For Sale: Freedom 

 For Information, please contact your local Congressman or Senator

  That’s what the headline said, at least. Or more precisely, that’s what Michael read. He had no way of knowing what was really printed, short of asking someone else to read it to him. And he didn’t much like asking people to read to him. Besides, the newspaper was much more fascinating this way.

  He finished skimming an article about Shakespeare suing an author over story rights, and then got up off the park bench. As comfortable as it was to sit and read the paper, a school of fish were drawing closer, and where there were fish, there were sharks.

  The bus stop was its usual self, complaining about whatever injustice it had most recently experienced. Today, it was spitting.

  “..and they go, hacking up their green gray globs,” The bus stop told Michael, “And then they plaster them all over me. It’s like they’re hoping to someday form a mosaic on me.”

  Michael nodded a sympathetic nod and tried his best to wipe off the offending masses. He knew about spitting too. 

 Michael liked the bus stop. It would talk to him and he liked that, even though it only ever complained. And what was more, he could talk to the bus stop when he’d had a hard go of it recently and it would listen and neither made judgments about what the other one said.

  It’s Time To Go, the headline of the newspaper read and Michael bid the bus stop good bye. The morning was still young, an hour at least before breakfast.

  Breakfast.

  He looked back at the bus stop, growing smaller in the distance as he walked. He’d never told the bus stop about breakfast.

  Why would he? He had no reason to, and he was sure the bus stop would have very little interest in the subject. Still, a pan fried egg beside some toast and hot cracked wheat…

  Spittle dribbled warm and slick out the corner of his mouth and splatted wetly on the pavement.

  “Sorry,” Michael apologized instantly to the sidewalk. “So sorry,” And he stooped down to wipe it up.

  The sidewalk, for its part, said nothing in return and Michael took it for a very rude stretch of sidewalk indeed. Things should know when an apology was heart felt and should accept it gladly. It wasn’t every day someone was courteous to the sidewalk.

  Michael told all of this to the sidewalk, very kindly, but with no success in swaying the silent sidewalk. In the end he gave it up as a bad job. Years ago he would have yelled, taught it a lesson, perhaps spit and curse and kick a bit. He was younger then. Now he was older. That meant something to Michael.

  Baking bread.

  Michael sniffed. It was faint, perhaps imagined. He sniffed again. Thick butter loaves with split tops sprang into his mind. That bread made the best toast. Michael moved to follow the smell. There was a bakery around the corner somewhere. There had to be.

  But the fish were back. He tried waving his arms wildly to scare them away. He’d already given them his park bench, why couldn’t they let him have his toast? The fish fluttered but never very far and always regrouped and Michael was forced to retreat before sharks could arrive.

  Some days Michael was brave and he would dash through the fish to get passed them. Not today. And even if he did muster the courage, at this point in time with all the flailing he’d done, sharks were sure to be closing in soon. He was a fool. Now he’ll never get his toast.

                                                                             *     *     *

 The fish were following him.

  Shark Attacks On The Rise, the newspaper headline read and Michael quickened his pace, soon leaving the fish behind. There was a store not far from where he was that usually had some decent leavings in their dumpster and, since fresh baked bread was out of the question, Michael figured it was better than nothing.

  “Hello,” Michael said to a bench as he passed by. He liked that bench. It didn’t say much but it was very happy to let him sleep on it a few nights back.

  “Watch out,” The bench replied.

  Michael turned back to face front right as he stepped into a school of fish. Michael screamed out loud and dashed forward through the fish. A few of them touched him and he rubbed furiously at those spots, hoping their stench wouldn’t stick and mark him for the sharks.

  “Fish!” Michael whimpered, “Dirty, dirty fish.”

  Thankfully, the fish didn’t follow and Michael was soon digging merrily through the dumpster. The food he found wasn’t terribly old, if a bit soggy. He tended not to think about why most things he found in dumpsters were soggy.

  The alley was silent. Michael hadn’t noticed it before since there usually wasn’t much in the way of noise in most alleys. But now that he listened, even the birds had stopped singing. Michael looked around carefully. A pair of sharks hovered at the far end of the alley, looking at him. Michael backed away slowly so as not to attract any more attention to himself. The sharks didn’t follow and Michael escaped back to the main sidewalk.

  Michael’s stomach was far from full but he could wait a couple of hours and then go back. The sharks should be gone by then. In the mean time he could go and chat with the bus stop. It wasn’t far from where he was any way.

  There were more fish swimming about now. They always increased in number as the day wore on. He hated that about them, though at least they weren’t out when he was trying to sleep.

  Michael rounded the final corner to the bus stop and his heart missed a few beats. The bus stop was swarmed by fish. Surely it would only take a few minutes with that many fish to attract sharks. His only real friend was doomed.

  No, not doomed, not if he could do something about it.

  Michael charged the fish. He screamed and yelled. He cursed, using words he hadn’t spoken for many years. He didn’t like the way they tasted in his mouth. But if it saved the bus stop then it was worth any discomfort he experienced.

  “What are you doing?” The bus stop asked.

  “Where there’s fish,” Michael said quickly between curses, “There’s sharks.”

  Some of the fish fled but most just hovered out of his reach. Michael smacked a couple of fish that were close by and kicked them when they hit the sidewalk.

  “Stop it!” The bus stop cried in shock.

  “I won’t let them hurt you,” Michael screamed as his rage continued to build. “They’re working with the sharks, can’t you see?”

  Michael continued smacking and kicking all the fish he could reach and at last the school began to disperse. Michael smiled but his triumph was short lived. As the school scattered and dispersed, he saw the two sharks from before coming towards him fast.

  “No!” He cried and placed himself between the sharks and the bus stop.

  “Just be still,” The bus stop prompted, “They’ll leave you be if you don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  It was too late for that. Michael had flailed and screamed too much to hope to be ignored now and the sharks closed the distance between them quickly. They sunk their teeth into Michael, trying to pull him away from the bus stop. Michael clung onto the bus stop with all his strength but the sharks predatory instincts were too much for Michael’s frail body.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael wept as his grip slipped from the bus stop.

    His friend was doomed.

  “I’m sorry!” Michael cried even louder, still struggling against the sharks.

  Miraculously, Michael’s thrashing about jostled the two sharks into each other and he found himself free. The sharks were interested in him, for the moment. If he could lure them away perhaps they’d forget about his friend.

  “Follow me,” Michael shouted and he began to run.

  Sure enough, the sharks took the bait and pursued. Michael darted back and forth, avoiding their jaws. He was almost laughing when he moved to dart across the street. Unfortunately he didn’t see the bus until it was too late.

  Michael lied on the street for a time, the sharks circling him but not moving in for the kill. The school of fish that rode on the bus flowed out and formed a wide circle around him, watching him die. Michael saw, briefly, his old friend, once again surrounded by fish.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael muttered. “I’m sorry.”

  His vision grew dark.