Misty on one Monday morning wrote this note to God
“Dear God, it seems you’ve forgotten me. But that cannot be as you’re the God. Aren’t you simply ignoring me? Am I not right? Please, you can ignore me for the rest of my life however, not now. I need your utmost attention, you see. Tell me, where do I find a 14 years old boy with a wife and baby AND a respectable job? Nowhere? I think so, too. Try telling that to Helmet! He thinks every impossible thing is possible. Doesn’t he always say his motto of life is ‘Nothing is impossible’? Like duh!
So, anyway, I was just wondering, could you wave that magic wand of yours and provide Springborn with few such boys? Oh yes, they can be younger than 14. I’ll ever be grateful. Of course, I’ll be a good girl, too! That’s a promise. Thanks in advance! See you.’
Misty Blue.
After re-reading the note she erased ‘see you’ and wrote ‘bye’ instead because you never know. She folded the note neatly and tucked it in a lavender colored envelope which surprisingly smelled of lavenders, too. No need of stamps or addresses, it’s for God after all.
The pigeon whom Misty befriended 10 months ago stood on the window sill, silently.
‘Good morning, my dear John!’ She rubbed his tiny head and put the letter towards it beak. John nipped Misty’s hand affectionately, and blinked his beady eyes several times. It was John’s way of saying Good morning. He took the note in his beak, flap open his wings and flew away. Misty waved, smiling widely. She watched him soaring above the clouds till he become a tiny dot. To her, John is more than a postman (and a pigeon, of course.). Misty thinks of him as a friend. Her heart fills with affection whenever she sees him on her window, serving her dutifully. She believes God once listened to her and provided her a faithful friend (and a postman. A bonus). Her lovely John is mute. The secrets she whispers to him everyday were safe.
Being 20 wasn’t easy for Misty. Especially when you are trying to study the subject you hate the most (in Misty’s case, it is history), have about thousands of weirdest jobs [like writing for Helmet’s magazine, an article a week, crazy impossible stuff, providing lyrics to a band called Banana Life (I mean Banana Life? What the...), being the babysitter to most the horrible child of most horrible people on Earth], having an eccentric 70 years old grandmother who recently divorced her eleventh husband and is supposed to be heartbroken and at last but not the least having a boyfriend who usually tends to forget you. Since if you ask him ‘Do you love Misty Blue?’ He’ll go blank, scratch his head, raise his eyebrows and ask, ‘Misty Who?!”
You get the point.
Mondays are sunny and beautiful. For Misty they were cloudy and bleak because on Mondays she had to see Helmet’s poker face. Hell, she was already late.
Getting ready for work is another boring task for Misty. She isn’t one of those girls who fuss greatly about their appearance. Although, she can’t help wishing she was. She is sure Helmet would respect her more then. Doesn’t he simply adore that blonde dumb-head who wears only pink? Misty is smarter than her and less pretty. She is also sure if she dressed more appealingly her boyfriend wouldn’t forget her. If then you ask him ‘Do you love Misty Blue?’ he’ll smile and say ‘Oh yes... I do! I do!’
But Misty is Misty. She can never be like that blonde dumb-head (How can she?! She’s a red head)
Wrapped in a towel, she scrutinized her wardrobe. Her granny was right; she doesn’t own a single Prada. How on earth could she? Misty is poor!
Her eyes fell on a baby pink top she bought few months ago, and liked it so much she was afraid she would spoil it if she wore it.
‘Won’t it look lovely with your white lace skirt?’ said a tiny voice in her head.
‘Yes, it will…,’ says Misty, slowly eyeing her skirt now, a smile spreading on her face.
‘You wear it then! Add a bit of color to this gloomy Monday, will you?’ the voice in her head was excited now…..
‘Yes. Why not?’ Misty grabbed the top and skirt from her closet before the voice could change its mind. Humming softy she went to get ready, her spirits raised.
After 10 minutes…
‘Shit’
It was all Misty could say when she looked at the mirror. Curls are sexy, but definitely not for her. Half of her tiny heart shaped face was hidden beneath the frizzy wild curls. Red is hot and in, although her so red hair were clashing horribly with her beloved top.
‘Why can’t I have straight shiny brown hair!’ she moaned to herself as she tried to settle down her curls.
Well. No point in changing the dress now, Misty told herself, she was already running late. Her boyfriend once told her ‘You look really, you know, sorta, you know, kinda, nice in black’. Should she turn into a Goth then? Misty fumed silently. Still she’ll have to die her hair jet black.
She walks slowly out of her tiny flat, kicking the tin that lied across the porch. As soon as she had turned the lock, the old-ish lady on the top threw open her window, craning her neck she squinted down at Misty.
‘Good morning, Lady Meddler!’ Misty yelled cheerfully.
‘Hello, my dear. You look lovely today. Pink really suits you,’ Lady Meddler smiled broadly, her gold teeth glinting too brightly.
‘Umm. Thanks!’ Misty tried to smile’
It wasn’t a real comfort hearing she looked lovely from her because Lady Meddler had no sense of fashion or whatsoever. She was one good spy, though. Desperate men and women came to her when they suspected their partners. Lady Meddler never failed, she always caught someone with ‘other’ someone. Misty found it quite fishy. How come every suspect has really been cheating? Misty liked to believe Lady Meddler was a witch.
Lady Meddler continued to smile at Misty, as if expecting something.
‘Okay. So, see you!’ Misty waved both of her hands enthusiastically, ‘Have a nice day’
‘Oh,’ Lady Meddler looked taken aback for a second, ‘Yes dear. Have a lovely day’ and with that she shut her window with a loud bang.
Imagine someone paying Lady Meddler to spy on her? Misty thought as she jogged along the footpath. She couldn’t help sniggering. Her boyfriend wouldn’t care less if she cheated on him. Funnily enough, she never had a chance to cheat on him!
The snow was melting, and the sun was shining brightly. It was a pretty day. Misty had to smile when she saw a white puppy trying to lick the ice cream cone its owner was carrying.
‘Why don’t you buy yourself ice cream cone?’ the voice suggested.
‘Why not!’
She bought a vanilla cone topped with chocolate syrup. She was happy to see that the puppy now had its own cone too. It was having quite a time trying to eat it. She began to hum her favorite song, making her way to the work. All of a sudden the world seemed a better place to live.
