Goodbye to a World | shane walsh

07 | through the cracks

Another successful haul from Elmburn found Nola pulling into the makeshift driveway of the Swampy Shanty. She hopped out of her old grey truck with a spring in her step, eager to unveil her latest find.

Unlocking the gate, she carried a box to the front of the dock, setting it down gently before retreating to the little toolshed she had recently built. From there, she retrieved a manual air pump and hurried back to the front of the Swampy Shanty, pump in hand.

With a burst of excitement, Nola began to inflate the large item, watching as it took shape with each pump. Soon, her prize was fully formed. She closed the pump and admired her work with a satisfied smile.

"Whad'ya think?" she asked, glancing over at Sir Wobblebottom, who seemed to grin back at her. She couldn't contain her excitement as she revealed the new addition to her yard—a giant inflatable lawn flamingo. Its bright, garish pink plastic stood out against the greenery, its head peeking just over the top of the wall surrounding her little sanctuary. She anchored it with a few rocks and set a small pot of flowers beside it.

"Absolutely fantastic," she said, her eyes twinkling as she patted the flamingo's black beak. She turned back to the Shanty, humming to herself as she locked up behind her. Inside, she retrieved a carrot muffin she had baked earlier and settled on the couch with a book.

Nola hadn't planned on leaving that day, but after dinner and a solitary dance to some jazz, she had succumbed to a wave of boredom. On a whim, she had ventured to Elmburn, a town she had yet to explore, finding little of interest save for the flamingo, which was now her new favorite thing.

As she nibbled on her muffin and read by the light of the oil lamp, she glanced back out at the porch, she gasped in realization. The flamingo needed a name. Nola stuttered up and back out to the porch of the Shanty, pondering possible names, none of which seemed quite right, before looking down at Sir Wobblebottom for inspiration.

Suddenly, her face brightened. "That's a great idea," she said, turning her gaze back to the flamingo. "Mr. Bojangles, welcome to the family!" She waved cheerfully at the inflatable, then headed back inside. Sir Wobblebottom smirked at his innovation.

Returning to her book, Nola enjoyed the warmth of the oil lamp, savoring the simple pleasure of the evening. Baking bread had become too cumbersome lately, so she had shifted to muffins, especially with the convenience of boxed cake mixes she discovered in gas stations.

As the night deepened, her eyelids grew heavy. She marked her place in the book, placed it on the coffee table, and carried her lamp to the cot. Removing her new boots—an unexpected find thanks to Mr. Bojangles—she settled onto the thin mattress.

She dimmed the lamp until it flickered out, her head resting on the lumpy pillow. She made a mental note to replace it soon, as her sleep had been restless lately. Placing her hands under her head to ease the tension, she let her eyes drift closed.

The night settled over the Swamp Shanty, and just as Nola was about to drift into sleep, something pulled her back, a faint but persistent light filtering through her closed eyelids. For a moment, she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her, a trick of exhaustion, or perhaps her retinas were giving way on her. But when she opened her eyes, the source was undeniable—a steady glow piercing through the cracks in the shutters.

Confusion swept over her as she turned her head towards the window, heart thudding. The light wasn't moving, just a static blaze that cast long shadows across the room. She slipped out of bed quietly, her breath shallow, and moved toward the source, grabbing her crafted swamp slasher off the wall as she went. The familiar weight of the car axle in her hand grounded her, but it didn't calm her nerves.