A lone man strolled down the sidewalk, heading for a nearby bus stop. As far as he could see, he was the only one carrying an umbrella and he thanked the fact he had bothered to watch the news that day. Heavy clouds hovered over the city, gray and thick, as if pondering what they wanted to do. They were hurried along by a gathering wind, heavy with humidity. They seemed to growl slightly with protest, barely audible to those living in the house or even those wandering the streets. The man, however, was not fooled by their indecision-his own instinct and habitual weather check that morning told him so. There was certainly no harm in being prepared.
Suddenly there was a loud shout from above and he barely managed to jump out of the way as a canister of paint came flying from a window. The plastic container shattered and a strange shade that was difficult to discern between blue or green, flew into the air and splattered onto the concrete walk.
The man gasped for breath, watching the puddle grow even larger. Then his expression changed to one of annoyance as he glared up towards the window that the small cylinder had come from. A girl had her head stuck out the window, a scowl on her face and two pigtails that projected stiffly on opposite sides of her head. A blue bandanna was tied over her hair and several different colors were smeared on her face and on what he could see of her hands and arms.
She narrowed her eyes at his stare and he hurried on.
With a small snort, Helga turned around to face a canvas spalashed with a myriad of colors. Frustrated, she tossed that out of the window as well, hearing it hit the trashcan below and a cat cry out. Storming to her closet, she yanked out another clean canvas, she only had one more left, and propped it onto the easel.
She'd only decided to give canvas painting a try this past weekend. Helga had to admit it had a calming quality and she liked the feel, but the flip side was she often got aggravated and was unsatisfied with most of her works. "Oh well," she said with a soft chuckle, "To be an artist is to be both frustrated and content."
She arranged her collection of paints on a table she'd managed to con her mother into buying. It had a few shelves; all littered with new art supplies and one or two "helpful hints" books, and had wheels so she could move it as she pleased. Helga spun the table around, uncapping the containers on the other side and squeezing tubes of paint into them. Tubes were too messy for her tastes. Snatching up a thin tipped brush, she dabbed it into a light peach shade.
"But then," Helga sighed, stroking a thin line across the canvas, "what is an artist without a muse?"
She continued on, making an oddly familiar outline though she wasn't paying enough attention to notice. She tossed the brush into a water bucket, stirring it a little, and then grabbed a large brush with a thick mass of bristles. She rubbed it over the streaks of light peach to spread it inside of the outline. "Ah, but I do have a muse, though he is not here." She carefully stroked it back and forth, watching faded lines mix unto one another. "Arnold…" she sighed.
Helga then placed that brush in the water bucket, stirring furiously. She removed both brushes and beat them against the table's side to dry them. She then grabbed another brush and dipped it into a soft yellow, like the color of Thai silk. "Strokes of yellow…" Helga's hand whipped the brush over the canvas above the pale peach shade. "Stalks of the goldenrod wheat." Tossing the brush into the water and repeating the usual process, she grabbed the thick brush and spread the yellow about in soft stacks.
"Waving in the Forbidden Winds…" she continued painting, dabbing various brushes into colors, as she described what she truly didn't realize she was painting.
"Waiting for hues of gold to meet.
Shades of the softest emeralds
Cut in halos of the soul
The center a deep black,
Warmer than borne by any coal.
Scarlet red with lines of pale orange
Checkered memories of past time
Pictures convey words
For wedding bells that may never chime."
Helga stepped back from the painting. Colors were scattered and fanned everywhere, but the football shape was perfectly distinguishable and the coloring was in just the right places. Sure enough, it was a somewhat abstract painting of her beloved. She smiled longingly at it. "One moment, my love…I have to write all that down!"
She dashed into the closet to grab her newest book and flip to the latest page, crawling up into the attic space to be sure of a truly inspired writing session.
Moments after Helga ducked into her closet, the light footsteps of Olga could be heard through the hallway and to her sister's door. She poked her head through the small opening in the door and peeked around the corner. "Baby sister, it's time for dinner!" she called, quickly scanning the room as she glanced inside. Seeing that Helga wasn't in plain view, she took the liberty of walking further into the room to look for her, something that she had often been forbidden to do.
"Oh baby sister, I know you'll absolutely love dinner tonight," she said as she continued to scan the room. "We're having a delicious…ooh, now what could this be?" Olga paused as she ran into the canvas on which Helga had been previously working. She walked around it so that she could get a full view, and then gasped when she saw the work in its entirety. As she stared at the painting, she clasped her hands together and sputtered through words in which she tried to describe it. "Oh my…well this is…just…wow…this is amazing!" she was finally able to say in excitement, as she picked up the painting and held it to the light from the open window.
"This painting reminds me of the works of Picasso during his abstractive period," she exclaimed in admiration of Helga's work. As she leaned the painting against the wall in Helga's room, she snapped when she suddenly had an idea. "I know exactly where to put this…and the gang will absolutely adore it," she squealed, as she picked up the painting and quickly exited Helga's room, leaving the door swinging open behind her.
Shortly after Olga ran down the front steps of the Pataki home, put the painting into her car and pulled away from the building, Helga emerged from the closet where she wrote a few inspired words after her experimental creation. As usual, she stared at her writing and swayed from side to side as she relived the sentiments in her mind over and over again. She sighed as she stared down at her pink book, and reality slowly began to flush back to her.
"Alas, this was my Arnold, the Arnold that I once knew and adored, the Arnold that was well worth such adoration…the Arnold I was separated from by only a mere walking distance, sometimes a few feet…not hundreds upon hundreds of miles," she proclaimed. She leaned against the wall of her room, holding the pink book to her chest and staring off into the distance. She then walked in the direction of her bed, where her painting once stood. "And now, what do I have of him but sweet dreams, bitter sweet memories and fading images. Oh Arnold, do I really know you at all? The only perspective in which I can recall your sweet brow is in this…" before Helga could continue her monologue of sorts, she paused in front of the space in her room that held her picture, to notice that it was now…missing. Before she lent another thought to the subject of the painting, she dropped her pink book and began to comb the room for the painting she assumed that she had misplaced.
After virtually tearing the room apart in search of the painting, she realized that it was no longer in her room, and noticed that the door was wide open. She thought quickly, and her thoughts immediately lead her to Miriam, who was on the floor below her in the kitchen supplementing dinner with a health shake. As Helga bolted down the stairs and into the kitchen where her prime suspect stood, Miriam simply glanced at her and waved absently. "Oh, there you are Helga. Dinner's been ready for a few minutes now and I was wondering if you'd ever come down, but, here you are," she shrugged as she mixed a bag of cocoa into a blender.
Helga's objective was temporarily interrupted as she watched Miriam's actions suspiciously. "Mom, what's in the blender this time?" she asked, trying to side step her first and obvious concern.
Miriam, perceptive to Helga's timid worry, waved a hand at Helga and smiled as she continued to mix the ingredients in the blender. "Oh, don't worry dear, no more smoothies for me," she chuckled, as she put the lid on the blender. "I just found this…fabulous recipe for an energy shake in one of my nutrition books, and the lady at the bookstore recommended it to me and…I dunno, somehow I never got to making it," her mother said, leaning against the kitchen counter. She then noticed that Helga was still looking somewhat distraught, and leaned towards her. "Is there something the matter, honey, that you wanted to talk to me about, because, you know, I'm always there…"
"As a matter of fact, Mom," Helga began, staring down at her feet before turning her attention to Miriam, "there is the small matter of a certain painting, shall we say, that was once in my room that looked like just another seemingly unimportant, abstract work, and I was wondering that, perhaps in your effort to keep my room looking spic and span, you may have…"
Miriam interrupted Helga before she could complete her description. "Oh, a painting? The only painting I know of is the one Olga kept going on and on about that she found in your room a few minutes ago," Miriam volunteered, leaning back on the kitchen counter. On this note, Helga perked up and looked at her mother to continue. "I looked at it, and I guessed it was okay, but it would be even better if you didn't paint that odd…um…football shaped thing. Of course, if I had a chance to look at it more closely, perhaps I would have been able to figure it out…"
"Olga! I should have known," Helga suddenly exclaimed, finally coming to the realization that it was her sister who had nabbed her painting. Helga then looked at her mother, who was slightly alarmed by her daughter's sudden outburst, and tried to clean her tracks. "I…mean…oh. I should have known that…um…she would appreciate…fine art when she saw it, yeah, that's it," Helga quickly corrected.
Miriam shrugged. "Well, that's one thing she can do all right," she replied flatly, turning back to the blender. "She had so much potential as a…a school teacher. I don't understand why she wanted to throw everything else away to become…an actress? Helga, you understand your sister could have been absolutely anything in this world, but, an actress? I tell her not to throw away her life in marriage, and then she turns around and does this. I think she's completely missing the point…"
"Um, Miriam," Helga interrupted, before her mother could continue her rant.
"Oh, sorry honey…I guess I got a little bit carried away, that's all," Miriam chuckled, adjusting her glasses and turning back to Helga. "Is there something you wanted to ask me?"
Helga sighed. "Okay, focus, Miriam…where exactly did Olga take my painting after she went on and on about it?" Helga asked patiently, taking hold of her mother's crossed arms and looking into her eyes.
Miriam stared back absently at Helga until her words registered. "Oh yeah, Olga said something about taking it down to the art gallery downtown, next to the theater where she…auditions, to enter it in a contest…or something. Said she couldn't wait for everyone to see it. Now, if you will excuse me, Helga, I've got to get this thing mixing before Olga comes back for dinner," Miriam said finally, tightening the cap on the blender and turning it on. As she did this, Helga let loose a blood curdling scream that Miriam could not hear due to the ridiculous hum of the blender, but managed to echo outside of the house and disrupted the pigeons resting quietly on the gutters.
Meanwhile, further down the street and into the downtown area, Olga was emerging from her car and looked towards the sky as if she heard a sound. She parked in front of the art gallery and removed the painting from the car. As she did this, a few of her artsy friends came out of the gallery to assist her in the handling of the painting. From the building also came Eugene, who was dressed in paint-stained attire from previous work. He looked up at the sky at the same time as Olga did and the group stood there for several moments. "Hey guys…did you hear something?" Eugene asked, looking back at the group.
"Oh, I'm sure that was just the sound of little birdies or something," Olga waved off, setting the painting carefully on the pavement. "Anyway, gang, I thought I'd bring this terrific little piece my baby sister created for the exhibit…that is, if you don't mind?"
One of Olga's friends stepped forward exchanged a kiss and cheek press with Olga, then took the canvas sheet off of the painting and examined it. "Olga, baby, what are you talking about? This is exactly the caliber of excellence we're looking for," she said, stepping back as the rest of the group examined it.
"Yes, I love how your sister's got that…taco shaped thing standing on top of the pillar," one of the group said, rubbing his goatee. "It almost looks…masculine. It's just great. Be sure to enter it in the contest, darling, it's absolutely fabulous."
Helga peered around the edge of a red brick house, the bus zooming off behind her. "That Olga…" she hissed, glancing over at the art gallery that was a number of buildings away. "How dare she take my painting without asking! Especially one so revealing! If anyone I know sees it, they'll recognize whom it's about," she spun away from the art gallery, settling her back against the bricks. "A football shape, hair that stands up all willy-nilly, red and orange checkered shirt…those soft, caring eyes and the radiance of an angel…"
Before she knew what she was doing, Helga pulled out her locket to stare into the image of her beloved. The picture was only a few weeks old, Grandpa had given it to her, saying it was an extra and to "put it somewhere". Figuring he'd forget about it, she kept it. "My love, must you always be the center of both my troubles and my joys?" She stepped out onto the walk into a pirouette, smiling longingly at Arnold's visage.
"Your image on canvas unworthy
A picture I can never convey
That I hold here in my heart
With words I cannot say.
Your angelic smile
Brings colors in no rainbow
That no mixture of paints can create
That no brush can help to show
My caged heart
Longing for yours away
Oh, had I only kept my angel
Fallen from me that day.
You are gone, my great desire
And here I stay, burning with fire."
She stopped suddenly, the locket hugged to her chest. A familiar sound that had haunted her from her youngest days wheezed out behind her.
Slowly, Helga's eyelids drooped in agitation and her left fist snapped back on reflex, right into Brainy's face. She felt the age-old crunch of his glasses beneath her knuckles and he fell over, unconscious. Then she snapped her fingers as she peered down at his prone form. "I forgot Dr. Bliss doesn't want me to do that anymore!"
Sighing, she shrugged it off and sneaked down the street. Hiding in the alley next to the art gallery, Helga watched someone stroll down the steps and slowly out of sight. She dashed over and grabbed the door handle, hearing it rattle as she pulled. Blinking, she stared into a white square displayed in the window.
"Closed," it read.
Helga sat heavily onto her bed. The day was growing late, and thoughts were heavy on her mind. "How am I going to get that painting?"
She sighed and fell back onto the pink sheets. "Okay…I have to get it back…but then they'll notice that it's missing."
Sitting back up, she stroked her chin in thought. "So, first, I paint some new, random painting to replace it with, and then figure out how to sneak it in."
Helga stood and paced. "Maybe I can pay off a guard or there's a back door…there has to be a way…" She turned to glance at the easel and paint cart. "But first…"
She strolled over and lifted her last canvas, "I need an idea…but I only have one canvas left!" As she placed it unto the easel, she was interrupted, causing her hands to fumble and the canvas to pitch warily through the air. Helga snatched it, quickly gaining a better grip.
"Baby sister!" cried an annoying familiar voice. Helga cringed as Olga peeked in, glaring at her as she set the canvas onto the easel. "I have a surprise for you!"
"What is it, Olga?" The younger sibling sighed and slipped her apron on.
Her older sister giggled. "I think you're a wonderful artist, and to help you along, my art friends donated some canvases and other art supplies!" She swung the door open to reveal a large mass of art items.
Helga smirked. "Wonders never cease."
Growling with frustration, Helga tossed the fourth painting out the window. So far, they had all come out looking much too similar to a certain someone. "Can't I think of anything that doesn't have to do with Arnold?"
She glanced at her closet and her vast shrine came to mind. "…"
Sighing, she began to pace. "I need something that just can't be connected to Arnold."
Helga paused by her writing desk; a picture of her, her sister, and her parents peeked out from the variety of unfinished homework papers. It had been taken on their front porch. She rolled her eyes and snatched it up. "Well, it's something."
Strolling back to her canvas, she nabbed a brush and dipped it into the yellow, deciding to start with her own hair. She continued on, glancing back and forth from the picture to her canvas. Colors streaked and smeared, shades blending into shadows and depths.
After about forty minutes, she stepped back from a nearly finished version of the photo. It wasn't half bad for a first try at realism. "But Olga would definitely notice the difference…" Her face crumpled. "And then she might talk about family togetherness and how cute this is…"
The painting was tossed somewhere under the bed, kicking out a few dust bunnies.
She frowned and grunted as she lifted the next canvas onto the easel. Pausing to wipe her forehead, Helga glanced out the window as the sun slowly began to sink beneath the skyline. She raised half of her unibrow. Then she grinned and snapped her fingers. An "abstract" sunset would sure be close enough to the previous painting of Arnold so that Olga and anyone else who had seen it might know the difference…but not so different that she couldn't play it off.
"It's perfect!"
So Helga got right to work.
The painting finished and starting to dry, Helga was in her closet, clothes flying out at a strange pace. Miriam peeked in, dodging a pale blue dress she doubted had ever been worn, "Helga, dear?"
"What is it mom?" came her daughter's voice in a tone that said she wasn't really paying attention.
Miriam watched as a shoe came flying out and smacked into the writing desk, sending pencils skittering to the floor, "Is everything all right?"
"Huh?" Helga peeked out, fitting a black cap over her hair with black smears over her cheeks, looking the typical part of a thief. "Oh, oh, fine, fine. Everything's great, peachy keen…" she ducked back inside and Miriam watched her daughter's pale blue jeans come out. A moment later, Helga strolled over to the bed, dressed all in black and flopped onto the bed, slipping on a pair of black boots.
"If you say so…" Miriam muttered and stepped out, wondering if maybe she did need a smoothie…
Meanwhile, Helga was busily plotting to herself. Slipping on the second boot and zipping it up, she hopped off the bed and paused to stomp the boots. Yep, they still fit great. "Perfect," she mumbled.
Giving one last adjustment to her cap, to make sure it fit tightly with nothing but pigtails and bangs poking out, she grabbed her painting and peeked out of the room. She glanced back and forth.
Seeing no one, Helga tiptoed down the hall and down the stairs. Big Bob was watching the usual television shows and she slipped out unnoticed.
"This shouldn't be too hard," she said to herself, quietly closing the door behind her and dashing down the street.
Apparently she spoke too soon since the sky gave a loud crack of thunder, water suddenly coming down in sheets.
Ignoring it, Helga pressed on to the gallery. "Now, to just replace this with the other…" she said as she hid beneath an awning. She held up the painting to check it, only to find a smeared watery mess left behind by the pouring rain.
Helga slapped her forehead, "Criminy!"
An hour later, equipped with dry clothing and another painting in hand, Helga sneaked out once more. The black umbrella that she had opted to take with her this time was held solely over her painting as she, dripping wet, dashed down the streets. The sun had long since set, and the street lamps cast long shadows across the dark pavement.
Finally, Helga reached the awning she had been beneath before. She paused again, peering around the corner at the art gallery to make sure no one was standing outside.
Suddenly, a car came speeding past. Its wheels dipped into a deep puddle and it sharply turned the corner. Thick, muddy water splashed up onto the painting and Helga. She stared through the sheets of rain for a moment, her hair clinging to her face. Then, she growled and threw the ruined painting onto the soaked pavement, storming back home.
Helga held onto the newest painting for dear life. She had cut up some of Miriam's trash bags and covered the painting. The rain made it slick and difficult to hold both the large canvas as well as the umbrella.
"I don't care what I have to go through! I have to get that painting!" she said firmly, not bothering to pause at the corner and stormed right up to the front door of the gallery. She set the painting down gently on the dry step, since there was a small roof above. Then Helga placed her hands to the glass door to peer inside.
Sure enough, a guard was asleep in a chair by the doors. "Perfect," she reached into the small pouch around her waist for a few utensils used for breaking and entering.
Then a bright light flashed through the window and a shadow appeared behind it. "Hey!" cried the second guard that she hadn't counted on.
Screaming, Helga grabbed the painting and ran for it.
The guard flashed off the light and blinked. "I was just going to ask if anything was wrong," he said with a shrug and returned to his own seat in the next room.
"This is insane!" Helga barked, her back against the wet bricks, hugging the covered canvas to her chest. "Why must these things always happen to me?"
She looked back and forth as she hid in the alley. "There must be another way in…" Then she looked up to see a fire escape right next to high up air vent.
Shrugging, she wasn't going question how she was going to fit the canvas through. She carefully tossed the canvas unto the pulled up fire escape, smiling in thanks at the fact it actually landed flawlessly. Then, she climbed unto a box and hopped up, grabbing the slick metal bars.
Grunting, Helga pulled herself up.
Only to accidentally kick the painting off the fire escape. She growled as she watched it land perfectly and lean against the brick wall as if it had been neatly placed there. She swung her leg back over, getting a firm grip onto one of the bars and preparing for an unusual acrobat act.
Suddenly, the back door clicked open and two janitors stepped out. "This rain is crazy, I tell ya," one said, tossing two bags into the dumpster.
The other tossed in a single one, and then opened a large umbrella. "No kidding. Look, I'll drive you home. Don't want you walking in this."
"It's only a block," he said with a shrug, turning to close the large bin.
Helga looked between the two and then at the unattended open door. "Now's your chance!" she whispered to herself, leaping down and nabbing the canvas, rolling into the building with a series of grunts and crashes.
The two janitors turned to only see the door they left open swaying slightly in the heavy rain.
"I tell ya, this place is haunted."
"You're just paranoid," the other snapped, shutting the door.
Helga sat inside, just around the doorjamb and sighed with relief. "Okay, now to find that troublesome painting and get this over with."
She stood up, brushed herself off, and limped into the dark room.
The halls were darker than ebony and Helga peered into each room as she slid along the wall. She had ditched the homemade trash bag cover by the back door, since that would make too much noise. Looking into another dark room, Helga sighed.
"How am I going to find the painting if the place is this dark?" she muttered to herself. There were some emergency lights that were always on, but they were few and far between. "I should have brought a flashlight."
She slipped into the next room purely on a whim, finding herself directly beneath an emergency light. Helga blinked, staring at the odd variety of statues around her as she stood amongst the sculptures. She snorted at the nearest one, some oddball creation that had no true sense of form. "Where do they come up with this stuff?"
Suddenly, she noticed the sound of heavy footsteps.
Helga's eyes darted back and forth as she heard the guards approaching. There was no place for her to hide.
The voices of the guards carried as they walked closer.
"…I just don't understand how this can be called 'art'…" one was saying.
His companion laughed. "You can say that again," he agreed.
"And look at this one," his partner continued, stopping in front of a statue that looked suspiciously like Helga posing in a way she hoped passed for graceful.
They both grimaced at Helga, and then continued on their rounds.
"…They get uglier every year…" she heard as they disappeared from sight.
Helga clenched her fists and growled.
Helga had made it through several more rooms before she found one labeled "Art Contest Entries" with some fancy name next to it. Apparently the state was funding it for some reason she didn't bother to continue reading for. "Stupid Olga," she sighed, feeling a little relieved as she pushed down an aisle. She was inside a large presentation room, several paintings were up on the stage and there were doors on either side, leading to more entries.
Helga shifted the canvas in her arms, a small smile touching her lips. "All I have to do is find mine, replace it, and run for it. You did it, Helga ol' girl. This nightmare is almost over!"
Unexpectedly, a scream pitched through the black, followed by a thump, a click, and then power. The lights came on too bright, the curtains pulling away in the back of the stage to show a large screen. It flickered to life, starting a presentation about amateur art and those who had become famous from such contests as the one her painting had been placed in.
A dark figure lay prone behind the chestnut podium.
Helga stopped dead in her tracks. The figure on the ground, had it just moved? Yes, it had, a definite hand gesture.
"I am so dead..." Helga moaned as the figure slowly rose. If she held her breath and stood really still, would he look right past her? Worth a shot. She thought to herself, bringing her feet together and keeping her arms stiff to her sides. The figure ahead of her dusted his pants off.
"I'm okay…" he murmured to himself, turning around. "HELGA?" he asked, guilt written all over his face. It was Eugene. "Oh my gosh!" He walked away from her deliberately, tripping over his feet after a few steps. He landed hard on his rear. "Please, don't hurt me! I didn't mean to!" Nervously, he gestured to a canvas that was lying down on the ground a few feet away from her. It was ugly, covered with a sticky pink substance and oily handprints. A muddy shoe print was imprinted in the center.
"After your sister brought your painting down, I wanted to get a good look at it, but before I could, I tripped over a wire and spilled my strawberry soda all over it and knocked it over." Eugene was frantic, trying to explain how such a horrible thing could happen to the well-known bully's painting, "And as I was getting up, I slipped in a puddle of soda, and I stepped on the painting, and I came back here to fix it, and, and…"he looked like he was about to have a breakdown.
Helga, however, was wordless throughout this entire exchange. Slowly and deliberately, she handed a frightened Eugene the new painting, shut off the power controls that he had hit, and backed out of the building.
The heavy, dark rain clouds dissipated as the back door slammed shut behind her. "Ha!" she laughed, looking up at the sky, "Everything worked out!"
The air seemed so peaceful now that the storm was gone. Stars peeked out from in between a cluster of clouds, and some birds flew lazily overhead. "Nothing can go wrong now!" She smiled, almost tempting fate. Fate, being thoroughly tempted, left Helga with a smattering of bird droppings on her face.
The next day, Miriam joined Olga and Helga to view the contest exhibit shortly after the judging took place. Helga, dolled up for the occasion under the supervision of Olga, fidgeted slightly in her evening dress made of some itchy material that irritated her skin. Once again, Olga ignored her sister's concerns for her own interests, and dragged both her and the lethargic Miriam, tired from a day of working out with her personal trainer, around the exhibit and critiqued each entry.
Helga perked up when they reached the room where her painting hung…the painting that had been revised several times before reaching its final destination. Olga led Miriam towards the painting and Helga followed less reluctantly than she would have. "Well, Mom, here is the painting that I was telling you…about…" Olga paused as she stood before the painting, then placed her hand on her chest and became speechless.
Helga raised her eyebrow at the painting, and then looked from the face of her sister, who was somewhat shocked, to the face of her mother, who was somewhat confused. She chuckled a little to herself before speaking. "What's the matter, Olga? It doesn't look as good as you thought, or is it just the lighting?"
"No, it's not that. I still really like it, and you placed really well in the contest, but…" Olga began.
Miriam completed the sentiment for her. "I don't know about you, Olga, but this doesn't look like the same painting that you showed me yesterday," she said, scratching her head and tilting her head to the side.
Olga snapped. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Mom. I could have sworn there was an aspect in this that I'm really not seeing…" Olga trailed off, as Helga turned her attention to a corner of the room where Eugene was standing, attempting to seem unconcerned and low key. As soon as Helga's gaze fell upon him, Eugene attempted to shrink into the corner and disappear, still harboring a guilty conscious. Helga simply chuckled at him and then returned to the painting.
She tilted her head at he painting again and sighed. "Just do me a favor, Olga. Next time you want to enter me in some wacky contest, don't mind telling me about it first, okay. I think I could have done this better the first time if I had known," Helga said absently. She continued smiling as her mother and sister did not pick up on her ambiguity, and once again fell into a false sense of security, although in the back of her mind she knew something like this could happen again.
"…And kick!" the woman on TV instructed, bouncing about with a cheesy grin. Panting, Miriam tried to keep up with the pace of the aerobic show.
"Don't over work yourself, Mummy," Olga said, waving her index finger as she went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
"Okay dear!" Miriam replied, setting onto the floor to stretch.
Footsteps thudded down the stairs and Miriam glanced over her shoulder as Big Bob nabbed his coat and hat. "I'm off to the beeper store, Miriam."
"Have a nice day, B!" she called, stretching the other leg.
He grunted something, grabbing the doorknob.
"Oh!" Miriam suddenly cried, standing back up and swabbing her forehead as the girls on the screen continued to prance about to pop music. "Could you take the trash cans to the curb for me, B?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miriam," he mumbled.
Helga, though just awakening and still in her nightdress as well as her hair down, whipped out her purple pen and a clean sheet of paper. She had promised herself to write to Arnold about the day before first thing come morning. She paused to swoon momentarily at the locket propped on her nightstand.
"Dear Arnold," She read out loud as she wrote. Downstairs, she heard Miriam's exercise show playing and Big Bob hurrying out to work. She herself had to start getting ready for school soon or she'd be late.
As she scribbled, she heard the door close.
A moment later Big Bob's shout rattled down the streets. "Helga!" he cried, getting the name right for once. Helga tossed the pen and paper to the side to glare out her window.
"What?"
He scowled back, pointing the mess her paints and canvases had left.
Helga could only grin sheepishly down at her father.
The water was warm off the coast of Africa…warm for ocean waters anyway. He wasn't going to dive too deep, just a couple of feet below the surface to video tape a few seals as they swam by. He had opted for a neoprene quarter-inch wet suit. A weight belt with light weights to counteract the buoyancy of the wet suit was clamped around his waist. Since he had paused to fiddle with the buoyancy compensator, he missed a seal speeding by.
He sighed softly in disgust, or at least as best was possible around the mouth apparatus. Readjusting the waterproof camera, he panned back and forth to peer as far as he could into the blue depths, waiting for a shadowy figure to approach.
What he didn't know was that from somewhere down below, he had caught something's attention. The cold eyes adjusted, calibrating the shape and size. The shadowed figure above, to it, resembled a seal well enough to suit its tastes.
The tail fin flicked and its dark gray top with blue hues was not noticed in the waters. The man peered down at the last second to see a shark's gaping jaws heading for him at unimaginable speeds…
"Arnold!"
Arnold blinked, coming out of the daydream. The TV continued rambling about how some great whites "leap" into the air to catch their food. He lay sprawled in the one-seat chair, his legs dangling over one arm while his head was propped on the other. His harmonica was in his hand as it hung over the edge. He leaned back to peer into his mother's face.
"Here's your paper, you left it on the kitchen table." She flicked the newspaper onto his face and he grinned, grabbing it and pulling it away. "Also, I think the mail's here." His mother pointed with her thumb and over her shoulder towards the door where several envelopes lay on the floor.
"Okay," he said and half jumped from where he sat. The paper was placed onto the coffee table. "I've been waiting for some mail anyway."
Suddenly, Arnold paused as something in the paper caught his eye. It was only the local, but one section was usually saved for large events within the state. Apparently there had been an art contest throughout the state and the section was displaying those who had placed high. He turned back, staring at one in amazement, but mostly at the name beside it.
"Helga G. Pataki," he read out loud. He made a small sound, like a cut off laugh. "Well, what do you know…?"
Written By: Old Betsy
Edited By: The Five Avengers
Directed By: Nicole K.
Produced By: Nicole K.
Based on characters created by Craig Bartlett
Most characters are privately owned by such parties as Nickelodeon, Viacom, etc. and are used without permission, but not without respect.