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She spun around on the puttering cloud and plopped down on her butt, crossing her legs. She crossed her arms over her stewing heart. Her tight shoulders relaxed with each passing breath. The sky seemed a little less dark and the cold air became a little more tolerable.

'Too slow', she thought as she looked down at her yellow seat.

She whipped her neck around, hoping to still see the floating castle. No such luck. Pan stood up, and looked over her shoulder. Nimbus slowed, and glittery gold flints shed from the cloud's surface as it hummed.

"What," Pan snapped at Nimbus and tapped her foot.

Nimbus returned to its previous pace, and Pan grinned. She levitated herself a few inches from the cloud's whipped surface. A few seconds passed, to Pan's delight.

"It just might work', she thought.

Nimbus climbed to the soles of Pan's feet. Pan mustered a ball of Ki. It over flowed from her hands and spilled into her arms. She kept feeding it until it was too heavy. Pan dropped the mass and took off, like a crow with burning wings. Pan stopped during her charge to the castle. Nimbus was plummeting to the ground.

"Mr. Nimbus?," Pan called in response to the cloud's whistle. Silence made the guilt grow. Pan squinted her eyes; something stirred the dull horizon.

"Nimbus!," Pan screamed at the 'little cloud that could'. Pan blasted off as the cloud barreled toward her. She flew as fast as she could, but the yellow dot grew into a churning haze, hot on her heels. Pan bulleted through walls of dark clouds. She kept watching for the bouncing yellow guard. Earthy brown shades filled her eyes. Air grinded against her vocal chords before her nervous system woke up. Her body rag dolled in the mud. She threw her hands around her head while she watched her legs sail against the pale sky. The heels of her shoes sunk into the mud. Fat teardrops cleaned stripes down her dirty cheeks. Her palms slicked across the cool wet grass, and she sat up. Pan shuffled to her stiff legs.

"Shew, Mr. Nimbus," she complained and wiped her face, " I'm sorry," she reasoned with the cloud, "I can't let him leave me."

Nimbus bustled over the ground in front of Pan.

"For something that ain't gotta face, you sure do talk a lot," Pan said as she listened to Nimbus' angry wind rustle the grass. Nimbus crept up to pan, until its whispy edges brushed her knees.

"I'm not gettin' on. Told ya," Pan said as she turned her back to Nimbus.

"Not getting on what?," A gravely voice said.

Pan's eyes popped up from the ground. Her spine got stiff although it ached. Her hands were shaking, but she wasn't sure if it was the pasty blue eyes looking at her or the sudden impact.

Pan found the color blue beautiful. His eyes were no exception, but not the whimsical open sky shade Pan loved. They were hollow, like faded sun shakes in dingey windows. Pan considered it could be an illusion as he walked closer. The absence of color was true. His eyes were filled with dead, empty bloodless vessels. Pan took a step back.

"Funny seeing a ground peddler up here," he said.

"That's not my name, mister. I'm Pan," she said as she looked up at him. Pan's eyes traced the curve of his barrel belly to his broad shoulders. The stitches strained in his black sleeves. His chest heaved and foggy breath filled his coarse white beard. Pan never saw a shade of white like it. The closest she saw was her mother's too many times washed cream table cloth. His hair reminded Pan of the grimey grey bath rug in her uncle Goten's bedroom. His skin was a shade lighter than the drizzly smoke flowing from the floating island.

"Did I ask your name, little ground peddler?"

"Guess not, no. Have you seen my grandpa?"

"Your grandpa? Heavens no! Have you seen my flower bed you gooped up with dirt?"

Pan glanced over her shoulder. It wasn't the trench she left behind, but something called for a double take. Pan's eyes strained to check up on the hollow-faced stranger. To her relief he hadn't edged closer. Pan tucked her leg back, then the other. Nimbus was gone. Pan tried to rub down the prickly hairs on her arms.

"He's tall like you and wears an orange robey thingy," Pan rattled.

"Do you not recall? I just told you; I've seen no such thing. Why, you're the first human I've seen in years, little peddler Pan."

"Peddler Pan?," she griped, " It's just pan, you, you… what's your name mister?"

"Which one?"

"Huh?"

"Tell me which one?"

"Are there other people here?"

"No, you tell me which one."

"I guess the one you like," she shrugged her shoulders.

"They called me Mr. Trist in the south. England dubbed me sir-cholly. My name was Xiet to the Americans. The ancients—people of long ago called me consumption. Don't even get me started on the other planets!"

"So…"

"To your people, I'm Mr. Ramu," he said creeping closer.

Pan lifted her heel. The unexpected crunch stole her breath. The petals of a black rose crumpled beneath her feet. The spidering, brown veins of the flower made Pan turn her head. Up rooted roses found their graves in Pan's trench. Decay teased her nostrils through the wet air. A metallic twang settled on her tongue. Black flowers waived at her from their thorny bushes, like drippy black blood clots on the ends of their needy stems.

Pan's heart galloped up her esophagus. She wrapped her fists in the corners of her dress.

"I gotta go Mr Ramu. I'm sorry about—"

"To you, it's Mr Lan Lee. DO you not see what you've done to my rose beds?"

"I do, but—"

"You're not gonna be a stiff-gal and leave my field like this?"

"Stiff, huh?"

"Listen peddler Pan, I don't take you for a bad apple, my dear, but retributions must be made, you see."

"Mr. Lee," Pan tilted her head, " The flowers…," she chewed the peeling skin on her lips, "They're dead, like dead-dead."

"Oh, no. You're mistaken," he said, " They bloom black for my work you see."

"I like your curly-up mustache," Pan piped up.

"Why thank you," he grinned through his thin, yellow teeth.

Mr. Lee's heavy hand plopped on Pan's head. He pinched a strand of her hair in his oily fingers. Pan gently pulled away, leaving static electricity on his finger tips.

"What pretty hair you have, so dark… darker than my beloved roses."

"I'm leavin' Mr. Lee—"

"Don't go just yet. I'm so old," he grimaced, " I need your help. Follow me to my workshop. It won't take long. It's for my work you see. The whole castle relies on me; I can't get to the ground so easily now. You did ruin half of my roses—"

"Already dead roses, and you're a stranger," she interrupted him.

"I told you; they're not dead!"

Pan turned her back to him, " My daddy'll be mad if I go with you, not the normal kind of mad either."

"Of for goodness sake, he'll be like bees buzzing in a bag when he finds out you wouldn't help your elder."

"Well, I don't think you're a nice kinda man," Pan said.

"Oh, snake on a lake, girl! I'm not a man!"

"Lady then?"

"No," Mr. Lee sighed, " More like… sensei Piccolo," he finished with a mile wide grin.

"Okay then," Pan nodded, "You know Mr. Piccolo?"

"Well, I know you now, don't I. Isn't that good enough?"

Pan studied her shuffling shoes. Little droplets of foggy dew settled on the ends of her black eyelashes. The glittering drops were a distraction from bleak reality. Pan's eyes snapped forward. Mr. Lee's impatience confronted her. Pan puckered her lips. Her braided ponytail draped over her shoulder as she shook her head; the answer was no.

"Ah, too bad!," Mr. Lee said as he turned his back to the girl, "I could help him… your poor Mr. Piccolo," he dragged his tongue and walked away.

Pan watched tiny droplets of water dribbled down the back of his calves. She frowned at his bare feet and dripping rolled up slacks.

"Mr. Lee!," Pan screamed at him.

The grey figure stopped in his tracks. He stood out against the charcoal sky, like a cloud's silver lining. Pan saw the dark circles under his eyes more than his square face and paper-thin earlobes.

"Where are your shoes?!," she harped and ran after him, hearing her squishy foot prints more than the rattle of her own voice.