The murky grey sky

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The murky grey sky grew ever fiercer and one particularly dark cloud threatened to unleash its anger with a low rumble. Evelyn stood under the graceful elm tree, it’s small and delicate branches provided little break from the strong gust of winds that had Evelyn nearly flat on her face. Where was this mysterious rascal who tortured her so fervently with his curious ways?

Staring down the empty back road behind the warehouse, Evelyn thought she saw a stout little figure turn the corner. Finally, she thought. Corpulent and short the figure was unmistakable for this was the figure of the mysterious Mr Pilch, Evelyn’s very paragon of Perfect in every possible nuance of the word.

With a shy smile playing on her lips, Evelyn looked over the contours of her little wonder. She grew warmer in the cold as she pulled her eyes over his miniscule feet, his negligible legs, his perfectly rotund middle, his short stubby arms, the lack of neck and the big round head with the receding hairline and gargantuan cheeks which wobbled now as her waddled towards her.

Evelyn was in love with a dwarf.

Love, for the centuries worth generations that it has preyed on, can never be fully understood. It is but an unstoppable force, certain in its course, lethal in its departure. This is the thought that crossed Evelyn’s mind as she lowered her eyes to meet the gaze of the object of so many of her dreams. No-one quite understood why Evelyn, the dark beauty of the emptying town of Lucklorn, would fall in love with the local dwarf. It made no sense. But then, no-one had seen the magic behind the little dwarf’s eyes. Evelyn had. And Evelyn knew. She knew he was not a dwarf. And it was with this thought fixed so firmly in her mind that she had ‘suggested’ this rendezvous.

Evelyn sighed, pulled herself together and began. “Mr Pilch, you must be aware of the certain charm that emanates from our little conversations, but...”

“Charm? You’re crazy, lady!”” the dwarf broke in.

But Evelyn was not to be interrupted. Raising her voice, she continued, “BUT, my dear, it is time to be serious, I cannot let you go thinking that you succeed in deceiving me of what you really are”

To this Evelyn’s perfect Pilch replied with a scornful stare but he suppressed his words as he saw the twinkling determination in her eyes. Evelyn tensed. She fixed her eyes on the slovenly clad creature. “I know what you are,” her voice was an almost inaudible whisper.

Dear little Pilchy staggered as he caught the whiff of alcohol on Evelyn’s breath. Delirious, dumb and drunk! What were the chances?

‘I know what you are,” she repeated, her perfect coherence contradicting the strong scent seeping through her every exhalation. “You are a…” she breathed, ‘Leprechaun!”
Mr Pilch fell to the ground. His shoulders heaved like a stormy tide. He raised his head and roared with laughter.

A leprechaun? Was this the reason for the perpetual stalking! He was hit yet again with another paroxysm of mirth.

Evelyn, on the contrary, was in shock. Was dear sweet Mr Pilch then happy that she had learned of his secret?

Trying to pull himself under control, Mr Pilch flat a wave of surrealism wash through his balding head. “Listen lady, you’re crazy!”
“No, I know now…”
“I own a V-i-d-e-o store” Mr Pilch enunciated, I’m as much a leprechaun as I am the tallest guy on this planet!”

Evelyn tried again but the little dwarf was laughing so hard that she had to stop and admire the ways her little love’s belly jigged to the sound of his gaiety. He started to walk away then. She rushed forward to stop him.

“But I love you, you’re…magical” She whined, “You’re the greatest…”

Pilch suddenly growled. With a parting gesticulation of contempt he waddled off to the warmth f his little store. Evelyn was completely dismayed. This was not how she wanted him to respond. Where was the sun, the gold at the end of the rainbow, the Irish beer running as freely as the river? Where was the fairytale, the dreams coming true, the sparkling happy ending?

Droplets of rain pattered on to the rough, edgy ground.

And so it was that dear Evelyn, the dark beauty of Lucklorn, fell to her knees by the elm tree, contemplating her broken-heart in her own intoxicating fumes.





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