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(Page 2 of 3) Saelieni Prologue by Gregory Harvey Funny that...
With the tool box in his left hand, Mark latched onto the iron ladder with his right. He'd climbed the ladder countless times before, but never with a full tool box. It didn't prove to be difficult, however. A few unsettling gusts of winds later, Mark was on the top platform of the water tower.
The town below him appeared as a mess of sagging power lines, rusted rooftops and graying trees. Mark could almost feel himself getting skin cancer as the sun reflected off of the tower. He'd have to be quick, or risk explaining an acute case of sunburn to his doctor.
First up, the overflow valve... then again... a problem in the overflow valve wouldn't account for everyone loosing water. So first up, the primary pump line, which was on the other side of the tower. As he moved Mark's feet clanged against the metal platform. He was high up, and there was no railing, but Mark wasn't too stressed about the issue. A fall would simply mean a few months of workman's compensation (assuming he didn't kill himself). And besides, his fall would be broken by nice, soft... stony dirt.
When he laid eyes on the primary pump line there was an obvious problem. There was a torrent of water tumbling out of a busted seam. How in christ's name was he meant to fix that? He'd need welding tools for one. And it was probably going to be a two man operation for another. That would mean a drive back to the council office to pick up the tools, and then waiting around for probably an hour for someone to show up to help him... all for forty bucks? You got to be joking...
But then Mark noticed something. There was a football lying on the platform near the busted seam. Not the regular Australian kind either... an American football. What the hell kind of kid was playing with an American football in Yulumson? And how the hell had it gotten on to the water tower? It should've bounced right off!
Mark picked up the football, and noticed there was something written on its side in permanent marker. Almost like an autograph in fact... but it wasn't. The letters were jagged and difficult to read, but Mark did so anyway.
The guardians shall fall.
What the hell did that mean? Probably just some stupid kid with too much time on his hands... a stupid, American kid (and perhaps one of those adjectives was unnecessary, Mark thought) judging by the football. He hurled it as far as he could from the top of the water tower. It landed in the backyard of the hospital, bouncing high before finally resting. A good throw if he didn't say so himself...
And then Mark happened to look up, and finally noticed the large, brown cloud hanging over the top of Yulumson. It wasn't a dust storm, they swept across the ground. It wasn't a rain cloud, so what the hell was it. As he continued to look, Mark could see that something was falling from it. A lot of things were falling from it... but it wasn't rain. They were coming closer, approaching him at terminal velocity.
CRASH.
Mark's attention swung east, down College Street. A chair had landed (yet had remained in tact) on the corner of College and Burke.
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