflet, but of course, it was gone. Haley bit the corner of her lip and shrugged her shoulders. Haley was a quick girl, she understood that she had misplaced the note, and that Father would take it as a silly game played by children. (or the completely, whimsically insane) but she was not scared. Father would make her stay with him in the church until dark as punishment, but that would be it.
    “I don't have time for games” he said, as if on cue. “You will stay here in the chapel until I am ready to leave and we'll let your mother decide your punishment.”

    The next couple hours were quite eventful for Haley and George. You see, what neither of them knew, is that a man named Alvin Krieg was watching them from the undercroft. They didn't know that Alvin had in his own words “A score to settle,” with George Prigmore. They didn't know that Alvin realized killing George wouldn't be adequate vengeance on the man. They didn't know that Alvin himself, was completely, whimsically insane. They didn't know that Alvin was going to kill Haley to cleanse the sins of the father. What Alvin didn't know (but would have delighted him) is that the death of a child is sometimes all a man needs to ruin him. To drive him completely, whimsically insane.

    The wind is a funny thing isn't it? Twas the wind that blew that flare onto the blacksmith's flesh. Twas the wind that tingled Haley's flesh and made her pause. Twas the wind that carried away Gabrielle's note. Twas the wind that signed Haley's death certificate. Twas the wind that bore the ruined man named George Prigmore and drove him completely, whimsically insane.