I.
It was a plain, common afternoon view at the park. The statuesque hoard of tall evergreen trees was a very plain sight for such soothing view to end the day up. The fine varieties of topiaries cloistering the park itself were at their utmost exquisite beauty. Everyone was happy from the park- except me. The scene from the faces like almost every day’s a fine day seems to be totally despicable rather. People laughing at one another, children playing tag across a huge prairie set upon the park itself, to those noisy elders chattering themselves through the whole day, that seems to be unconscious for the unknown tomorrow.
Happiness is not an assurance to your everyday living. The more you expect it would be- the more likely things would tremble if it doesn’t meet upon the said expectations. The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do; something to love, and something to hope for.
There I was, lurching beneath the bench, problematic about my article’s due for tomorrow. My name is Kenny Chaffer. I’m a field reporter. It was my last shot for work- and the rest was for my own good. “Where’s that scoop when you need it?” I murmured. I was rummaging across the park, silently observing people scattered across the area, waiting for the lustrous orange sunset to wail its final goodbye. Hmm, I supposed the soon as it rises tomorrow, the sooner I would loose my job. “Doomed.” I sighed as I took a sip of hot cappuccino coffee, which I suddenly realized that tastes awful. As I regained back to my consciousness, I realized that there is nothing to stay at here at all.
I shunned around, as I noticed that there’s not much a scoop to do here to assert myself up. I stood up from the bench and left the area in such rush. Suddenly, someone called me by surprise.
“Mister!” someone yelled.
As I turned backwards, I notice a good-looking lady, probably at her 18’s- the same age as I am. She had a shinny chrome hair, snow-liked complexity, and she had such tantalizing cerulean eyes. Yeah, she was a damsel in distress. The winds blew up her soft, dazzling hair, as the afternoon gleam from the sun reflected her beauty. She was holding my antique camera I inherited from my late grandfather. As she took puny little steps towards me, she fell badly against the ground. Everyone stared against her as I quickly stood her up- some even laughed for her clumsiness.
Before she could ever speak, her pet dog came darting towards me as if I would dare to hurt its master. It was a brownish, hairy mutt [basing on its swamp-like complexity, so I decided to call it Marshmutt.].
It drove me backwards that nearly eluded up my reflexes.
It barked several times at me as it made its way in front of the lady.
“I’m sorry about Charles.” the lady stood up in an abrasive way. I could see the way she moved as if she had some sort of difficulty for something. “I think you’ve forgotten something.” she spoke as she was facing the wrong direction. I think she’s blind or something. I quickly faced her, trying to avoid any scandalous scene for such instance. “Uhm, thank you. By the way, I’m Kenny, Kenny Chaffer.” I spoke as I grabbed my camera and helped her up. “Rosalyn, Rosalyn Brown.” she said as she blushed tomato-red.
Rosalyn just lives only a few blocks besides my apartment. Charles [Or what I call him Marshmutt.] was her personal guide for several years since the day she lost her sight. She lives in a small chapel and serves as a clergy to repay her debts from Reverend Edmund Stall.
He adopted her the day she was abandoned by her own parents.
Stall was having his afternoon snack as he saw the both of us by the windows. He was a tall, skinny, bald person, probably under his 50’s. “Oh, it’s too nice of you to bring Rosalyn over here.” He spoke while munching his brownies. “Oh it’s nothing. It just to repay the way she returned my camera.” I paused. “I’d better be going, Mr. Stall, it’s getting late.” He gave me a stare. “Ahm, ok. May God praise you, young boy.” He waved goodbye as Rosalyn gave me a shyly grin.
