Bedtime Story - Andrew the Mime

{A Merry Christmas, Apocalypse and New Year to you all!}

 I hope you are finding yourselves renewed and invigorated; it's time to go out and take on the world, eh?

 Please enjoy another little bedtime story with a cup of cocoa, tea, or nothing at all! xoxo

There was a town 20 miles west of Aberdeen. The city, if one were to call it that, had been scrapped together from hunks of trailer siding, blown out tires and the ends of splintered garden tools. None of the post war shanties were particularly cheery, but the town 20 miles west of Aberdeen was so lackluster nobody had even bothered to give it a name. It was a town where bones sat out in the sun to be bleached. Where children dreamed only in whitewash and lips remained perpetually chapped and cracking no matter the weather. Folks nodded to each other as they strolled down the empty roads, connected by a mutual aimlessness. The town had been built on what was once a disheveled trailer park before a series of government-run nuclear crises blew it to smithereens, along with most of the civilized world. The town's inhabitants had, for the most part, all been living there since before the nuclear blow-out; a time when the husk of the scrap city had been only slightly more of a glamorous shit hole. 

The house d'la Archambault boasted two crossed pre-war rakes completely in tact on a painted piece of sheet metal that served as a door. Behind the door, the madam was feverishly scrubbing a mismatched set of chipped shot glasses and tea cups with gaping fissures. She had announced earlier in the week that cactus liquor would be served along with jackrabbit meat to welcome back an old member of the trailer wastes, Andrew the Mime. With the excitement that Andrew's arrival was stirring up, coupled with townsfolk eagerness for jackrabbit meat and spirits, she would need every glass on hand, and then some. The madam was among a very select few people who was able to maintain something that resembled a livelihood in the wastes. Her house served as a point of respite, offering varied services to weary men and women, often times free of charge. The madam was a good woman, who carried herself with an unmatched air of dignity.

About a year ago, the madam had to make an especially tearful goodbye to Andrew the mime. He had gone off on some sort of mission that he gave away very little of, even to her. The children in the area had pried Andrew endlessly for more information, but he would not tell them what drew him from the wastes. His abrupt and mysterious leaving was the only event in the town's history that was more mysterious than his abrupt and mysterious return. He had sent a carrier pigeon (another animal to unexpectedly survive the nuclear blasts) on ahead of him with the news. The note was intercepted by the madam, who cradled it with an especially kind and delicate touch.

“ !! “ exclaimed Andrew with a fervid wave as he approached the wastes. He let out a silent belly laugh when he realized that it wasn’t just the madam waiting to greet him, but the entire town. The children ran up to him and grabbed at his tattered striped shirt. He patted the heads of the scraggle-haired children and produced enough balloon animals for each and every one of them. The children had not seen balloons since before the blasts and let out cheers of unparalleled delight. He motioned a goodbye to them and pivoted around twice to let them know he would be back to tell them his wonderful tales later on. As Andrew beelined to the madam, the adult onlookers seemed to understand that they too would have to wait until the party that night for the stories of his journey. 

Andrew took the madam by the hand and her milky eyes filled up with tears. He led her inside the empty tavern house d’la Archambault. “Madam,” he spoke. “I have been to see a doctor outside the wastes. He has put a device in my throat that has opened up my vocal passage. I want to tell you in words how exceedingly beautiful you look this afternoon, but even with this wonderful device, I'm afraid I cannot.” He planted a tender kiss upon her hand. These were the first words that the madam’s lover had ever uttered. Her blind eyes pinched out a river of tears as she closed them.