The missing story

                Once in a great age, a story will come along and change everything. Those that hear it become great heroes, and through their valiant acts, the world becomes saved.

                The following is what happens when that story doesn’t exist.

                Darryl was an ordinary man, as all men are at the beginnings of stories, who worked an average job, for a not terribly special company. One day Darryl noticed something strange in the sky: it was taupe.

                “That’s strange,” Darryl said to his co-workers. Had Darryl been less ordinary and more heroic, he might have used the word ‘peculiar’ instead.

                Denise, a co-worker, looked up and agreed, “Strange.”

                Robert, always the trouble-maker, disagreed and said, “Naw, I find it more odd than strange.”

                Darryl ignored Robert’s pointless chin-wagging, and went on with his day.

                Darryl had a pattern, as all ordinary people do, for how his day went: wake up, get ready, work, supper, bar, tv, sleep. Work was done, supper was digesting, so Darryl made ready to head to the local pub. He threw on his lucky jeans (they had never brought him luck, in fact the ones that were actually lucky were buried under a pile of refuse), and a t-shirt that went out of style seventeen years ago.

                During his walk to the pub, Darryl noticed something strange that wasn’t in the sky: a crazy, assumedly homeless person muttering to herself.

                “Why isn’t it working? The story should’ve come to me. Why isn’t it coming? STORY! I NEED THE STORY. I need it.” She began to weep, “I need it. Save the world. Story. Save. World.”

                “Strange,” Darryl said as he crossed the street to avoid the woman.  

                There was a crowd gathered outside of the pub when Darryl meandered up. The gathered bald heads turned to Darryl and spoke in unison: “The pubs closed.”

                If this had been a gathering of twins, Darryl would’ve been frightened. Instead, since it was just a group of balding men, he simply said, “strange,” and went back home.

                The crazy homeless woman wasn’t there on his walk back, but Darryl didn’t notice because he’s just an ordinary person, and not the saviour of the world.

                Darryl slept well that night with no dark dreams of the world ending, or thoughts of his own impending doom. Was this a different tale of a different man, perhaps we would see the muscled protagonist tossing and turning under a thin sheen of sweat, as the weight of destiny pressed mightily down. But it’s not, and Darryl slept peacefully.

                If you can recall, the sky had been taupe the day before, and Darryl had remarked that merely strange. Well, today the sky was straight up violet. Surely this would evoke more than ‘strange’ from our erstwhile not hero?

                “How strange is the sky today?” Darryl casually asked his co-workers while they stood outside at coffee.

                Denise looked up at the sky, “Pretty strange, yup.”

                Robert smiled deviously, “I think it’s pretty odd.”

                Denise opened her mouth to call out Robert, but Darryl placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his head

                The pub was open that night, and the crazy homeless lady was dancing a funny jig outside of the main window. Inside, Darryl sat with his friends watching the game, his back to the window, and his hand nestling a cool pint of the local brew. The commentators were remarking on the sky, which was still a vibrant violet, even at this hour. Darryl opened his mouth to say something about it, then decided against it and took sip instead.

                Houston, his friend, had no such willpower, “Mite peculiar weather, we’ve been havin’, eh lads? Mite peculiar, indeed.”

                The other friends nodded sagely, while Darryl frowned at the word ‘peculiar’. Why use a fancy word when an ordinary one will do, was always Darryl’s point of view. He was about to say just that when the home team scored causing all other thoughts to disappear.

                Darryl stumbled home that night, a little worse for wear. He did remember to drop some change into the dancing lady’s hat (if subtlety isn’t your thing, this is just the crazy homeless woman) before leaving though, he still had his manners! He collapsed in his bed, mostly clothed, and was fast asleep.

                The next morning proceeded as usual for about three minutes, or until Darryl looked outside. If you can recall the story started with the sky being taupe, and the next day was violet. Well today the sky was on fire. Literally, not in some figurative manner that poets and lovers talk about, but in a literal, flames racing across the sky manner.

                “Well, fuck,” Darryl said as he sat back on his bed. Even strange was too fancy of a word for what was happening outside now.

                Needless to say, Darryl did not go into work that day, or the days following that. Mainly because Darryl was not a hero, and the earth was not saved.

                Way to go Darryl.