Tom hadn't planned on getting up very early that morning.  No, Tom liked staying up late and sleeping late, but it seemed that someone else had other plans.  That someone was his friend, Matt.  It was awkward waking up and seeing Matt staring at him, unbelievably awkward, but Tom was happy that Matt stopped by so early.  Today was the first day of Skippack Days.  Tom had wanted to go out and check out the vendors and junk, even stop by the comic store.  It seemed that his friend Matt had the same plans.
    After an awkward waking ritual, which didn't include a shower.  Tom had gotten ready for their adventure through town.  He lived right by the main part of Skippack, Skippack Pike.  It was only a block away, and he spent a lot of his childhood running through its streets.  But today it would be looking at antiques, eating vendor food, and reading comics.  Skippack days was a big ordeal, which is kinda ironic, cause he lived in a no name small town, where nothing of importance happens.  He enjoyed the two days of glamour, very much. 
    Tom wore nothing out of the ordinary, just T-shirt and jeans, Skippack didn't deserve any extra style.  Matt seemed like he had the same idea, cause he was wearing his beach bum clothes again, which seems to be his newest phase.  In Tom's eyes, Matt represented Summer, and he represented Winter.  Matt was always cheery, insightful and adventurous, while, when he was being himself, Tom was withdrawn, argumentative, and depressive.
    But so there they had gone, through Skippack and now here they are at the Mobil.  The Mobil was the only gas station in Skippack.  It had a good amount of pumps, and a small store-deli inside, which was Tom's main use for the place.  So like in all of Tom's strolls through Skippack, he went in and bought a Pepsi Big Slam.
    "You know Matt, it really is a nice day out.  Couldn't have been on a better day."
    "Yah, I suppose so."
    "So what drove you to wake me up this morning and go through Skippack?"
    "Well since I don't have to work at the Restaurant and be annoyed that I am working today, I figured I would enjoy it.  So I stopped by your house, hoping you would like to join me, and I found you fast asleep."
    "Well thanks for waking me up.  I was hoping I would get up and go through Skippack before I had to work.  Speaking of work, you're quitting Parc Bistro, right?"
    "Hell yah, now that I have that job offer at Sam Goody!"
    "Damn you don't know how jealous I am about that!  I wish I had a good job like that!  Shit!  Just think about all the chicks you will meet!  I guarantee you will date someone you work with there or someone you meet through that place!"
    "You're probably right, but Tom, you tellin' me that you don't see TONS of hot chicks working at Redner's!"
    "You and you're goddamned sarcasm.  No man, none.  Well at least not many.  So how is College?"
    "I don't know it's ok I guess.  I haven't made any new friends."
    "Well that is because you aren't going away to college, just going to Montco.  Damn I can't wait till I go."
    "You should already be going you lazy son of a bitch!"
    "Shut up.  Hey, this place is already crowded!  Me and you have to stop by my Grandmother's stand, cool?"
    "Yah, ok.  Damn, you're almost done your goddamn Soda!"
    "I live off this shit!  Hey, where do you want to eat lunch at?  I was thinking one the stands.  I have always wanted to taste some of their food, and I don't have much cash on me."
    "Yah, that's cool, but on the way back, I'm not hungry yet."
    Tom smiled at Matt, and they continued their conversation about nothing.  Small talk as usual.  This small talk always got Tom mad.  Not particularly at Matt or anyone.  More maybe towards himself.  He constantly tries to talk about real things, always trying to say something new and stirring, but he finds himself talking about the weather. 
    But he was glad.  Maybe more than glad.  For once in his life, Tom had a buddy.  Tom didn't know another word for Matt.  All Tom's life, he had acquaintances, but Matt was something a lot higher, and Tom enjoyed his camaraderie.  Matt and him could keep up a good repertoire of absolutely anything.  It was good to talk to someone, good just to talk.
    They were at the Trolley Stop.  The parking lot of the closed restaurant was filled with bustling old people.  Some picking up hats, other putting down clocks.  Exchange of money, Exchange of ideas, Exchange of germs.  Tom smiled again.  The place was just the same last year.  There must be something comforting in tradition. 
    Tom motioned to Matt and they walked towards the back of the parking lot, where the stream was and the old pond, where their use to be large black swans.  It was upsetting to see this place that use to hold so much wonder, now desolate and dry.  The stream was down to a trickle, and most of the ducks that use to reside there had found more suitable homes.  The pond was left the same, fenced in but the expensive and beautiful swans had been removed.
    "This place has lost its old luster."
"I'm sure it has."
"The only improvement has been the wooden cover to the bridge.  I…"
"What Tom?"
"Check out the character on the bridge!"
    Under the canopy, on the part of the bridge meant for pedestrians, lay a man of an unguessable age.  Fast asleep.  Tom couldn't stop staring.  How utterly awkward of a place for someone to fall asleep.  "Talk about your mid day naps!" spoke Tom slyly.  But hadn't he been just as strange?  Wasn't it him who read books under the canopy at Chiaros in the middle of the night to early morning?  Didn't he fall asleep on the couch every night instead of his bed quietly awaiting him upstairs?  Tom decided this man was just as unique as him.
    "Hey, let's go wake him up."
    "No, Matt.  I think he is pretty cool."
    "Oh come on!  But ok, let's just get a closer view."
    Tom's hands were shaking.  He hated doing shit like this.  Matt was always a trouble maker, and he was, well a lot calmer, most of the time.  But Tom did get into his moods.  Today, Tom was not in the mood to stir up any trouble.
      They walked right past him.  As loud as the entire village was at the moment, right there under the bridge, all Tom could here was he thumping of his and Matt's shoes on paved bridge and it's thunderous reverberations off the ceiling.  Soft sighs were released from the quiet victim to their curiosity.  Tom felt guilty.  God, Matt let this one go.  Let this one go. 
      Matt stopped after a couple of paces past him and turned around.  Obviously walking past him wasn't enough to sate him.  Another pass maybe.  Just another pass and they go on their way.  Matt walked past him and kept going.
      "Best to let sleeping dogs lie," stated Matt as Tom wiped the sweat from his for head.  They walked to the end of the bridge, and that is where they were stopped, stopped by a falling object.  The object was a woman.  And the most strangest thing was, not that she fell from the sky, not that she fell softly, what she was wearing, was probably the strangest thing. 
    The woman was wrinkled beyond belief and yet she was wearing some sort of fantasy armor made of some very smelly leather.  Her hair was long and black, put into a braid, that nearly reached her buttocks.  The braid itself was covered in jewels of all colors.  She carried a short sword with her, and a book attached to her belt by a chain and kept in some sort of holster.  Tom felt as if he knew this woman.  Stranger thought than her mere appearance, young and old.  Even though she was wrinkled, it seemed as if it was from being burnt and she was actually quite young.  Then Tom felt something else.  Sharp, large, pulsating and piercing through his mind.  It was quick and as painful as it was, Tom felt as if it could have been painless, just that she wanted it that way.  She being the crooked young old witch in front of her.  He then dropped to the ground as her gaze shifted to his counter part.
    When Tom finally looked up Matt was lying on his back breathing heavily, he was bleeding from his nose, and his eyes were blood shot.  Tom brought a hand to his nose and brought back blood.  She had done to Matt what she had done to him.  Pain, pain was all Tom felt or think of.  His head hurt and he felt numb everywhere else.  All he could feel was his head.  Pounding and pounding, and every time he shifted his glance the movement of his eyes alone made the pain greater.  He feared what moving a limb would cause.
    The witch looked down at Tom and said something illogical.
    "I don't understand what you want, please leave me alone," Tom pleaded.  Matt was still lying, obviously unconscious.  Tom wished he was unconscious.  The pain was getting worse and soon he would just start screaming.  IT felt as if she dug into his mind and planted something in their and that thing tore and tore at his cerebral membranes.  Tom puked.
    The witch finally moved her glance past Tom and Matt.  Something got her attention.  Tom hoped she would turn the pain off.  He just wanted the pain to go away.  He looked down.  The bile he excreted from his orifice, it was chunky, pussy, and bloody.  Considering he hadn't eaten yet he feared for the worse.  He was going to die.
    Tom couldn't move anything except for his neck.  He tried to get a view where the witch was now, but couldn't.  He couldn't  conceive why this thing was attacking them.  Or even what the fuck it was.  He started to shake his head hoping to knock loose what ever was in there, but was forced to stop by the pain. 
    Then he was shot into the air.  Tom was above the bridge, and he saw the hole he made in its canopy.  He landed on his back, well partially on his back.  He was on his upper back, but he could see his lower back, putting his abdomen against the small cold stream he was laying in.  Large wooden splinters now tore through his body, making the numbness problem, quite helpful.  He was so tired and the back of his head felt soft and wet.  All he could feel was his head, and it pounded such as an orchestra of drums and he screamed, but that was cut off by the gurgling blood weeping from his open mouth, and down his cold pale cheeks.