The Rising Dawn, # 18— "Glenn and the Little Animals

[Short stories. Images generated by hotpot.ai]

The Study was as young as Yahtzee, as opposed to Gimmick, who was younger. He was an understudy of Grego, the Trainer, and he was without a Gift as far as anyone could ascertain. He seemed to have some kind of mental condition, though it wasn’t autism. Or perhaps it was, but it wasn’t like Gamer. The Dawn Society could see why Grego needed him, even if he remained forever ungifted. He dutifully and without the merest whisper of a complaint would, without Grego telling him (anymore), maintain the feeding, watering, grooming, exercising, and quite notably cleaning the refuse of all the animals. He

was often found loving and talking to them, and Yahtzee and Nightshift were amazed that he had any free time, because Grego had a small army of pets. There were now more birds than before, but the same number of rats. The birds were hatchlings and were ever-so-carefully handled by The Study, along with Grego if he wasn’t managing the dogs.

The Trainer was busier now, because he was now paid to train other people’s dogs, who expected remarkable abilities from them. His own dogs helped him, being fully trained, and as there were none like Grego, the dogs he trained for other owners would result in lucrative profits.

The Study, who named himself Little Grego, did not tell anyone his real name, and neither would Grego.

Nightshift was in the ‘kennel’, bunting tennis balls to the dogs, mostly. Training had little to do with it; he just did it for fun. He felt paternal, or at least avuncular, love for Yahtzee, Study, and Gimmick.

Gimmick didn’t want to use the bat, because he had poor gross motor skills. Yahtzee, who was a ‘karma magician’, would let himself be clumsy and anxious with the bat in order to build good luck. Study was largely non-verbal, but he would bat just as ably as Nightshift, at least in this context. The dogs would happily retrieve the tennis ball and eagerly bring it back, the training area being of generous size.

“Come on, Gimmick,” said Glenn (Nightshift), “Little League, little man. Every boy should play.”

Glenn was warm, but Gimmick was frail. Brandon (his Normy name) looked like he might cry if he failed to hit the ball.

“Easy does it, Brand. Here, I'll toss the ball, and you swing.”

Gimmick trembled, not in the least encouraged.

When Gimmick was in school, he couldn’t do anything nearly as well as his art, and whether the bullying was real or imagined, his poor motor skills made him ashamed in sporting activities. Even when everyone encouraged him at the teacher’s behest, the very fact that everyone could do it but him made him drown in despair.

“Come on, Gim. I don’t think, I know. Come on.”

There was more silence, and possible tears.

“How about you just swing it, first? First try doesn’t count.”

Yahtzee said, while Gimmick tentatively took the bat, “How’s your art going, Gim?”

Nightshift, despite his words, tossed the ball gently while Gimmick swung the bat. He did not succeed, but Yahtzee distracted him from his ineptitude, and so he didn’t concentrate on his lack of talent.

Gimmick said, “I wanted to make a TV show about just reptiles,” he swung again, missing but by necessity becoming familiar with the bat, “But I worked on the big one for Erin.”

“Erin?” said Yahtzee, “Oh, you mean the Wraith.”

Gimmick continued to swing, and now his lack of talent was building his frustration.

“You know what, Gimmick? If you were me, you’d be building good luck. So missing would better, if I was you.”

“Well, now, big brother. You’re an inspiration,” said Glenn. He tossed the ball. Gimmick missed. He was given a wide berth, having a juvenile lack of caution with the bat.

Gimmick said, “I wanna do art!”

“Now, Gimmick,” said Glenn, with sympathy, but with an eke of discipline.

Gimmick was instantly in tears.

“I dunno,” said Yahtzee, “Maybe that was bad luck.”

“Quit countin’ on luck!” said Glenn, with a slightly harsher tone than with Gimmick, “Little League, man. You gotta improve yourself. Not walkin around tryin’ to be lucky.”

“But that’s how my power works!”

Glenn was silent, but then said, “How does anyone have kids!?” in response to Gimmick.

The Study came wordlessly, took the bat, hit the tennis ball, and before the dog retrieved it, handed it to Gimmick. Then he nearly skipped off back to the animals.

Gimmick, his face wet with tears, now looked angry, but determined. The dog, as if knowing, handed the ball to Glenn.

“Alright Brand, one more time,” he tossed the ball.

Gimmick missed.

“Two more times,” said Glenn.

Gimmick’s face was set with a scowl, but he swung the bat one more time and the tennis ball ticked off the bat, went upwards half a foot, then bounced a few times in front of him before a dog snapped it up.

“There you go—” Glenn started, but then Gimmick threw the bat recklessly and shouted, “I wanna do art!”

Nightshift, with control over his instincts, said, “Yes. That is what we will do. Let’s all do art!”

The Study paid no attention, minding birds. But Yahtzee said, “I wanna do my cool tag, and see if Gimmick wants to use it.”

Gimmick’s scowl was not as deep, then his face softened.

“I’m no artist, unlike Gim here, but I always improve. Cuz, you know. Little League.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” said Yahtzee.

And then Glenn told them about his favorite trophy of all time.