Below is my II Challenge from Wendryn for my virgin voyage into Indie Ink.
Pick a topic, anything you want to write, but don't use any word with more than two syllables. Minimum length 250 words.
It was not as tough as I thought, which leads me to believe that I am a master of the 5-cent word. And, I can count to 2 fluently.
I have mentioned in the past that I have done a fair bit of air travel. Not jumbo jet, around-the-world type travel that you should be jealous of.
Puddle jumpers, at best. Many times with people who smell. (Why is this? Bathe and deo, people. It's easy.)
Once to meet my love.
Once with an eagle.
And once, on a trip to the tiny, eensy-weensy town of Havre, MT...I flew with an EXPERT.
In what, you ask? The Para...(damn you rules!).. er,.. ghosts.
You heard me. A real-life, no-shit, EXPERT on the par...er, ghosts. It was just he and I, which was one person MORE than I was used to on this flight. I was prepared to travel solo (minus the pilots, duh.), and I was a little dismayed to have to share my plane with this guy:
|Hi, I am just a normal guy, flying to|
Nowhere, MT..or am I? And I don't even smell.
He sat a row behind me and across the aisle (seats were one and one). You heard me. Yes, they make jets that small. Don't judge my almost chartered plane.
|This was the usual scene on this flight. Picture Mr. Pony just |
behind and to my right. No, that light ISN'T heaven.
He tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was from Havre. I gave in. I am from a state in the middle, we are no good at aloof for long. And I couldn't have him think I was a square-head local.
We made small talk and I shared the hot spots in Havre (none). I asked why he was visiting. He looked at me and paused. I raised an eyebrow. A secret mission to Havre?? Do tell.
He said, "I am giving a talk about the para..er, ghosts at the college."
"No kidding...?" I replied calmly, acting like I heard this type of thing all of the time. I am very cool and well-traveled. Ghosts. Old hat. Go on.
He went on to tell me that he was hired by the college to give the talk for their Ghostly Studies Class, as well host a ghost hunt tour, as Havre is frankly quite haunted.
Um...ok. They don't even have a decent coffee place, but whatev.
Back story: Tiny Havre has a rich history, hosting a tour called Havre Under the Streets, where the town shops moved for a time after a fire burned all of the local stores down. If you are ever running for the border through this area, check it out. Kinda neat. Haunted? The jury is still out.
The man told me his name was Chris Moon and that he was the owner of Haunted Times, a rag for ghost lovers.
My poker face must have been stellar, because he told me all about his work, tours and a machine he built called Frank's box (which allows people to talk to the dead) for the rest of the flight.
(Does one GATE CHECK that, or is it more of a carry on kind of item?? Dear TSA.... )
But who wouldn't listen? It isn't like he is sharing his ice fishing vacay. Ghosts, man!
|Frank's Box may have been an mailbox in a past life.|
Mr Moon (real name, ya think?) had nice manners and asked what I was doing in Havre as well. I glazed over the details, since I had nothing on this guy. He was polite and well spoken. He even looked mostly normal, (nuts right?). It was snowing to beat the band and he looked a little scared to land. I wondered to myself if those who pal around with ghosts are less afraid of death? It seemed rude to ask.
While we taxi'ed in, I powered up the crack and looked up his name.
It was just. too. good. I e-mailed it to Special Agent and told him I was leaving him for my seat mate, here.
Pause for effect..................
|I wonder if it hurts to maintain this face? Cause|
it is kinda killing me...ba-dump-bump....
Super, really. That picture made my poker face explode into delight and Mr. Moon noticed. He commented "good message?" as I scrolled with mirth.
On our way out, Mr. Moon invited me to join the tour....*FREE*. I said I would come by, and I meant it.
There was no way I wasn't going to see this in action.
|Garage band senior photo or head shot, you decide|
Get a load of the hair. Pretty.
No way, no way, no way. How do I always meet these folks? I smiled to myself. I think it's kind of lucky.
I braved the winter weather (it isn't afraid to snow up to your ass in Northern MT) and when I arrived at the meeting place I learned that the tour had to be cancelled. (I know, anti-climax, right?).
I was actually crushed.
I blame the ghosts.