Destroyer
Franklin Arthur was a man that looked like a turtle. And for the most part he behaved like one as well. He tended to stay in his shell and avoid people. This happened to be a difficult feat, nonetheless a necessary choice. Necessary until the fateful day of February 5th when there was no avoiding what was coming. Even hiding in that non-existent shell wouldn’t help Franklin in the slightest.
Franklin had always found a way to help those around him in need. You could almost say he went out of his way to help them. Which wasn’t always an easy feat for Franklin. You see, Franklin was a bit different than everyone else. Franklin had a broad build, stood at nearly 7 ft tall and had the oversized feet of a giant. He often was teased for his size. Frank the Tank is what some might say, but most people called him Big Frank. And it couldn’t be more frank that his size usually landed him trouble. Gentle on the inside and a bit barbaric looking on the outside he often wound up breaking those delicate things around him. Yet he thought nothing of the sharp remarks when someone needed him. Whenever he helped, the destruction around him seemed to disappear. But not for long.
The wake of destruction followed in Franklin’s path. Merely taking a stroll could easily involve broken windows, manic car alarms, and downed electrical poles caught by his outstretched arms. The sheer weight of his step sent the ground a-bounce with seismic activity. Sitting often lent itself to the twisted or crushed remains of anything once mistaken for a bench or chair. Nothing Franklin Arthur did could control the sheer scope of his destruction.
And in the late afternoon rain on the fated day he found himself trying to help out someone in distress not knowing that it would change his life. Three cars sped past him as he began to cross a busy intersection. The opposing walkers started out as well. One by one a group of children approached on his left and right with giggles and smiles. When their slickers and galoshes stomped through the puddles he kept on. And as they passed with their laughter, he hadn’t planned on what would happen next.
Franklin barely had the time to react. He couldn’t imagine the truck taking the corner so quick. Yet it did. It came barreling down the tiny street with a screech in its wheel. Standing forward with one arm outstretched to stop the children and the other braced outward to face the truck Franklin waited for impact.
The impact may not have been as loud as people might have said, but it was loud nonetheless. And the crushing blow that the front end took could have been mistaken for another vehicle’s damage. The crinkled metal resembled the retracted bowels of an accordion as it came to a stop. The purr of the engine was much louder and angrier than it had been before. Its din was unforgiveable much like the act it had just committed.
In haste of the wreckage the driver looked absolutely stunned. His face paler than white, more ashen than smoke as he stared out and over the damaged front end of his truck. His eyes making a visual connection with something the others couldn’t yet see. Big Frank could barely make out the stare when the screaming sound that no one misses lets out across the rainy street. Three feet from Big Frank lay another reminder of the events that transpired. Slowly in unison the tiny voices of the children begin to mimic the cry of the first that sounded.
The tiny body of a girl lying in a shallow pool of blood. The fall sent her hat and galoshes flying from her form. Mixing with the rain her blonde hair pulled together into clumps as the stickiness coats the side of her small face. Tiny gasps of air escape from her mouth and garble with the wetness of watered down blood. The only words the small child repeatedly mumbles are “Mama, I want Mama.”
Saddened by the realization he wasn’t quick enough to reach them all in time, Franklin releases the truck and walks over to the child. With a whimper in his large chest, he bends down and rubs her blood soaked hair. He wants to tell her that her Mama is coming, but the truth is she probably isn’t. He holds the tiny girl in his large hands as she quietly whispers for her Mama one last time. With a blood soaked finger he closes the small child’s eyes.
The sounds of the children dissipate and a crowd begins to form. Their voices fill the air. The loudest comes from the man behind the wheel. He yells to the crowd that Franklin caused the scene. Telling them it was Franklin’s blind actions that caused the crash and his hand dealt the blow causing the death that spills out onto their street. Riling them and inciting them with his words of hate. Soon all the voices begin to pipe in and the one thing they came to agree upon is that Franklin’s larger than life destruction had cause yet another problem for them.
Over the course of time Franklin had broken numerous things, except for one… life. He had never brought destruction to another living creature. So in this instance the sound of their yells was more than he could bear. He couldn’t possibly be the cause for their alarm. His large hands had only stayed the small ones from walking into danger. But they continued.
They couldn’t see the true nature of the man when they yelled, screamed and begin to throw things. In the pouring rain that fell from the heavens they threw anything from shoes to everything like tools before turning to rocks. The sharp edged stones cut into Franklin’s face and hands as he tried to fend off the damage. Following the stones came the sticks that bludgeoned. Blow after blow. No one stopping to let him speak, only remembering the destruction that preceded him wherever he went.
Finally it was too much. And with a roar Franklin let them have it. The man who avoided everything and everyone without need confronted it all. Up and out came his roar from the pit of his gut. The blood streaked across his face as the howl escaped his lips. With it came the force of a monster. Both arms swung and it took out the crowd. Disarmed and running they couldn’t catch up with his newfound freedom as it pursued. He didn’t care if they were scared, hurt or angry. That no longer mattered to him.
For on that day Franklin Arthur came to discover the true destruction in the world when it pointed, stared and blamed him.
Creation vs. Destruction. Interesting in that people view destruction as the end and creation as the beginning. Some might tell you different and I might be one of them. Nature is forceful and changing constantly. There is both end and beginning taking place. Take a look around before making up your mind about destruction and creation. And I'm not saying much about these stories. As my commentary has had little to do with them. Thinking of Matisse. Letting you make up your own minds. Enjoy. kisses. m.
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