The Purple Patch - Missouri Valley College

The Fortuitous Plunge
by Timothy Johnson
I remember feeling pressure: pressure from the narrow
walls, from the narrow trailer, from the narrow town.
Gloom seemed to constrict whatever fell under its looming
shadow. This was not home. I felt like Ishmael, cast out
to seek my own path. But where was it? Could I find it?
Naturally, I had to leave from this incommodious dwelling.
Either something could happen or not.
As I walked out the door I was struck by the dryness.
My surroundings were empty. The air was meaningless.
The only motion came from the dark clouds accumulating
in the south. I was sure they had always been there.
I wandered hither and thither, aimless. Parched mouth.
Parched soul. Hours passed before I decided to sit down.
I was within the sterile boundaries of the town, but not a
familiar area.
As I sat, possible activities that I knew I would not
perform fluttered in my brain. Suddenly, a putrid smell
wafted beneath my nostrils. I looked around quickly,
detected nothing. Leaning back, I latched my eyes on the
insipid, oatmeal-azure sky. This is when I descried a black
bird in the distance making its way from obscurity—a
crow perhaps.
Gradually, it was heading in my direction. I kept
my eyes focused on it like the camera of an ardent documentarian.
Such a swift and portentous creature roused
all my curiosity. As it neared it flapped its wings and flew
over me, dipping behind a building to my left. I soon
hastened—I felt I hadn’t any choice but to follow it. Down
an alleyway I flew, swift as a shadow, hoping to find it.
Abruptly, rain came gushing down. I no longer saw it
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