red

It was morning, but outstretched the black hole arms of the gargoyle cast midnight over the plaza. Bricks, nestled in their herringbones and staggered patterns worn and cracked beneath centuries, squeezed sprouts of drab green through their seams. The dark angel had stood in the square since before time had turned to a new millennia. She was weathered, but her arms and broad wings were unwavering and her downward stare only dull to her sharp vampiric teeth. Legend had it that she was once fair and the ill gaze and the bladed mouth had evolved with dark days. She once was proud white stone, but had turned black and covered with lichens and mould. At her feet, a small pool of water collected in a depression of the plinth. At the edge of the rippling mirror a toad sat, grey and bumpy, forlorn and silent. The entire square was grey and lifeless; all joy spirited away, sapped and swallowed, murdered by the black monolith and her menacing boughs.

A ball then came bouncing in from a narrow passage, behind which a small light glowed, like moonlight sifting through the billowing silken curtains of a bedroom window. It tap, tap tapped punctuating the dismal common with an innocent percussion. The ball playfully dashed, randomly rolling around the irregular paving of the open square, almost with a will of its own. Finally, it came to rest at the base of the statue, the ground being pitched towards the center of the square and a central drain at the fell guardian’s feet. The ball, striped in all the colors of the rainbow, sent a smeared palette of the spectrum drifting across the silver pool to the toad. A little girl then skipped into view from the faint light of the alley. The vibrancy of the ball, once a bit diminished in the lee of the frozen gaze of the dark angel, regained its luster as the girl approached. Her red hair bounced much as the ball had when it entered the square, playful and without direction, almost a separate entity from herself. She knelt down to pluck the ball from the shadow, but paused as she noticed the toad. He returned a look and his throat ballooned as he breathed. She giggled and sat down with the ball under her feet as a wobbly ottoman. Her green dress was adorned with beige ribbons, and her hair with similar ribbons, though it was visibly complaining and rebelling under the unfair restraint. One lock of ruby hair played on her forehead, sticking to her dewy skin. In front of each ear were delicate curls; wispy and light like that on the head of a baby. She draped a hand into the pool and poured a few sprinkles of water over the toad, which seemed unperturbed. Light seemed to be growing in the square as the sun rose, but the sun never penetrated the square for the buildings, nor its sullen occupant. But today, warmth returned. The toad began to feel it. His blood pulsed, and his energy grew. He hopped toward her. She giggled. A sponge of moss emerged from under his feet, padding the cold bricks with green living carpet. Tiny plants, previously struggling between cobbles, suddenly burst into bloom. No longer were they in shade, cold and weak as the sun peered over the rooftops. The girl still sat, thoughtfully looking into the light as it greeted her countenance as a loving mother would an only daughter. An understanding took place, not unnoticed by the toad, but not understood, only witnessed. One of her feet fell off the ball; she paid it no mind and remained, beaming from ear to ear in the sweet sunshine. The sunlight had with it a sort of music, like trumpets laced with strings; very mute, subtle, but there without doubt. Her hair became jeweled with silver and she became older before his eyes. The plaza became warmer still until sparrows darted across the space above drawing his gaze upward; he could see flowers blooming in balcony planter boxes, and lushness spread throughout life within the walls of the square. One lone chickadee flitted to the statue from an overlooking rooftop and found perch upon one of the massive stone wings. The black shell cracked and fell away beneath the grasp of the frail claws to reveal pearlescent white. The toad for once felt hopeful. Life had returned to the cold earth. Winter was over. The last of the icy showers of spring were done. Warmth, life, the goodness and plenty of the square had returned, but she was gone, vanished while he watched the reemergence. Soon, people were walking about. Café’s opened shutters, vendors pushed carts about. Nobody spoke, accept for the polite, quiet greeting or the clearing of throats could be heard. The ball left behind by the girl, moved. No one had touched it, nor breeze molested it. It moved again, rocking begrudgingly to the side, then back to its resting place. Then again, this time, however, it found rest in a neighboring crack and did not return to its original spot. Behind it, now revealed, was another toad. It was a silver toad, with hints of red down its back and perhaps a little green. It hopped over to the side of the pool and the two toads gazed at one another. A small chirp emerged from the new little toad. The grey toad didn’t respond; he looked on curiously. The little toad chirped again and hopped closer still. Nothing. The little toad sat patiently, its eyes hopeful, urging. The sun reached the highest spire of the church on the square, shining with all its might heavenly golden beams onto the dewy promenade. Raining ribbons of summer onto the grey toad, the arc-light revealed him not to be grey at all, but with multicolored spots and stripes. Then suddenly, the grey toad responded a resounding chorus. Surprising, since before he’d never made a sound.