The Battle against Normal

The beige house boasted three bedrooms, two baths, and a connected garage. Just like every house on the street. The front yard had a lawn almost-manicured. The owner mowed it about a week ago; just long enough in this weather to make it look a little shabby, but not bad. Just like every house on the street. The tree shaded just about half the lawn, giving it a pleasant and forgettable atmosphere. Just like every house on the street.

Harold Hearse wasn’t like his house. He refused to be normal. He had something special about him. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong with the other rejects in the borough. He should be Uptown or in Loftwing or out in the Asphalt Desert or anywhere but here.

He didn’t belong in Mundania.

He locked his door behind him, just like everyone else did when they went to their jobs. That wasn’t normal; that was common sense. He stepped over to his car – a large black hearse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his neighbor, Cantrip the Clown, waddle into his tiny P.O.S. His other neighbor, Samantha X, strode to her nondescript sedan. All at the same time, like everyone else on the street.

Harold gritted his teeth.

He didn’t belong in Mundania.

His author cut him because he was too quirky. His author rejected him because he was far too zany to be an undertaker in a novel about gritty cops. Sure, maybe they were buddy cops, and maybe it was more tongue-in-cheek, but he was rejected because he didn’t fit.

Not because he was too normal.

Harold sipped his coffee. Over to his left, Cantrip sipped some tea. To his right, Samantha downed some chai.

He wasn’t like them. He liked his coffee black. Black, like the souls of the people he embalmed. He liked driving them around in the hearse and pretending he was driving a taxi. He’d talk to the corpses, give them advice.

“See? I’m not like them,” Harold muttered to the stiff in back.

Patronus Kyle didn’t answer. He was dead, after all.

Harold eased out of the driveway, heading to his downtown funeral home. Everyone else on the street headed out at about the same time, causing a little traffic snarl. Harold growled under his breath.

“I’m not like them. They’re boring. I’m different!”

He noticed that Samantha was talking to herself in her car.

She shouldn’t do that. Someone might thing she was crazy.

Cantrip muttered something in his car.

Harold just grinned.

“See? I’m not like them. I’m different. I don’t belong here!”

This is a Barrelbottom Tale

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3 responses to “The Battle against Normal

    • It’s given me incredible freedom to write so many different things… and now, as I write ahead, they’re starting to come together…

  1. Pingback: Barrelbottom Tales | Seeking the New Earth

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