Harry & The Foxtail

o3 | pugna

o3

p u g n a

Take part in a violent struggle involving the exchange of physical blows or the use of weapons.

IT WAS A chilly Tuesday afternoon and Harry had been watching the clock, that hung from the living room wall above the sofa for quite some time now. It had been three days, three days since he was given the tiny box from his sister on that very sofa. It had taken all his might, to cast aside his curiosity and eagerness to know what she'd got him, but he figured if he could wait a whole two weeks —which was how long she was away for— then he could wait till the next six pm.

However, Harry had already missed two six pm's and he wasn't going to let himself miss another—not again.

"Damn," he muttered as he checked the time on his phone's lock screen. It was fifteen to six, which meant he had fifteen minutes to get home and open it because quite stupidly Harry left the box in his room... at home, and he was in Angel waiting for the bus.

If there's no traffic, I'll make it, he thought as he taps his foot anxiously. An elderly woman sitting on the red plastic plank, irked by the sound of him viciously shoots a killing look at Harry, thus making him stop. However, without the tapping foot, he had no release for the knots of anxiety forming in him. What if he missed it again, like he did on Sunday— he'd have to wait a whole twenty-four hours before he could have another chance at opening the gift.

Harry quickly looked up at the road, and there were no signs of buses coming. Sure there were buses on the other side of the road, but they weren't going where he needed to go and so Harry sighed. To ignite some sentiment of hope, he looked up at the black box attached to the roof of the bus stop, and the electronic writing read:

1 43 London Bridge 6 mins

2 30 Marble Arch 7 mins

3 38 Victoria 8 mins

As his eyes saw, and his nerve cells processed messages and his brain digested, Harry sighed, again, because by then he didn't even want to check the time. As by the time the bus came, and he got on, and others got on too, and by the time he gets off and walks to the flat... it would defiantly be well passed six.

Harry really couldn't lie to himself because he was disappointed and his face didn't fail to show it.

That same day, well, evening Sofia had noticed her brother's sour face and she knew why. She didn't even need to ask. Six pm, was one of those busy times of his day, and so finding that moment is next to impossible on a week day and since she knew he'd keep his word... he wouldn't open that today.

It's not like she wanted to put her brother in so much agony and anticipation because she didn't choose the specifics of when he could open it. No, it was the natives on the island beach stall, who told her it had to be opened at exactly six pm for the effects to happen. (And boy, was she excited. She really genuinely believed Harry would be better and gain something, from the gift and the little note-like-letter inside.

She really believed.)

So now as Harry waited for the last two minutes before six pm, he smiled because he wouldn't miss it, not again.

o.o.o