Disclaimer: I would not event pretend to own Hey Arnold for fear of a
lawsuit and the producers getting angry at me. All hail HA! Also, the
title is NOT a rip off of Incubus. It just sounded right. I respect them
too much to be "fresh."
Morning View
It was a heavy morning in Hillwood; with an unusual eerie fog blanketing the streets and several people on their daily communes to work shouting obscenities at unrecognizable faces through the misty veil. A well- educated woman in her late twenties sat at her desk in one of the few modern industrial skyscrapers of the city- Geraldine Complex. As she sat shuffling through papers, her desk phone rang. She lazily eyed the blaring device for a moment, contemplating whether to waste her energy. Sighing in submission, she lifted the phone and muttered a weak "hello". Her close friend and confidant, Dr. Phoebe Hyerdale, responded with an absurdly cheerful greeting. "What the heck are you calling my work at 7:00 for?" Helga said, with a hint of amusement hidden in her tone. Phoebe chirped excitedly, "You will never guess who came to Gerald and my place today!" "Lemme guess, a highly respected doctor from a faraway land, come at your request for a research partner," Helga responded, voice now monotone. "Close, but not really. Just come to my house for dinner tonight at eight, and look spiffy. You are going to really be surprised."
Phoebe hung up without another word, and Helga was left sputtering and annoyed. The last time Phoebe requested for her to come over "looking spiffy," she was met by a charming English @-hole that would knock anyone off of their feet and stab them in the back that did not have a keen eye and wits against such trickery. Helga, being the high school's kick-butt beauty, had alarms against all men worthy of the military, and sensed what Phoebe could not. Needless to say, the pompous doctor had two shiners and hurt manliness for several weeks, and she was not eager to take another round with an arrogant Freudian.
Nevertheless, there was another part of her, a part hardly revealed, that hoped for romance. After he left, she had shut off all hopes for love and compassion. When she was eighteen, how she loved that year, he held her gently and caressed her with the touch of an angel. This man, as you may guess, was Arnold. The boy without a full name. The boy without parents. The boy who had been Helga's torture and lifeline since the age of three. As Helga matured, she slowly budded as a rose, and showed her few closest pals her true nature. Arnold was absolutely fascinated by this change, and began to "like her-like her" as she had for eight years. He asked her to the eighth grade dance, and their relationship grew and matured with its inhabitants.
Two days after her twentieth birthday, though, Arnold was called for by the Greeneye. He said he must find himself and his meaning in the Brazilian jungles, and left her alone at Yale with no one to confide in. She was devastated and shut herself off from the world. Weeks turned into months, and then years, and Helga grew to accept his absence. She steadily warmed, and graduated with a PhD. She started a publishing company and wrote several critically acclaimed novels and poetry collections, two of which were entitled The Boy with the Cornflower Hair and The Pink Book.
Helga sighed as she set down the picture of a younger her and Arnold, hugging through thick coats on a snowy day. 'Better return to work. Hopefully I can go home early and put some brass knuckles in my purse,' she thought, returning to he stacks of submissions and summaries that needed to be leafed through. She gained a papercut for her efforts, cursed, and called her secretary. "This is going to be a long day," she muttered.
Feana- Soooo. Should I continue? I am wondering if anyone enjoys my writing style. Anyhow, reviews are appreciated, and flames are, well, flames. Thanks!
Morning View
It was a heavy morning in Hillwood; with an unusual eerie fog blanketing the streets and several people on their daily communes to work shouting obscenities at unrecognizable faces through the misty veil. A well- educated woman in her late twenties sat at her desk in one of the few modern industrial skyscrapers of the city- Geraldine Complex. As she sat shuffling through papers, her desk phone rang. She lazily eyed the blaring device for a moment, contemplating whether to waste her energy. Sighing in submission, she lifted the phone and muttered a weak "hello". Her close friend and confidant, Dr. Phoebe Hyerdale, responded with an absurdly cheerful greeting. "What the heck are you calling my work at 7:00 for?" Helga said, with a hint of amusement hidden in her tone. Phoebe chirped excitedly, "You will never guess who came to Gerald and my place today!" "Lemme guess, a highly respected doctor from a faraway land, come at your request for a research partner," Helga responded, voice now monotone. "Close, but not really. Just come to my house for dinner tonight at eight, and look spiffy. You are going to really be surprised."
Phoebe hung up without another word, and Helga was left sputtering and annoyed. The last time Phoebe requested for her to come over "looking spiffy," she was met by a charming English @-hole that would knock anyone off of their feet and stab them in the back that did not have a keen eye and wits against such trickery. Helga, being the high school's kick-butt beauty, had alarms against all men worthy of the military, and sensed what Phoebe could not. Needless to say, the pompous doctor had two shiners and hurt manliness for several weeks, and she was not eager to take another round with an arrogant Freudian.
Nevertheless, there was another part of her, a part hardly revealed, that hoped for romance. After he left, she had shut off all hopes for love and compassion. When she was eighteen, how she loved that year, he held her gently and caressed her with the touch of an angel. This man, as you may guess, was Arnold. The boy without a full name. The boy without parents. The boy who had been Helga's torture and lifeline since the age of three. As Helga matured, she slowly budded as a rose, and showed her few closest pals her true nature. Arnold was absolutely fascinated by this change, and began to "like her-like her" as she had for eight years. He asked her to the eighth grade dance, and their relationship grew and matured with its inhabitants.
Two days after her twentieth birthday, though, Arnold was called for by the Greeneye. He said he must find himself and his meaning in the Brazilian jungles, and left her alone at Yale with no one to confide in. She was devastated and shut herself off from the world. Weeks turned into months, and then years, and Helga grew to accept his absence. She steadily warmed, and graduated with a PhD. She started a publishing company and wrote several critically acclaimed novels and poetry collections, two of which were entitled The Boy with the Cornflower Hair and The Pink Book.
Helga sighed as she set down the picture of a younger her and Arnold, hugging through thick coats on a snowy day. 'Better return to work. Hopefully I can go home early and put some brass knuckles in my purse,' she thought, returning to he stacks of submissions and summaries that needed to be leafed through. She gained a papercut for her efforts, cursed, and called her secretary. "This is going to be a long day," she muttered.
Feana- Soooo. Should I continue? I am wondering if anyone enjoys my writing style. Anyhow, reviews are appreciated, and flames are, well, flames. Thanks!
