Collector on The Corner It is silly really, Birch thought as she lay under the large bright canopy that hung above her bed. There was no such thing as Nymphs and Dragons; nor were there such things as Kings and Queens and loyal knights who fought against these mystical creatures. The world was full of drab bleakness that simply consumed your soul day after day. Democracy ran the world as it always had, the closest thing to Royal you had were the Political Parties. And they were nothing but a bunch of old stuffy people talking about old stuffy topics.
‘Then why does it feel as if my world has split into two?’ Birch barked at herself. This mystery had been plaguing her all day, which felt like years. She rolled onto her stomach and smothered her face into the scattered papers she left all over her bed. The smell of ink and Sharpies wafted through her nose making her head feel muzzy. Truth be told, you couldn’t step into her room without feeling a bit dizzy or disorientated. Birch’s room was a chaotic flurry of papers, writing utensils, books, beheaded stuffed animals and assorted broken instruments. She enjoyed collecting things of interest, such as half a young child’s broken plastic crown or the dried up gold inkwell pens she had found down the street in the old hemlock.
It was like finding secret treasures. And most importantly her brothers never tried to take any of it away. They were always going on and hankering about how she was so odd collecting useless junk. Birch had learned, as each of her brothers were born, that if you had something of slight value, something too shiny or too cool to keep your mitts off then it was likely to be broken. It didn’t matter that she was the eldest of the seven. They had no respect for her because she was a girl. A weird girl who seemed to collect useless items and hoard them in her tiny room.
And to be perfectly honest, Birch liked to think of herself as different. Not necessarily weird but different for sure. She was the only person she knew who had white hair at the tender age of sixteen. Kids who are born with white hair (like everyone in her family had been) normally grow normal colored hair by the time they are three. It seemed as if the world just wanted Birch to stick out and white hair was one of the many ways. She was gangly for her age. Not at all willowy like the models you see on TV. A mash of freckles dotted her cheeks. They stood out on her pale skin as if they were flecks of dirt. But most oddly of her looks were her eyes. They were just as pale as the rest of her with only the slightest tint of brown in them. People had often mistaken her for a blind person the way her watery eyes seems to vaguely look about all the time.
But as she propped herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the paper that stuck defiantly to her cheek, and glanced about her room she could see that everything she held her was of some kind of importance. The fiddle propped behind her door may have two broken strings and the back had fallen out but that didn’t mean it still didn’t make wonderful high-pitched shrills if you saw’d on the cords just hard enough.
But then again all this stuff was what made her think she was bonkers to begin with. It had been after she brought home her first artifact. It was a shattered music box that played a horrid tune whenever you cranked the peddle. It looked to have been tramped on by a flock of horses, the way the frame was bent. She found when she wound the tiny contraption her whole room dances with sparkling shadows. As if there was a ballet of fairies going on, skipping and floating and prancing across every surface, leaving only tiny sparkles in their wake. Birch loved this artifact the most out of everything she's found. More then often she still finds herself cranking the lever and hiding the broken box from her brothers. Torturing them until the tinkling melody came to a pittering stop. None of them, even the young ones, could see the dancing figures glad around as they looked for the horrid music box.
Everyday that Birch brought home a new object she would admire it and play with it or just try to figure out what it was. It was always the most exciting the first day. But it was always the next day that Birch found herself compelled to look out her window. And everyday after one of her countless excursions there would always be a young man about her age across the street. From what she could see from her window, because she never did catch a glimpse of him when she returned home, was the top of his shiny black nest of hair. It looked as if a batch of crows had nested and molted all of their feathers upon his head that poured into his eyes. The funny thing about him was that he always there without fail whenever she found something new. Always dressed smart as if he was going to head out for a wedding any second, even in the worst weather. And always holding a box that said: ‘Assorted Objects Return Box’.
After months of watching the strange man outside her window, Birch had brought this guy to the attention of her brothers, and second and third oldest of the household, Hickory and Willow. They had peered down at the boy one blissfully hot evening from the confines of Birch’s room and studied the look of him.
“He’s probably just a person who works at one of the local clinics… Ya’ know those people who come around and collect money and toys every once in awhile for the less fortunate," Willow put out. He was hoping for something more exciting like a rabid manbearpig... Or something. "It’s probably an old box they had lying around and that what he collects junk in, instead of a tin can,” Hickory shrugged away from the window and carefully began to pick his way around the mess, followed closely by Willow.
“Oi! Hickory! Willow! Don’t you think it’s the slightest bit queer that he’s always there whenever I find something new? I’ve been watching for almost a year now… And it’s every time I bring home something he’s there!” Birch couldn’t fathom what he possibly wanted from her or why he might want her broken objects if that was what he really was after…
Hickory gave a roaring laugh as he reached the door. Willow had doubled over in the middle of the room landed with an oofmph on a pile of loose cotton and dirty clothes. “Now there’s a thought! I’ve got an idea. How about you give him some of your crap lying around! You know you have too much junk in here and will have to throw it out eventually. Maybe someone will want…” Hickory’s eyes roamed about the room and landed on a half buried flute, “That! Someone with talent could make a real living off that flute there. It’d be in better hands with anyone but you really,” Willow stretched his arm as far as he could to his left and snatched up the flute, revealing that the buried half had some how managed to be flattened like a pancake.
“Honestly, what’s the point of keeping broken junk? That’s why people throw it away. It’s useless!” Willow tossed the metal pipe in the air and caught it deafly a few times and began to throw it back and forth between himself and his older twin. Birch’s cheeks felt hot as blood rose to her face. She stormed across her room as menacingly as she could through piles of things and snatched the flute from Willow’s hands. Grabbing him by the collar she all but tossed them out.
“DON’T! Get OUT! Get OUT! GET OUT!” Birch gripped at the frame of her door and pushed as hard as she could. The door gave a grinding lurch as it dragged across the floor and snapped in her brothers’ faces. Not the big bang she was hoping for but it worked none the less. She could hear her brothers mutter something about being off a rocker and there heavy thumps as they made their way downstairs and out the front door.
Birch couldn’t resist going to her window to watch her Hickory and Willow pass the strange boy. Maybe they would approach him and tell the boy their sister was bonkers and to leave to another street before he got creeped out by her. Maybe they would find out that this man really was after her strange assortment of objects because they meant something special. They didn’t just mean something special to Birch but they did special things too. They didn’t just play a broken cord or let out puffs of dried ink. Whenever Birch played with them they always did something… Dare she say magical? There wasn’t anything else that could really describe it but magical. Her dried pens managed to draw elegant sceneries every time they were touched to a piece of paper. Her instruments piped out musical ecstasy when they were all set up in a line as if they were actually in an orchestra group about the play at Madison Square Garden.
But as Birch watched her brothers trudge down the street she could find no trace of the mysterious boy with the big cardboard box.
Two months had passed and the heat of the summer was at its peak. Birch had refused to bring home anything new she found laying about. No matter how tempting it was she decisively turned her back to it and walked in a different direction. And during these two months the boy had yet to appear across the street. It was a happy time, so much so that she briefly forgot about the odd boy across the way.
It was the middle of August when Birch saw the boy again. As it happened she had been out and about when she spotted in a store window his reflection. He was half way hidden behind a bush on the other side of the street. What gave him away was the mop of black that stuck out of the bush. Looking a little closer at the window, Birch watched him peep out from behind the bush to make sure he hadn’t lost sight of her. It was then that Birch decided to gather up her nerves. Once the boy stuck his head back into the bush Birch made long, hopefully silent, strides to the bush across the road. By the time the boy realized Birch had seen him he shot up to run, but a firm hand clutched his ear and held him still.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Really that’s unnecessary! Please do stop!” The boy tired to pry her fingers off him. He bowed his head and grimaced as Birch grabbed his other ear and planted her feet firmly on the ground.
“I’ll let go when you tell me why you’re stalking me!” She cried indigently.
Piercing green eyes looked up at her from his bowed position. Anger leaked from his black ringed eyes. “I’m following you because you have a LOTof stuff that doesn’t belong to you! They need to go back to their original owners! It’s a mistake that they are here! Now let go you crazy old bat!” He clutched at her wrists and squeezed until Birch let out a shrill yelp and snatched her hands back.
"I'm not a crazy old bat! I'm only sixteen," She ran her hand through her hair and glared at the boy. It was times like this that she listened to her mother and dyed her hair a normal color.
The figure straightened to his full height. He towered over Birch by a good head. His face was, oddly enough, painted with swirlling designs that leaked from the corners of his eyes. It gave him the impression of wearing a mask. Hard jade eyes stared down at Birch as she stared vaguely up, massaging her wrists. There was a long period of silence between the two as they simply stared at one another. The boy took his time to rearrage his outfit that had crumpled from crouching. Birch had questions and angry remarks whizzing about in her head. Before she could fliter them properly she blurted the first thing that came to her mind.
"What's you name?" It was innocent enough but not the most important information Birch would think about later on.
" Abel dy Chant from the House of Rising Dawn in Lucriza," He answered in a short smug voice. Birch was beginging to see she really did not enjoy this man.
"Well I'm Birch Wood from the ... Erm... House of Wild Trees in New York City," She tried to answer in the same brisk tone he had used and known she was just making a fool of herself. He stiffled a chuckle by trying to cough instead. Again a long awkward pause filled the gap as the two simply stared at one another. Abel took this long pause as his turn to try at conversation.
"So. Are you going to give back those objects? They don't belong to you and they need to get back to where they do belong, soon. VERY soon. Or I'll be in a lot of trouble," He looked down expectantly at her, arms crossed over his board chest.
'The NERVE of some people!' Birch scoffed. Who was this man to think he could stalk her for the better part of a year and then demand that she give back all her wonderous treasures that she had saved and taken such wonderful care of! Birch cocked an eyebrow at the strange man, that she wouldn't have even dreamt of talking to two months ago, and turned on her heels. She heard him cry out in fustration and could hear his heavy foot steps following close behind. A quick glance over her shoulders told her that he was indeed following her and looking none too please.
Birch broke out into an all out sprint and made a mad dash through back alleys and side streets into the crowded streets of Time Square. She was a long way from home but from here she could lose that freak and make it back to her comfy adobe near China Town. Zigzagging and pushing past people Birch was positive she had lost him. Her whole way home was filled with a cocky smile. Though her eyes betrayed her and she looked vaguely around her thinking of where Abel had come from. And where he had gone.
Rounding the corner to her street Birch's jaw dropped at the sight of Abel standing at her front door, waiting expectantly for her.
"Did you forget I know where you live?" A wide grin plastered itself along his face. Birch only knew one thing to do that could possibly save her from this looney man. Though, she thought later, maybe running him off wasn't such a good idea. No one else believed her about how special her broken objects where. And here was someone not only who knew they were special but wanted to take them back to their rightful place. A place (If Birch had been kind enough) could see for herself. Before thinking it through, like always, she screamed at the top of her lung. The windows of her home burst open as if everyone had been waiting for the signal. Neighbours peered curiously through their curtains and around their doors to see what all the ruckus was about.
The Wood family wasted no time seeing the man their sister was pointing at, at the front steps. Heavy foot falls thundered through the house as the front door slammed open. Oak, the second youngest, the first at the door. He didn't waste anytime in thinking and tackled the strange man from the door step. In a flailing of limbs the other boys Elk, Maple, Willow and Hickory leaped into the brawl too. Pine, the youngest at the tender age of two, took out his sling shot and began pelting the heap of limbs.
Birch wasted no time scurringing into the household and up to her bedroom. Yelps from down below could be heard as Pine went wild with his shots, hitting Friends and Foe. Birch leaned against her bedroom door and took a deap breath.
"Wild Family you have there... Guess you weren't lying when you said you came from the House of Wild Trees! The little one nearly dirtied my suit when he came at me! Don't tell me all of those out there are your brothers? They're a tad on the... Feisty side. Is everyone like that in your world or is it just your family?" Abel sat perched on her bed trying not to look around at the jungle of a room he was in. He really had no right to criticize. He room looked twice as bad.
Birch slide down to the floor of her room and stared wide eyed at the raven haired fellow. He wore a cheery smile as if he had just been invite in for some tea. Not the pounding of his life. Her mouth open and closed as she watched him watch her. Fury was rising in her gut but she held it down. If she went off now there would be no stopping her. But something he said dawned on her. 'Your world? There should only be one world...'
"Man you have more stuff then I thought! It looks like I'll need to make a couple of trips from Here to There... And I may need some help... I wonder if I should call my brother in... Bah! He'd just make a worse mess of everything," Abel ended up muttering to himself about how he was going to get it all from Here to a place called There. He threw out names like Judas, Cain, Isaac and Adam but quickly thought that they would all be no help.
"Where exactly is 'There'? And What do you mean by 'your world'? There is only one world..." Birch had found her voice and was standing again on shaky knees. "And what makes you think I'll allow you to take my things like that?!" Birch stuck her hand on her hips and looked him hard in the eye.
Abel simply flopped on the bed and looked up at her bright canopy. It was an aweful shade of blue really. Stretching out he said loftily. "Well I'll be taking the stuff because it's not yours and secondly how about I sweeten this deal? You can help me bring all this stuff back to the right people. That way you'll get to see a truely interesting world compared to this drab place. What do you say Birch?"
It is silly really, Birch thought as she lay under the large bright canopy that hung above her bed. There was no such thing as Nymphs and Dragons; nor were there such things as Kings and Queens and loyal knights who fought against these mystical creatures. The world was full of drab bleakness that simply consumed your soul day after day. Democracy ran the world as it always had, the closest thing to Royal you had were the Political Parties. And they were nothing but a bunch of old stuffy people talking about old stuffy topics.
‘Then why does it feel as if my world has split into two?’ Birch barked at herself. This mystery had been plaguing her all day, which felt like years. She rolled onto her stomach and smothered her face into the scattered papers she left all over her bed. The smell of ink and Sharpies wafted through her nose making her head feel muzzy. Truth be told, you couldn’t step into her room without feeling a bit dizzy or disorientated. Birch’s room was a chaotic flurry of papers, writing utensils, books, beheaded stuffed animals and assorted broken instruments. She enjoyed collecting things of interest, such as half a young child’s broken plastic crown or the dried up gold inkwell pens she had found down the street in the old hemlock.
It was like finding secret treasures. And most importantly her brothers never tried to take any of it away. They were always going on and hankering about how she was so odd collecting useless junk. Birch had learned, as each of her brothers were born, that if you had something of slight value, something too shiny or too cool to keep your mitts off then it was likely to be broken. It didn’t matter that she was the eldest of the seven. They had no respect for her because she was a girl. A weird girl who seemed to collect useless items and hoard them in her tiny room.
And to be perfectly honest, Birch liked to think of herself as different. Not necessarily weird but different for sure. She was the only person she knew who had white hair at the tender age of sixteen. Kids who are born with white hair (like everyone in her family had been) normally grow normal colored hair by the time they are three. It seemed as if the world just wanted Birch to stick out and white hair was one of the many ways. She was gangly for her age. Not at all willowy like the models you see on TV. A mash of freckles dotted her cheeks. They stood out on her pale skin as if they were flecks of dirt. But most oddly of her looks were her eyes. They were just as pale as the rest of her with only the slightest tint of brown in them. People had often mistaken her for a blind person the way her watery eyes seems to vaguely look about all the time.
But as she propped herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the paper that stuck defiantly to her cheek, and glanced about her room she could see that everything she held her was of some kind of importance. The fiddle propped behind her door may have two broken strings and the back had fallen out but that didn’t mean it still didn’t make wonderful high-pitched shrills if you saw’d on the cords just hard enough.
But then again all this stuff was what made her think she was bonkers to begin with. It had been after she brought home her first artifact. It was a shattered music box that played a horrid tune whenever you cranked the peddle. It looked to have been tramped on by a flock of horses, the way the frame was bent. She found when she wound the tiny contraption her whole room dances with sparkling shadows. As if there was a ballet of fairies going on, skipping and floating and prancing across every surface, leaving only tiny sparkles in their wake. Birch loved this artifact the most out of everything she's found. More then often she still finds herself cranking the lever and hiding the broken box from her brothers. Torturing them until the tinkling melody came to a pittering stop. None of them, even the young ones, could see the dancing figures glad around as they looked for the horrid music box.
Everyday that Birch brought home a new object she would admire it and play with it or just try to figure out what it was. It was always the most exciting the first day. But it was always the next day that Birch found herself compelled to look out her window. And everyday after one of her countless excursions there would always be a young man about her age across the street. From what she could see from her window, because she never did catch a glimpse of him when she returned home, was the top of his shiny black nest of hair. It looked as if a batch of crows had nested and molted all of their feathers upon his head that poured into his eyes. The funny thing about him was that he always there without fail whenever she found something new. Always dressed smart as if he was going to head out for a wedding any second, even in the worst weather. And always holding a box that said: ‘Assorted Objects Return Box’.
After months of watching the strange man outside her window, Birch had brought this guy to the attention of her brothers, and second and third oldest of the household, Hickory and Willow. They had peered down at the boy one blissfully hot evening from the confines of Birch’s room and studied the look of him.
“He’s probably just a person who works at one of the local clinics… Ya’ know those people who come around and collect money and toys every once in awhile for the less fortunate," Willow put out. He was hoping for something more exciting like a rabid manbearpig... Or something.
"It’s probably an old box they had lying around and that what he collects junk in, instead of a tin can,” Hickory shrugged away from the window and carefully began to pick his way around the mess, followed closely by Willow.
“Oi! Hickory! Willow! Don’t you think it’s the slightest bit queer that he’s always there whenever I find something new? I’ve been watching for almost a year now… And it’s every time I bring home something he’s there!” Birch couldn’t fathom what he possibly wanted from her or why he might want her broken objects if that was what he really was after…
Hickory gave a roaring laugh as he reached the door. Willow had doubled over in the middle of the room landed with an oofmph on a pile of loose cotton and dirty clothes.
“Now there’s a thought! I’ve got an idea. How about you give him some of your crap lying around! You know you have too much junk in here and will have to throw it out eventually. Maybe someone will want…” Hickory’s eyes roamed about the room and landed on a half buried flute, “That! Someone with talent could make a real living off that flute there. It’d be in better hands with anyone but you really,” Willow stretched his arm as far as he could to his left and snatched up the flute, revealing that the buried half had some how managed to be flattened like a pancake.
“Honestly, what’s the point of keeping broken junk? That’s why people throw it away. It’s useless!” Willow tossed the metal pipe in the air and caught it deafly a few times and began to throw it back and forth between himself and his older twin. Birch’s cheeks felt hot as blood rose to her face. She stormed across her room as menacingly as she could through piles of things and snatched the flute from Willow’s hands. Grabbing him by the collar she all but tossed them out.
“DON’T! Get OUT! Get OUT! GET OUT!” Birch gripped at the frame of her door and pushed as hard as she could. The door gave a grinding lurch as it dragged across the floor and snapped in her brothers’ faces. Not the big bang she was hoping for but it worked none the less. She could hear her brothers mutter something about being off a rocker and there heavy thumps as they made their way downstairs and out the front door.
Birch couldn’t resist going to her window to watch her Hickory and Willow pass the strange boy. Maybe they would approach him and tell the boy their sister was bonkers and to leave to another street before he got creeped out by her. Maybe they would find out that this man really was after her strange assortment of objects because they meant something special. They didn’t just mean something special to Birch but they did special things too. They didn’t just play a broken cord or let out puffs of dried ink. Whenever Birch played with them they always did something… Dare she say magical? There wasn’t anything else that could really describe it but magical. Her dried pens managed to draw elegant sceneries every time they were touched to a piece of paper. Her instruments piped out musical ecstasy when they were all set up in a line as if they were actually in an orchestra group about the play at Madison Square Garden.
But as Birch watched her brothers trudge down the street she could find no trace of the mysterious boy with the big cardboard box.
Two months had passed and the heat of the summer was at its peak. Birch had refused to bring home anything new she found laying about. No matter how tempting it was she decisively turned her back to it and walked in a different direction. And during these two months the boy had yet to appear across the street. It was a happy time, so much so that she briefly forgot about the odd boy across the way.
It was the middle of August when Birch saw the boy again. As it happened she had been out and about when she spotted in a store window his reflection. He was half way hidden behind a bush on the other side of the street. What gave him away was the mop of black that stuck out of the bush. Looking a little closer at the window, Birch watched him peep out from behind the bush to make sure he hadn’t lost sight of her. It was then that Birch decided to gather up her nerves. Once the boy stuck his head back into the bush Birch made long, hopefully silent, strides to the bush across the road. By the time the boy realized Birch had seen him he shot up to run, but a firm hand clutched his ear and held him still.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Really that’s unnecessary! Please do stop!” The boy tired to pry her fingers off him. He bowed his head and grimaced as Birch grabbed his other ear and planted her feet firmly on the ground.
“I’ll let go when you tell me why you’re stalking me!” She cried indigently.
Piercing green eyes looked up at her from his bowed position. Anger leaked from his black ringed eyes. “I’m following you because you have a LOT of stuff that doesn’t belong to you! They need to go back to their original owners! It’s a mistake that they are here! Now let go you crazy old bat!” He clutched at her wrists and squeezed until Birch let out a shrill yelp and snatched her hands back.
"I'm not a crazy old bat! I'm only sixteen," She ran her hand through her hair and glared at the boy. It was times like this that she listened to her mother and dyed her hair a normal color.
The figure straightened to his full height. He towered over Birch by a good head. His face was, oddly enough, painted with swirlling designs that leaked from the corners of his eyes. It gave him the impression of wearing a mask. Hard jade eyes stared down at Birch as she stared vaguely up, massaging her wrists. There was a long period of silence between the two as they simply stared at one another. The boy took his time to rearrage his outfit that had crumpled from crouching. Birch had questions and angry remarks whizzing about in her head. Before she could fliter them properly she blurted the first thing that came to her mind.
"What's you name?" It was innocent enough but not the most important information Birch would think about later on.
" Abel dy Chant from the House of Rising Dawn in Lucriza," He answered in a short smug voice. Birch was beginging to see she really did not enjoy this man.
"Well I'm Birch Wood from the ... Erm... House of Wild Trees in New York City," She tried to answer in the same brisk tone he had used and known she was just making a fool of herself. He stiffled a chuckle by trying to cough instead. Again a long awkward pause filled the gap as the two simply stared at one another. Abel took this long pause as his turn to try at conversation.
"So. Are you going to give back those objects? They don't belong to you and they need to get back to where they do belong, soon. VERY soon. Or I'll be in a lot of trouble," He looked down expectantly at her, arms crossed over his board chest.
'The NERVE of some people!' Birch scoffed. Who was this man to think he could stalk her for the better part of a year and then demand that she give back all her wonderous treasures that she had saved and taken such wonderful care of! Birch cocked an eyebrow at the strange man, that she wouldn't have even dreamt of talking to two months ago, and turned on her heels. She heard him cry out in fustration and could hear his heavy foot steps following close behind. A quick glance over her shoulders told her that he was indeed following her and looking none too please.
Birch broke out into an all out sprint and made a mad dash through back alleys and side streets into the crowded streets of Time Square. She was a long way from home but from here she could lose that freak and make it back to her comfy adobe near China Town. Zigzagging and pushing past people Birch was positive she had lost him. Her whole way home was filled with a cocky smile. Though her eyes betrayed her and she looked vaguely around her thinking of where Abel had come from. And where he had gone.
Rounding the corner to her street Birch's jaw dropped at the sight of Abel standing at her front door, waiting expectantly for her.
"Did you forget I know where you live?" A wide grin plastered itself along his face. Birch only knew one thing to do that could possibly save her from this looney man. Though, she thought later, maybe running him off wasn't such a good idea. No one else believed her about how special her broken objects where. And here was someone not only who knew they were special but wanted to take them back to their rightful place. A place (If Birch had been kind enough) could see for herself. Before thinking it through, like always, she screamed at the top of her lung. The windows of her home burst open as if everyone had been waiting for the signal. Neighbours peered curiously through their curtains and around their doors to see what all the ruckus was about.
The Wood family wasted no time seeing the man their sister was pointing at, at the front steps. Heavy foot falls thundered through the house as the front door slammed open. Oak, the second youngest, the first at the door. He didn't waste anytime in thinking and tackled the strange man from the door step. In a flailing of limbs the other boys Elk, Maple, Willow and Hickory leaped into the brawl too. Pine, the youngest at the tender age of two, took out his sling shot and began pelting the heap of limbs.
Birch wasted no time scurringing into the household and up to her bedroom. Yelps from down below could be heard as Pine went wild with his shots, hitting Friends and Foe. Birch leaned against her bedroom door and took a deap breath.
"Wild Family you have there... Guess you weren't lying when you said you came from the House of Wild Trees! The little one nearly dirtied my suit when he came at me! Don't tell me all of those out there are your brothers? They're a tad on the... Feisty side. Is everyone like that in your world or is it just your family?" Abel sat perched on her bed trying not to look around at the jungle of a room he was in. He really had no right to criticize. He room looked twice as bad.
Birch slide down to the floor of her room and stared wide eyed at the raven haired fellow. He wore a cheery smile as if he had just been invite in for some tea. Not the pounding of his life. Her mouth open and closed as she watched him watch her. Fury was rising in her gut but she held it down. If she went off now there would be no stopping her. But something he said dawned on her. 'Your world? There should only be one world...'
"Man you have more stuff then I thought! It looks like I'll need to make a couple of trips from Here to There... And I may need some help... I wonder if I should call my brother in... Bah! He'd just make a worse mess of everything," Abel ended up muttering to himself about how he was going to get it all from Here to a place called There. He threw out names like Judas, Cain, Isaac and Adam but quickly thought that they would all be no help.
"Where exactly is 'There'? And What do you mean by 'your world'? There is only one world..." Birch had found her voice and was standing again on shaky knees. "And what makes you think I'll allow you to take my things like that?!" Birch stuck her hand on her hips and looked him hard in the eye.
Abel simply flopped on the bed and looked up at her bright canopy. It was an aweful shade of blue really. Stretching out he said loftily. "Well I'll be taking the stuff because it's not yours and secondly how about I sweeten this deal? You can help me bring all this stuff back to the right people. That way you'll get to see a truely interesting world compared to this drab place. What do you say Birch?"