The Gizmo Man [A Short Story], Comments and constructive criticism!

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Every single year, at precisely 5:37 PM, on July 23rd, every single child in a quaint little neighborhood drops whatever they're doing, and walks down to the curb. Once there, they sit, and they wait. And wait and wait and wait.

You see some of them looking over their shoulders eagerly, some of them not even sitting, and just hopping back and forth on one foot. The older kids, who have been there for a while, sit back, relax, knowing full well that it's time when it's time.

And they chat. They wonder what will happen this year, what they'll get, and begin to play games of rock-paper-scissors. The older kids, they talk about school, homework, girlfriends and boyfriends, what teachers they hate and how terrible it is they got their cell phone taken away by the teacher "for no good reason."

And the parents stand at the windows, indoors, watching, ever so vigilant, some staring into space, remembering this day, this time, back in their childhood, and how they felt. Some of them get teary eyed, and others merely smile, silently, knowing how big an event it was for them, and knowing that their child will find it just as magical.

And so the children wait, on and on. After a few minutes even the older kids begin to get a little restless, and they start to move towards the edge of the curb in anticipation. It only happened once a year.

The parents themselves steal glances at their wris****ches, some tapping their feet in impatience because for them, the event has gotten no less magical.

And finally... there is a noise, a certain noise, the kind of noise that you simply can't ignore no matter how hard you try, it is there. And once you hear that noise you silence yourself, listening, trying to discern it.

A deathly silence overtakes the entire neighborhood. Nobody moves. They strain their ears, trying to listen...

There is most certainly a noise, a musical noise, a noise that instantly lights up the face of everyone there, even the older kids and even the parents, as they hear that familiar tune, that marked the coming of the Gizmo Man.

Nobody could say for sure who the Gizmo Man was. He was, after all, a complete enigma, preferring to keep his words short yet genuine, and even though he was as distant as distant can be, you still felt an overwhelming kindness, a strange feeling that this was a man who wanted naught but happiness in the world.

You felt this man could stop wars by merely standing in the center of a battlefield, smiling.

There were rumors that he had.

No one believed it, but they didn't exactly think it impossible.

And around the corner came the Gizmo Van, the name of the Gizmo Man's van, a magical van covered with posters and decals and all sorts of pictures of doodads and gadgets, and it stops in the middle of the street.

Everyone doesn't talk. They merely watch as the roof of the van opens up and out comes a magical machine, no one knew how it worked, it must be magic, to do what it does, and at the controls was the Gizmo Man himself, smiling and waving to the children.

You hear the whirr of an engine, the whoosh of electrical power as the Gizmo Man powers up his device. The silence breaks and the children begin to murmur amongst themselves in excitement.

It's that time! That one time of the year, every year, that it happens!

A powerful beam of light shoots forth from the device, penetrating the thick black clouds blanketing the sky. The light breaks the clouds apart, and soon...

There is a blue sky above. The sun breaks through the clouds, and the children, the poor children, they need to cover their eyes, it is so bright. The Gizmo Man shuts down the device and says, "It will last for an hour. Farewell." And with that, the device slinks back into the Gizmo Van, and the Gizmo Man drives off, ever smiling.

The children begin to play.

There are no fights, no arguing over who did what. Why should one waste this precious little time on such trivial things? The adults come outside, grinning like children, some crying tears of joy.

Finally there are the elderly.

They see not joy in the appearance of the blue sky, and the bright sun, but sadness. Mankind had done this to themselves, they knew that, and they are reminded of a time when a blue sky could be seen every day, and when the sun shined down upon the Earth.

They remember the wars and the industry, the gradual haze that soon became permanent, immovable, no matter how many years the Gizmo Man came.

No, the elderly see something else in the sky, they see a lost part of the world, one that humanity only realized, as soon as it was gone, how precious it was. And the elderly close their eyes, in solemn prayer, hoping that one day, yes, one day, things will return to the way they remember them, for their grandchildren's grandchildren.

An hour passes, and dark clouds begin to form once again. Within fifteen minutes the sun is blotted out; five minutes afterwards, the last patch of blue is replaced with the darkest of greens, so dark it resembled black and yet you knew it was still green.

The children stop, they say their good-byes, and begin to cry. How could it be over already?

They go inside, have dinner, and begin to dream of the blue sky, and of 5:37 PM on July 23rd of next year, for the next visit from the Gizmo Man.

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I don't often write short stories, but I thought of this one not too long ago and thought, "Why not flesh it out a bit, write it?" So I did.

Comments and constructive criticism is always a plus!

Not bad, but something similar has already been done.

Is that a fact? Huh. Oh well, I did my best.

Thanks for the comment.

Ooh, that was intriguing, not gonna lie.

Very interesting concept, and nice work keeping me on the edge of my...keyboard.

Anyways, keep it up! I want to hear more, give some more insight on the story or on Gizmo Man's backstory. It'd be an interesting story, for sure.

~!

I think leaving the story alone, without any additions, is a better choice. It leaves a lot open to interpretation and doesn't set the past or future in stone. The Gizmo Man is intended to be an enigma to add to the wonder and strangeness of him.

I didn't write the story at random, though. There is a little rhyme and reason. Maybe if you get on AIM or something I'll tell you more.

It's pretty good, it sounds a bit like Dr. Seuss' writing. I hope to read more in the future.

by I'd like to see more I meant another story in itself, not an addition on to this one.

but okay I will at some point.

I was actually thinking of how Dr. Seuss writes his books while writing this, and I did try to go for a somewhat whimsical tone.

I didn't use the sublime rhymes Dr. Seuss is known for, though.

This post has been edited by Zero Kirby on Sep 30 2009, 08:46 PM