Charlie

How will these two individuals find their challenge toward the store?

Charlie folded his book, finished with his final trust of the book; the entire book, he believed, had been flustered with ideas and thoughts that continued to run without reasonable explanation. Mother had always hated these types of books, but it is what Charlie had written since the time he decided to become a master at writing. He took challenges at college, plenty of challenges and had even raised his hand in the class and defied the trust, indeed, the trust of the teacher. Charlie wanted to become something that nobody had been able to become, someone who decided the fate of human-kind with the simple situation of becoming sane with his insane thoughts. He tried, it is true, but he had been unable to continue writing once he had become a master once college was over, and he had earned his degree. But, now, he lives in poverty; lives in apartments, needing to purchase the rent with the money and currency he earns being a grave-digger. Charlie had a wife once, but she had died from cancer three years ago.

Dawn was a kind child, had always loved her father, or to her, her earthly father, whom was finishing his book that he had been writing on, which to his own acclaim had been ruined by publishing and naturally flowing contemporary decision. Dawn wanted her father, Charlie, to be able to survive in this world with her, to be able to continue living without the need of mother, as Trish was now dead, or resting; whatever occurs when someone dies, as Dawn believed she would say to her earthly father, “Dad, she is resting, like she said she would, until the Christ comes back to save us from this world.” It had been a strange day, the say Dawn had started to shed tears for her mother, once she was in the grave. Dawn cried even more knowing that her own earthly father would be the one to bury her since this graveyard hired a grave-digger, which to Godly acknowledgment, had been Charlie.

Dawn examined her father, as he was sitting in his black rolling hair to read a book, but she believed he had already finished the book. The title she could tell, even at an early age, had been written in golden fabrics on the cover, and was now laid on the counter beside the door inside the small room. The room was small, yet the room was the only room they had accustomed to themselves to accept because that's all the money her father could earn being a lowly grave-digger. Charlie tapped the tip of his short finger nails onto the top of the cover of the book, then turned in his chair, the black stem of the chair allowing him to swerve in his chair toward his daughter, or wherever he decided to look and move. Charlie took his hand from the book cover, and rubbed his white palm onto his daughters black haired head, which was the color of a raven's wing.

“Whatever are you planning, standing there?” he said, wrapping his hand in her short hair. “You know what?”

“Yes, earthly father?” Dawn replied, in hope of something delicious.

“Would you like to go down to the store and get a milkshake?” Charlie said, removing his hand from her head and lifting her with both hands onto his lap. “It's all the money I got, I spent on all the money on the rest. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Dawn said, and she smiled breathing deeply, and sighing greatly as if she were thinking in deep frustrated thought and unable to think of a proper sentence to say. “Can we get something to eat, too?”

“Maybe, but I have only ten dollars, so---,” Charlie let his sweating daughter down, as he was sweating too. The air conditioner wasn't working because Charlie had been unable to pay the electric bill, but he would soon, perhaps next month. “Maybe we can get a desired cheeseburger from the store, eh?”

“Yes, that would be fine, daddy,” Dawn said in excitement, planning to add all kinds of fruits and slices, and ingredients to the inside of the meat, because the local store down the street had, indeed, a create-your-own-food-court, type of situation, which was lovely and such, because the needed thought to exist in this naturally flowing world needed those types of things. Charlie agreed with his daughter, and Dawn agreed, too! Charlie got dressed, simply pulling up some old pants which had dirt stains and holes besides the knees. Dawn, on the other hand had a nice skirt on, something little girls would love to wear until the girl, that once was little, decides to wear black or blue jeans, depending on how the child was raised.

“Come on, let's unravel ourselves in walking down the street,” Charlie said, pressing his boots on, which also had been ruined by grave-digging sleeping and dead people. “What a pain,” he said, feeling something like a sheet of paper in his shoe. He took his brown boot off, and slipped his hand into the hole of the shoe, digging down into the soul of the shoe where the toes decided to leave their mark, and pulling something out-Yes! It was a five dollar bill! But he understood. Charlie had a face of a saint, knowing exactly where the paper five dollars came from. The smile on his daughters face told him all. Dawn was already dressed in her shoes, and skirt, and had a old woman's hat on, a large black hat with a bowl of a top.

Dawn said, “Mrs. Manson gave me that money, and she told me to give it to you as a gift. She said, 'oh-oh-oh, child, give this to yur' poor dad, would you kindly?” and I told her, 'of curse' Mrs. Mason. Thanks!' and she went off and did something, but I don't know what. I think she works as---,”

“Mrs. Mason works as the retailer for houses,” Charlie said, laughing the way Dawn had said her remembrance to the conversation. “She's rich. Someday, we won't have to take money from people, like your mom said, 'We don't take money from people, as it is rude.' Do you remember that?”

Dawn nodded, smiling greatly like a fresh bleach of thought had passed her head, and she would accept it as the Holy Spirit. Charlie took Dawn's tiny little hand, and walked out the door, pressing his hand onto the bridge of the knob, and opening the door, found the weather to be well. Not a hint of rain. Nor, a hitch of thunder or lightning; what a night to go walking down to the store.

“Daddy,” Dawn said, once again, examining her father's head where his beautiful eyes remained, “Are you ging' to use that guft?”

“What have I said about learning your words and speaking properly?”

“Sorry,” she said, feeling depressed after such words were spoken from the man she loved greatly, but disapproving the way he had said it. “I was fakin' it, see?”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Charlie chuckled, lifting his daughter and placing her little white legs between the back of his neck, allowing his hands to toddle on her feet so she had balance.