His House

His House

In his house a knight can slash the throats of all who torment and stare. His protector parts the way through crowded streets and hallways with a quick sweep of his arm and the people flurry like dust caught by a gust of his breath.

Each morning that he awakes the stars still shine; they peak through the holes in the blinds. Like the dragon magnet stuck to the freezer door, he is drawn to the front lawn where he begins. Each star he counts gets touched by the tip of his finger, never satisfied until he reaches 500.

From somewhere inside, the porch light is turned on for his safe return.

In the kitchen, he pours the cereal into his bowl. 327 Cheerios swimming in the milk. Dunk...dunk... "Get your shower. Get your shower. It is Tuesday. It is Tuesday. Music day. 46 Cheerios... 3 gulps of milk. Get your shower. It is Music day."

His bus stops where Cherry Lane intersects Cramer. The sun glints off the yellow roof and his knight appears. Like royalty the seat behind the bus driver is always reserved for him.

The chariot begins to roll away as his admirers stand waving by the curb. With a slight jolt in his seat each time, the engine shifts to second gear, accelerates...third gear, accelerates...fourth gear.

Once again he is lost in his house of fighting knight and numbers.