Stay Alive

And I will wait for you tonight. You're here forever and you're by my side. I've been waiting all my life, to feel your heart as it's keeping time. We'll do whatever just to stay alive. Dawn is coming, open your eyes. Dawn is coming, open your eyes.

- "Stay Alive" by José González (from "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Official Soundtrack")

Chapter I

"James, could you please get the cat clock from the basement?" He mother asked. James, who was on the phone with her, was wearing his favorite t-shirt, a white shirt with red sleeves. The classic baseball shirt. His hair was black, a bit matted, as if he just got out of bed. It was noon on a Friday. June 12th, present day.

James walked barefooted through the house, which was an open concept first floor with a kitchen and dining room to your right, a formal room to your left a living room to the back and a staircase in the middle that lead to the bedrooms. The walls were covered in white paint and hard wood flooring, having no life whatsoever. There wasn't a single poster, picture, or anything on the walls. The floor had rugs and such things but other than that the house was plain and rather boring.

James began to think of the baseball game that was coming on later. The White Sox versus The Yankees. James was a Yankees fan. As he entered the formal room, the room with the expensive furniture. The leather couch imported from Greece, the leather sofa imported from Egypt. The Spanish carpet, the only carpet on the first floor, and the historic looking walls made the room feel like a forgotten portion of the White House. A baby piano next to a large window near the front of the house was present also. A beautiful instrument of grace and concert history, this baby grand felt like the bigger cousin. He used to play like one. The piano remembered symphonies, the minuets, the chords of the likes of Gershwin, Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin, his favorite.

James looked the piano, noticing that it looked like someone had been playing it rather recently. The piano was prepared to play, the keys were showing and the top was up, revealing the inner workings. "Strange," James said, walking over to the instrument, "this piano never gets used." He pulled the cover over the piano keys and put the top down. "I wonder who was playing it." A draft. The window next to the piano was open. James closed it.

James opened the basement door and walked down the old, creepy horror movie staircase to a room full of boxes and large picture frames. These large picture frames were placed to where the backs were shown, as if the person was ashamed of the pictures that were inside them. The boxes were no better. They were placed in a careless fashion, stacked up on top of one another, looking something out of The Lorax. The contents of these precariously placed boxes were knick-knacks. Ranging from figurines to snow globes, all the way to 1920's nostalgia that was gathered at an estate sale in Southern California, these forgotten pieces collected multiple layers of dust that probably spawned the life of the figurines the layers sat on. In the middle of the room was a lone box, in this box were two things: a Kit-Cat Klock, with a tail extending from the bottom that if in working condition would move from side to side, making the iconic ticking sound and an old film projector that had a film reel in it.

James walked over to the lone box and picked up the clock. The clock was, like everything else in the room, covered with dust but still kept its smile, the hopeful object in the room. A black cat with a winning and encouraging smile on the top, a bowtie, the body making up the actual clock face surrounded by four paws, and the tail extending downward. As he was about to walk back upstairs, he noticed the box with the film projector, shrugged his shoulder for a moment, taking little interest and walked back up the stairs. The film projectors could smile, this one was smiling like his friend the Kit-Kat Klock. Big, happy, and hopeful.

James walked into the kitchen, carrying the dusty old clock with him. He pulled out his cell phone, a flip phone, his parents were firm believers in them, and called his mother back again. "Hey Mom it's me," he said, "I found the clock, what do you want me to do with it?"

"See if it works," she said, "and then put it up on the wall, near the piano maybe."

"Up on the wall, but Mom, isn't that against the law now?" James said. "It's a clock James." His mother said and hung up on him. James sighed and walked over to the kitchen table, placed the clock on it, walked over to the drawer with the batteries, pulled out a Phillips screwdriver and began some clock surgery. He flipped the clock on its face, removed the battery cover, and replaced the batteries. The tail started moving back and forth. "Good," James said, satisfied, "it works." He flipped the clock over, and noticed that the eyes, the second and minute hand, and obviously the tail began to move. "Creepy little thing." James said and walked over to the requested spot. A nail was already on the wall, from a previous picture that had hung there so James naturally recycled. He positioned and straightened it out so that it wouldn't be crocked and looked at it for a moment, as if he were expecting it to do something else. After a few moments of the clock being what it was, James sighed and walked into the living room to turn on the television. Completely unaware of was really going on...

The Kit-Cat Clock looked around, his eyes moving robotically from left to right, his mouth in that constant Barbie doll like smile, and his tail swaying from left to right making an annoying ticking sound. Eventually, the clock stopped doing all of his machine functions and moved his pupils in normal human like circles. He moved his mouth next, also in circles, and finally his tail, also in circles. Looking to his left, the clock noticed someone was sitting at the piano, a very old and dear friend of his. "Why," Kit said in his endearing enthusiastic voice, "if it isn't my compadre and amigo. Panchito Pistoles!" He laughed. "How are things?" The rooster, who was indeed sitting at the piano, smiled at the clock. "Fine Candy Bar," Panchito answered, laughing at his little joke, "how's life in a box?"

"Horrible." Kit replied, "Film Projector won't talk to me anymore, and you know how much of a conversationalist I am."

"Why won't he talk to you?" Panchito asked.

"He says he going through a state of depression. It makes sense really, we're all like that down there. Anyway, the posters and figurines are very talkative, but I can never seem to get to them. At they they're conversations are half way interesting, or at least they were."

"Really?" Panchito asked. "What did they used to talk about?"

"Oh how they came about, who they are, where they came from. They've memorized lexicons and have stories drilled in their heads. Fascinating people." Kit replied, curling up his tail and moving his head in the rooster's direction. "All I do is sit around all day. There's really not much else. So," he said, flipping the tables, "how's life being a ghost?"

Panchito smiled, "It's like if Jacob Marley, Davy Jones, and Mary Queen of Scots got together and had some tea."

"So, it keeps you occupied?" Kit asked. Panchito nodded, "It does, but when people start talking, it gets pretty heated. So I headed here to get away from all that business."

Kit swung his tail and nodded, lifting his head from the wall and turning towards the rooster, and asked a question. "Why are you here Panchito?"

"I wanted to see you Senor Kit as well as everyone else," Panchito said, "I can't visit my friends anymore?"

"No," Kit replied, "it's just, you've been gone for so long and-"

"And what?" Panchito asked.

"Nothing." Kit said rather quickly, moving his tail from side to side and reverted himself back to robotic mode. Panchito sighed, got up from the piano and walked over in front Kit, looking at him as if he wanted an answer. "And what?" The rooster asked again. The clock said nothing, acting like he had been for years. Panchito pulled out his pistols, which he always had with him, spun them around in his habitual two rotations and aimed it at the clock's clock face. Kit saw this and became animated once again, "Alright, no need to get feisty." Kit said. "Finish your sentence Kit." Panchito said, still aiming the pistols at him. The clock nodded, "We've gotten the impression," he said, "that no one cares about us anymore. That no one believes in us anymore. Look at me, I'm a Kit-Cat Klock from 1981. 1981! I'm as old as Mario for Christ's sake. Let's face it, I'm a museum piece."

"You are a museum piece." Panchito replied.

"Exactly! I haven't seen this room in twenty years. Why Martha's all grown up now and has two kids. I missed all of it," Kit sighed, letting his tail droop and hang, "I used to see everything you know. I used to be useful, I used to mean something. Now look at me, I'm stuck on a wall next to a piano." Panchito nodded, understanding the feeling, "I know what you mean Kit." He said, "When Bob shredded my concept drawings I didn't know what to do, I tried getting other jobs but there was no luck. I became a lonely sack of pity, until three years ago."

"What changed?" Kit asked, wanting to know a life secret that Panchito could possibly pass along to him. "I found a hobby," Panchito answered, "piano playing."

Kit was surprised at this, he perked up, his smile returned, and his tail showed enthusiasm. "You play?" Panchito nodded, "Well come on," Kit said excitedly, "let me here something."

"Alright," the rooster said and walked over back to the piano seat. As he was about to sit down Kit had a brilliant idea. "Hey wait," Kit said, noticing the basement door was closed. "I have an idea. Can you open the door, I'm sure the others would like to here too." Panchito smiled and complied. As the door opened, he heard voices talking about their day, their lives, their dreams, how they wished they could be used and loved again, instead of being thrown into dark recesses. The rooster peered his head in, some of the knick-knacks saw him and smiled, "Hey guys look, it's old Panchito come back to see us!" Soon all the knick-knacks grew excited and started calling to him, "Hey Panch how's life treating ya?"

"Hey look it's El Desperado himself! How've you been?"

"Hey Panchito, you look good for a guy whose practically seventy."

Panchito laughed and waved his hand, "Ahola mi amigos, thought you could use some musical enlightenment." He said. "Oh," a snow globe of a polar bear said, "I wonder if he's going to sing?"

"Yeah, it makes sense if he does that." A horse replied.

"Whatcha gonna do Panch?" A small archer figurine with a drawn bow said. "You'll see Senor Hood," Panchito said and walked back towards the piano. Kit smiled, "They think the world of you." Panchito nodded as he sat down, "I know," he said, with a sigh, "that's what scares me."

"Why is that?" Kit asked.

"I'll tell you later." Panchito said and began playing Chopin's Etude Op. 10, No. 3 (Tritesse).

James, who was too busy watching baseball to notice any of the conversation between Kit and the rooster, noticed the piano playing. He didn't really care that someone, whoever it was, his sister maybe, for she did know how to play, she just didn't do it enough, so James figured that there was a blue moon somewhere in the world and she was practicing. But he knew that she wasn't that good, and that whoever was playing the piano, did so which such grace, beauty, and poise that it was as if the composer where playing it himself. James muted the television and listened to the music, closing his eyes for a moment. Panchito was virtuoso, the notes were perfect, the emphasis was flawless, the tempo was poetic, the imagery the chords created were composers' intent. "Wow," Kit said, impressed, "where did you learn how to play like that?" He asked after an intense portion of the song. Panchito smiled, "Lessons."

James, who was paying attention and head the conversation, grew a bit nervous for he had never heard these voices before. Concerned, he walked into the living room slowly, making sure not to cause the floor to creak. Walking on the carpet now, James walked over to Panchito's side and looked at his hands and then at the rooster's face, back at his hands, and then Panchito's face, behaving like a confused bird. When the song was over, Panchito sighed, put the cover over the piano and turned, jumping a bit as he saw James. "Oh," the rooster said, "I'm sorry, you scared me." The rooster laughed. James backed away slowly in fear, shaking his head, "No, I think you got it the other way around." He tripped over the couch, falling backwards on it. Panchito smiled, walked over and helped the boy up. "There you go," Panchito said, "allow me to introduce myself," he cleared his throat, "my name is Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero González III," he took a breath, "but you can call me Panchito Pistoles." James just stood there, a bit perplexed, "I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked. Panchito laughed, "Panchito." The rooster said. "Right," James said with a smile, "that's what I thought you said. Excuse me for a moment, my phone is ringing, I'll be right back." James exited the room and hurried into the kitchen.

He opened every single drawer, he was looking for a pan. James searched through silverware drawers, cabinets, even the fridge. Alas, the pan was not there. "Where is it? Where is it!?" He cried.

Panchito, who heard all the commotion, "Something wrong?" He said, as he was filing his fingernails. James huffed and puffed back into the formal room. "What's up?" The rooster asked putting the file away in his shirt sleeve and pulling out a pad and paper. "What are you doing?" James asked. Panchito shrugged his shoulders, "I like playing therapist, come now, tell me, what's going on?"

James was astonished, for he never seen anyone pull something from their shirt sleeve before. "You pulled that out from your shirt sleeve?" Panchito nodded, "Yeah, I got a bunch of stuff in there. I'm like a walking house."

"You got any kitchen supplies?" James asked. "Sure," Panchito said putting away the pen and paper, "I got basically everything. Anything specific?"

"Got a pan?"

Panchito smiled and put up two fingers with his left hand and walked them through his right sleeve. "Let's see," he said, walking his fingers through his shirt, twisting his rather flexible rubber like arm around his neck and body, "it's not in the kitchen department." He walked his fingers across the back of his neck and down his left arm. "It's not in the home, grocery or cosmetics." He reverted back to normal. James laughed, the ultimate goal that Panchito was going for. He looked inside his red bolero jacket, placing his entire head inside. "Alright, let's check the-," he bumped his head, "alright, that's the heart," he looked left and then right, "hmm...it wouldn't be in books, it wouldn't be in movies." His head ventured further, entering his pants, "I have ventured into adult content." James laughed again. "Strange." Panchito put his hands on his neck and pulled himself out. "I don't seem to have a pan anywhere." Panchito shrugged, "Lo siento. Oh wait," he felt something that was digging up against his back, "Now I remember," he pulled out a pan from behind him. It was stuck up against his back in between his body and his jacket. "Here you go." He handed the pan to James who smiled and said. "Thanks Panchito." The rooster bowed and removed his sombrero. "Any time," Panchito said warmly, "what do you need it for?"

"Oh nothing," James said smiling slyly and shifting his weight around on his feet like Daffy Duck. "Just so I could do this!" He lifted the pan and banged Panchito on the head with it. Panchito fell down to the floor. He laughed, unmoved by the pain, despite the massive headache and eventual bruise and bump. "I see you've been taking tips from Senor Duck." The rooster said laughing, "Ah, he's a good fellow, a bit screwball, but a good fellow."

"I'm sorry but who are you talking about?" James asked. Panchito looked at him, still smiling, "You've got to be joking right?" James shook his head, he had no idea what he was talking about. James walked over to the piano and placed the pan on it. "Are you telling me," Panchito said standing up, brushing himself off, turning around and straightening his jacket. He walked towards James, and got into his face, "That you've never heard of Donal' Duck?" The rooster asked. "Who's Donal' Duck?" James replied. Kit sighed, "Are you serious!" James turned around, looking at Kit and screamed his head off. "Did you just talk?" James asked. "Yeah," Kit replied, "wait, you're surprised by a talking clock but aren't even swayed by a talking rooster?" James looked at Panchito again who simply waved. James moved toward the sofa and took a seat, "I watch way too much TV." He said. Panchito laughed, "Although that's true," he walked towards the piano again, "you're not dreaming."

"Yeah," Kit said, "this is real." James shook his head and walked towards the wall, "Maybe it's defective or something." James said as he grabbed Kit with his hands, "Wait," Kit said in protest, "what are you doing?" He asked. "Taking you off the wall." James said. "No!" Kit started to say, too late. James took him off the wall. As soon as he did, the clock reverted to normal. The eyes swiveled from left to right, the tail moved robotically from left to right, and the smile was back, as if nothing had happened. James looked over at the piano and saw that Panchito was also no longer there. "Weird." James said, and put the clock back on the wall, hoping that it wouldn't talk back to him. It didn't happen.

"Don't do that!" Kit said.

"What the hel-"

"Ah," Panchito said, "language." James looked over and saw Panchito there once again. "What's going on here?" James asked, confused out of his mind. Panchito smiled and walked over to him, "Do it again." Panchito ordered. "Panchito," Kit replied, "I don't wanna -"

Panchito put his hand over the cat's mouth. "Shut up Kit." He turned towards James, "Remove the clock." Panchito said removing his hand. "I have a name you know." Kit said looking at the rooster annoyingly. Panchito rolled his eyes. "Just take Kit down." He said. James nodded and removed Kit from the wall. Once again, the clock reverted back to its original state and the rooster disappeared. James put the clock back on the wall. Once again, the same result as before.

"Would you mind keeping up here?" Kit asked. "I've been sitting in a box for twenty years, your Mom didn't tell you to get me just so I could be another dust collector."

"How do you know about that?" James asked. "I have ears you know." Kit said smiling slyly towards him. "Hey Panchito!" Someone called from downstairs. "Tell the kid to cool it won't ya?"

"What's going on here?" James said, repeating his question. "It's kinda hard to explain," Panchito said. "But all you gotta do is walk down there."

"Walk down there?"

Panchito nodded and pushed James towards the door, James protested. "Hey, stop that, let me go!" He fought back which only made Panchito carry him under his arm. "Come on James," Panchito said, walking to the basement door. "Let's go."

"Wait, how do you know my name?" James asked. "Let's just say I know things?" The rooster said, looking down at the massive amount of forgotten trinkets and things. "You guys ready?" He called. "Yes!" The trinkets replied. Panchito stood James up on his feet, the boy began to brush himself off. "There's no need for that," Panchito said, getting behind him. "Why?" James asked. "Because you're just going to get dirty again." Panchito said backing up against the wall. "Again," James said, "why?"

"Sorry about this but," Panchito answered, got a very quick running start, and kicked James, sending him down the stairs. That done, the rooster brushed his hands off as if they were covered in chalk and sighed. "You'll thank me later." He closed the door as he entered the formal room again.

"You didn't have to do that you know." Kit said looking at his friend with skeptical eyes. "I hated doing it," Panchito said, "but it had to be done."

"To mimic his word, why?" Kit asked. Panchito placed his hands on the clock, "All part of a plan Kit." He said. "Wait, no, Panchito, don't, this is crazy, this is crazy!" Kit said. Panchito nodded, "I know, so crazy that it just might work." Panchito slowly quickly grabbed Kit from the wall and threw him towards the couch before disappearing.

The clock landed safely on the couch, tail still ticking, eyes still moving robotically. It was one thirty on a Friday. June 12th, present day the moment everything changed, because at one-thirty on that particular Friday, the piano for the first time in his life, felt loved, felt like he was useful. He was hoping that whoever it was that played him so beautifully and flawlessly earlier would come back.

Don't worry piano, it's only chapter one.