Mr. Somebody
A bright, pulsating star of light pierced the screaming blackness of the night. Silvery-gold threads wrapped themselves around the chill night air, firmly gluing themselves to the sky. Light breezes brushed past the tawny elm trees, awakening the sawdust fairies.
And far away in a dilapidated old shack, Mr. Somebody ceased his snoring abruptly as the faithful old alarm clock bleeped and blared. He rose from his bed in the usual semi-consciousness of early morning and pulled on a ratty old maroon T-shirt. This was complemented by a pair of khaki shorts.
Then the slender old fellow read the clock.
“What the-”
It was 2:00 A.M.
Mr. Somebody dashed out to the dew-laden lawn, compelled by some mysterious force.
A voice of approval spoke from the depths.
“You have come.”