Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 32 (Prologue)

Sitting in my room, I can hear the television on downstairs.
My parents are working, and the smell of freshly brewed
gently rises to permeate the stale morning air.

My paternal
grandmother is watching me until my parents arrive
in the evening hours, and for the most part, it appears to be a rather
average day. I probably could have went to school, but considering
it was Friday, my parents thought it would be best if I remained home;
at least until Monday, when the risk of reinfecting other children
would be at an absolute minimum.

Whether it was a mild case of the flu or simply a bad cold, one more day
wasn’t going to hurt if I remained home, whereby allowing my grandmother
the dignity to do everything in her power to nurse me back to health!

Another bowl of chicken soup, followed by some fresh air
in the backyard more or less
equates to the estate of my day
being measured by a tincture of time.
Would it follow in that
precise manner? I couldn’t say, for it hasn’t happened yet.

What I do know, however, is in my humdrum life of ‘ever-the-same’
nothing really changes too dramatically.

At least not in the traditional sense, anyway.

As the planetary system in its eternal order begins to shift,
Almighty God in his celestial chair (somewhere out in the ethereal
cosmos of time and space) gazes down at me from on high.

It has begun. . .


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