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H.K. Slade

Purveyor of Fine Fiction and Champion of the Oxford Comma

 
 
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In Time: Part 2

Note: This story was originally published in Allegory Magazine


Part II


Clarence Turner was at once average and special: average height, average weight, and the same hairstyle and clothes as a dozen other kids in his cramped apartment building. There was nothing outward about the boy to indicate his uniqueness..


What made Clarence special was inside him. Born into a city of violence and hatred, Clarence should have been just another angry city kid, looking to find a way to spread his misery. But even when his father was slain in the line of duty, hatred and bitterness found no purchase in the boy. Clarence never spoke one ill word of anyone. He read books to his nearly blind mother. He picked up ladybugs he found in the kitchen and carried them out-of-doors. He was a light, an example of the fine and gentle things in the world.


On that Tuesday, Clarence had gone to the movies with some of his friends from school. The other boys snuck into a rated-R movie, but Clarence, who’d promised his mother he wouldn’t do such things, waited out in the lobby. It was type of thing that should have gotten him picked on, but the neighborhood’s toughest bully, Big Henry Clay, liked Clarence, and the shadow of his protection deflected all but the most good-natured teasing.


“Are you lost, son?” someone asked. The man speaking wore the same bowtie and vest as the other theater employees, though he was much older then the teenagers working behind the counter. He had a warm, friendly smile that showed all of his teeth in one go.


“No, sir,” Clarence answered. “My friends are watching a movie, but it will be out soon.”


The older usher’s smile dipped, then broadened even further. “They snuck into that horror movie, didn’t they? That R-rated one?”


Clarence sat mute. He was a good kid, but he was no rat.


The usher chuckled. “That’s alright, son, you don’t have to tell me. But you didn’t sneak in with them, did you?”


“My mama said I’m not old enough,” Clarence confided.


“You’re mama’s raised you right. You’re a good boy, son.” The usher reach out and patted Clarence’s shoulder. His hand was warm, almost hot, even through Clarence’s shirt.


“I’ll bet you’re the type of boy who helps your mama around the house, too?”


Clarence nodded.


“You ever take the trash out for her?”


Clarence nodded.


“You think you can give an old man a hand pushing out this here heavy trash can?” The usher pointed to a big grey trash barrel on wheels. “What am I asking? Of course a strong young man like you can push that little old trash can. I’ll bet you play football, don’t you? Come on, son, give me a hand.”


Clarence always liked to help. But the trashcan was very big, big enough that he could probably fit inside it. For some reason, that made him uneasy. Still, the usher seemed very nice, and he did have a uniform on. Plus, his mama had told him not to say “no” to adults, not unless it was bad-touching.


“Sure, I’ll help,” Clarence said and hopped up. “We’ll be back before the movie gets out, right?”


“Oh, yeah,” the usher said as they walked down the service hall. “This’ll only take a minute.”

 

H.K. Who?

About the Author

H.K. Slade grew up fascinated by storytelling, the magical process that allows one person to transport another back in time, across the universe, and into the middle of  danger, mystery, or adventure with mere words. Some of his favorite practitioners of this art include Sir Terry Pratchett, Raymond Chandler, Tony Hillerman, Steven Pressfield, Christopher Moore, Tamora Pierce, and Jim Butcher.  


First published in the Powhatan Review many years before the invention of the Zune, H. K. Slade has since had his works of fiction published in Visions Magazine for the Arts, The Black Water Review, Alien Skin, Down in the Dirt, Peridot Books, Allegory Magazine, and Mystery Weekly. Additionally, he is a regular contributor of nonfiction articles to Calibre Press and CopBlue

 

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