Shine On Harvest Moon

Pioneers

THE WASHINGTON REVIEW 5c

"America's Finest Newspaper"

APRIL 2, 1923

By EDWARD PAN

Years ago I announced my temporary leave from writing in pursuit of what I didn't know was the greatest discovery of my career. I'd previously suspected my time spent chasing this city would be time spent in vain, just like all else fantastically implausible. You see, dear readers, as this paper's finest journalist, I humbly seek to grip your fascination through my work and inform you about all things truly worthy of a story. In short I venture to tell discoveries of the unseen, unheard, and unventured. In short, I have come to find something truly extraordinary this time. I have accounted my findings below, to start let me give you the discovery of a mystery.

I just arrived in my office with my steaming morning cup, filling the cramped unorganized cave of paper and pens with a homely, nutty brown aroma. The smell gave warmth to the pouring, melancholic blue hues of the raging storm past the window. I was investigating a drab prospect of an article about the struggles of a local governor, if I had my coffee earlier maybe I would have looked over it more. From the hall adjacent to my office I hear a racket of footsteps foreshadowing a crash of the door that violently swung into my wall caused what flimsy concentration I had to snap from my readings. Before I looked up I could already guess that It was Pop, Pop Finley.

He was young, in his early twenties, only a decade behind me, but far behind me in his competence. I've been commentated on his writing time and time again, each time with less and less tact and more and more honesty. Maybe it's in an effort to have him improve, maybe I'm just annoyed on how many times he barges into my office asking "how does this sound" or "something's off here". When he's unconfident, I'm always his first option. When he finally discovers a topic he's passionate about, his writing quality and enthusiasm increases five fold, that's where he does his best work. We're not too different in that way.

He wore a spotless and wrinkle-less white collared shirt with a beige suit vest holding a shiny pocket watch, and his dark hair was slicked back and combed. His slim, meek figure making the stack of papers he was heaving seem like Sisyphus's boulder. He dropped them on my desk and was revving his vocal chords shout before I shushed him. He paused and

"You will not believe this, hundreds more reports around California about this mysterious city in the clouds-can you believe it!?" He's been trying to sell me on this floating city ever since he discovered the first possibility of its supposed existence.

I take a glance at the reports and look back at him, his face is beaming with excitement, "Hey Pop, I know you think this magic city case is fascinating and all but the only thing that's fueling this rumor are the crazed old eccentrics spending their time feeding the pigeons,"

"Aw, c'mon Ed, don't be like that mate, I've already looked into it for you in fact! We can't pass this up, we can't!"

"Oh yeah? Well then guess what Pop, I think we should. I know how this goes before we even start with your cases. You find something absolutely brilliant, something we cannot pass up for the life of us, then we spend the next month on a wild goose chase looking for leads that don't exist! As long as I'm your partner we are not chasing a magical city, no sir," Pop looked a little shook, and more than a little defeated, his formerly beaming face turning to awkward disappointment,

I felt a little bad for shutting him down so absolutely so I gave him the coffee I was drinking and went back to work. I don't think he entirely understands me however, I don't mean to say that I hate the idea, even if it does sound very implausible. If floating cities and other machinations of impossibility existed, I would much rather write about them instead, in that way, I see why he gets so excited over these fantastically outrageous cases. If all he believed in came true this world would be nothing but better for it.

After finishing researching my work on the topic that actually exists I scrap it, it had no potential, if I remember correctly it was something or other about an upset in a local election. I head back to my apartment building with no other cases of interest at hand. I open the door and rise up the creaky wooden staircase to my floor and reach into my bag for my keys. When I was shuffling around however there seemed to be much more paper than what I remember placing in there. I take out what's crowding my bag so much and it's the entire folder of people who reported seeing the floating city. Pop, the little twat, must've slipped it in when I was on my break. I slam Pops folder in the trash can next to my sofa with a soft clink of closure and sit on that sofa to see if anything else I've taken home piques my interest.

I look once through my cases, and again, and once more but there is nothing remotely resembling a story worth sharing. All too drab to read. I put the papers back into my bag then sit and stare out the living room window, nothing to excite out there either. The sky is blanketed in deep clouds and the street is packed with lines of cars. The rain has given way to light sprinkles tapping on the window.

I wait and wait. Why did I not bringing more files to review, I'd even take the boring ones. Anything to distract from what's in the rubbish next to me. Outside my window the sprinkles soften until the air is filled with white mist, the mist calms to fog, then the fog fades to a near invisible haze. My attention wanes for all except the trash can beside me. Don't you even dare look at it, you said yourself you wouldn't touch that case. I sit, looking at the ceiling, then the floor, then the wall. Fine Pop, you win.

I fish the folder out of the trash and set it on the table and opened it. The first thing I noticed about it was the impressive amount of reports there were, there were hundreds upon hundreds of witnesses. Second thing was the eerie similarity to each description, most of them describe the city as containing several tall buildings, some of them describe seeing blimps of some sort circling the city, but the pattern that was most apparent, and most appalling was the first thing that convinced me to take the case. Everyone saw the structure of a magnificent statue of a woman in gold. Some saw she held a conch shell in her hand, some called her proof of a god.

I came into work early the next day to consult Pop about the legitimacy of this case. When I opened to look into his office he catapulted from his chair. He looked especially well groomed, hair slicked clean and tight fancy vest lacking any hint of impurity. His glasses were wiped transparent and his shoes were polished to reflected the morning rays, he always looked this way before asking if I would take up his case. He bowed his head in an oddly stiff way, the way a gentleman would and elegantly rose from his seat, his posture stiff and straight.

He inquired in an equally formal tone that seemed outrageously unfit for him, "So, Mr. Pan, will you take the case?"

His excessive regality was off putting, "I'll say it outright, this floating city sounds impossible, utterly ridiculous, but the reports show something else and its baffled me. I don't know what this is, an elaborate joke, a crazy hoax? Maybe, but are you sure you wan't to investigate this one?"

Pop nodded with certainty. I sighed and wiped my forehead.

"Fine, we'll do it, but-"

Pops regality melted as he squealed with excitement, his eyes radiating a golden yellow.

"But just know if this turns out to be a flop I won't take another one of your cases until the start of the new year, got it!"

"Yessir, Yessir!" He was shaking in delight, his efforts bore fruit.