When The Sun Sets....
Gizmo, in the midst of the horror, remembered suddenly one vital thing..all mogwai are equipped with razor sharp claws. The sack was mere cotton cloth, how could it keep him in?
While the thieves bragged of their lusty plan to do with cocaine as they pleased, Gizmo boldly tore out of the bag, and emerged into the midst of the trunk. He searched immediately for a way out. There was no time to lament about the old man, the only thing that mattered now was his own escape and safety. He searched the trunk, looking for equipment of some sort, the old man told him there was always some sort of equipment in the back pouch of a human's tough-skinned riding beast, he'd always been curious about those little things. It was dark, he used his sense of touch. He felt around...something square....with a latch, a first aid kit for humans... Something round and huge, with a very intricate padding, thick, tough and pliable, a spare foot for the amazing beast, no doubt. Something long and thick and round, with a switch...obviously not exactly his cup of tea..but just enough good for him to see.....
"Bright light!" he announced with relief.
He switched on the flashlight. He illuminated the dark trunk. The thieves still sang gaily of their praises of their plunderous activity they were about to commit. He searched the back pouch of the riding beast....finally, at last, he found something that the old man told him could open anything....a crowbar! At last.
Boldly, the mogwai gathered his strength, he pulled the crowbar's flat side to him, and the hook side to the lid of the trunk. He couldn't exactly hold the other side to the lid, he certainly was too small....he immediately though quick..remembering all he had seen with the flashlight....he pushed the first aid kit in front of the lid....then a stolen box of jewels, lightweight enough to lift, that he'd found awhile ago...atop the first aid kit....then another on top....then...with one heave, the hook side of the crowbar was on top. With another heave and all the courage he could give, Gizmo popped the trunk open. He boldly flew out, even in the bright light of the day, which could kill a mogwai. He shut his eyes tight. He knew he had to find a dark place, somehow...quickly.
Keeping his eyes shut, he feel himself rolling away on rough, hot, hard asphalt, using his touch sense. He felt himself rolling down a majestic hill of cool green grass, then dandelions...he smelled the scent of fresh clover....then felt himself hit solid ground. One open of his eye and it would all be over, he had no choice but to use only his sense of touch.
He scampered on all fours across the grass...then hit something wooden...what could it be? Then he heard the sound of another beast roar by, with humans inside (and mysteriously surviving) the beast's digestive pouch, its majestic stomach, chattering of Disney World....and the magic music player inside the beasts stomach jabbering, somehow, about a place called River Falls...River Falls! He remembered how he once had a home in River Falls....a home to call his own......
Memories came back to Gizmo's mind.....in images...a kind human boy named Billy....his wonderful friends....how Billy adored him....how he sang for Billy and his warm family......how they rejoiced at him being around....a kind human girl at his side.....a warm, wondrous home....Billy! A long time ago, his father had found him in the same Chinatown shop that Christmas so many years ago, but the old man insisted he was not for sale. His grandson found the other man and rebelliously gave the mogwai to him even though the old man insisted, "With mogwai comes much responsibility!" The man was told there was always things you never did with mogwai. Bright light would harm them, sunshine would kill them. You never got them wet, and of course...
The most forbidden rule, the one Gizmo knew all too well...
You never fed them after midnight.
He even remembered Billy's address. He did remember how Billy loved him...
"Billy!"
He bravely scampered forward, not knowing what else to do.....
He heard bushes in the distance, thanks to the wind...
"Shade!" he announced.
He scurried underneath the bushes, then finally opened his eyes at last.
He noticed he was right at the entrance to River Falls. He knew he would be sfae, somehow, with Billy, his special friend. He decided to wait until the sun set. Then he would find his way blind----he had the ability to remember each street, each avenue, each corridor, each cul-de-sac, each road of River Falls...he could find his way....he could find his way to Billy's place....couldn't he?
As he waited patiently under the bushes----blackberry, sufficient food until he found his special friend----thoughts crossed his mind of what else happened while he was there...
Something dark....something bone-chilling....
A laugh from what seemed to be an oriental boy of about fourteen in the distance added to the warning.... But Gizmo simply ignored it and sang that song he sung in that dream he had once again, focusing on Billy...
Somwhere, in Chinatown...a figure lie bleeding, losing so much blood...he was still wearing that jade green Chinese men's outfit he wore when they robbed him..complete with matching hat..his flesh was inanimate, his soul was not.
It saw horrific visions...millions of men of so many different kinds..a mad stampede...spilling in to his store, the force literally sweeping him off his feet...looting, pillaging...they found a pure white star in the mogwai area....one thief, a bandit of the old west, it seemed, snatched the star and put it in a sack, carrying it off...they raced all across the land, some on foot, some by horse, at a rabid pace, chanting "Money, money, money"..
Snowy cocaine exploded from their very souls like fireworks as they went along, the star as its hostage..."Money, money, money," they chanted with a lusty greediness...his heart told him they seemed to be ancestry of someone's, ancestry who liked to shed blood with ecstacy and exuberance... pirate ancestry, that of the gangs of New York of the 1800's, bandits of old who burned down ranches, stole cattle, horses and sheep, raped wives, daughters, sisters and even little girls no more than four, and stole milk and eggs and precious meat, all in the midst of 1870's Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, California, Nevada, North Dakota and South Dakota... even blood shedding Vikings straight from the hearts of ancient Norway and Sweden.
The men raced furiously, a mighty torrent, past the hills and medows and fields of Minnesota, past the green and wilderness and ranches, past a place familiar to the sleeping figure....
River Falls....
The star somehow tore out of the bandit's sack, then flew away and inside the midst of the entrance..disappeared into the street, the houses and gardens....
One of the man's stark white, long fingernails....blood-stained indeed....began to twitch....his brown eye and blue eye flashed open.
Gizmo, he thought, where are you?
Gizmo, in the midst of the horror, remembered suddenly one vital thing..all mogwai are equipped with razor sharp claws. The sack was mere cotton cloth, how could it keep him in?
While the thieves bragged of their lusty plan to do with cocaine as they pleased, Gizmo boldly tore out of the bag, and emerged into the midst of the trunk. He searched immediately for a way out. There was no time to lament about the old man, the only thing that mattered now was his own escape and safety. He searched the trunk, looking for equipment of some sort, the old man told him there was always some sort of equipment in the back pouch of a human's tough-skinned riding beast, he'd always been curious about those little things. It was dark, he used his sense of touch. He felt around...something square....with a latch, a first aid kit for humans... Something round and huge, with a very intricate padding, thick, tough and pliable, a spare foot for the amazing beast, no doubt. Something long and thick and round, with a switch...obviously not exactly his cup of tea..but just enough good for him to see.....
"Bright light!" he announced with relief.
He switched on the flashlight. He illuminated the dark trunk. The thieves still sang gaily of their praises of their plunderous activity they were about to commit. He searched the back pouch of the riding beast....finally, at last, he found something that the old man told him could open anything....a crowbar! At last.
Boldly, the mogwai gathered his strength, he pulled the crowbar's flat side to him, and the hook side to the lid of the trunk. He couldn't exactly hold the other side to the lid, he certainly was too small....he immediately though quick..remembering all he had seen with the flashlight....he pushed the first aid kit in front of the lid....then a stolen box of jewels, lightweight enough to lift, that he'd found awhile ago...atop the first aid kit....then another on top....then...with one heave, the hook side of the crowbar was on top. With another heave and all the courage he could give, Gizmo popped the trunk open. He boldly flew out, even in the bright light of the day, which could kill a mogwai. He shut his eyes tight. He knew he had to find a dark place, somehow...quickly.
Keeping his eyes shut, he feel himself rolling away on rough, hot, hard asphalt, using his touch sense. He felt himself rolling down a majestic hill of cool green grass, then dandelions...he smelled the scent of fresh clover....then felt himself hit solid ground. One open of his eye and it would all be over, he had no choice but to use only his sense of touch.
He scampered on all fours across the grass...then hit something wooden...what could it be? Then he heard the sound of another beast roar by, with humans inside (and mysteriously surviving) the beast's digestive pouch, its majestic stomach, chattering of Disney World....and the magic music player inside the beasts stomach jabbering, somehow, about a place called River Falls...River Falls! He remembered how he once had a home in River Falls....a home to call his own......
Memories came back to Gizmo's mind.....in images...a kind human boy named Billy....his wonderful friends....how Billy adored him....how he sang for Billy and his warm family......how they rejoiced at him being around....a kind human girl at his side.....a warm, wondrous home....Billy! A long time ago, his father had found him in the same Chinatown shop that Christmas so many years ago, but the old man insisted he was not for sale. His grandson found the other man and rebelliously gave the mogwai to him even though the old man insisted, "With mogwai comes much responsibility!" The man was told there was always things you never did with mogwai. Bright light would harm them, sunshine would kill them. You never got them wet, and of course...
The most forbidden rule, the one Gizmo knew all too well...
You never fed them after midnight.
He even remembered Billy's address. He did remember how Billy loved him...
"Billy!"
He bravely scampered forward, not knowing what else to do.....
He heard bushes in the distance, thanks to the wind...
"Shade!" he announced.
He scurried underneath the bushes, then finally opened his eyes at last.
He noticed he was right at the entrance to River Falls. He knew he would be sfae, somehow, with Billy, his special friend. He decided to wait until the sun set. Then he would find his way blind----he had the ability to remember each street, each avenue, each corridor, each cul-de-sac, each road of River Falls...he could find his way....he could find his way to Billy's place....couldn't he?
As he waited patiently under the bushes----blackberry, sufficient food until he found his special friend----thoughts crossed his mind of what else happened while he was there...
Something dark....something bone-chilling....
A laugh from what seemed to be an oriental boy of about fourteen in the distance added to the warning.... But Gizmo simply ignored it and sang that song he sung in that dream he had once again, focusing on Billy...
Somwhere, in Chinatown...a figure lie bleeding, losing so much blood...he was still wearing that jade green Chinese men's outfit he wore when they robbed him..complete with matching hat..his flesh was inanimate, his soul was not.
It saw horrific visions...millions of men of so many different kinds..a mad stampede...spilling in to his store, the force literally sweeping him off his feet...looting, pillaging...they found a pure white star in the mogwai area....one thief, a bandit of the old west, it seemed, snatched the star and put it in a sack, carrying it off...they raced all across the land, some on foot, some by horse, at a rabid pace, chanting "Money, money, money"..
Snowy cocaine exploded from their very souls like fireworks as they went along, the star as its hostage..."Money, money, money," they chanted with a lusty greediness...his heart told him they seemed to be ancestry of someone's, ancestry who liked to shed blood with ecstacy and exuberance... pirate ancestry, that of the gangs of New York of the 1800's, bandits of old who burned down ranches, stole cattle, horses and sheep, raped wives, daughters, sisters and even little girls no more than four, and stole milk and eggs and precious meat, all in the midst of 1870's Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, California, Nevada, North Dakota and South Dakota... even blood shedding Vikings straight from the hearts of ancient Norway and Sweden.
The men raced furiously, a mighty torrent, past the hills and medows and fields of Minnesota, past the green and wilderness and ranches, past a place familiar to the sleeping figure....
River Falls....
The star somehow tore out of the bandit's sack, then flew away and inside the midst of the entrance..disappeared into the street, the houses and gardens....
One of the man's stark white, long fingernails....blood-stained indeed....began to twitch....his brown eye and blue eye flashed open.
Gizmo, he thought, where are you?