Jimmie Goes to Hollywood.

A few days’ shy of his thirty-first birthday, Jimmie moved from the village to the big city.

 

The journey took several days, two buses, a train and a boat along with a fair amount of money and several bribes. 

 

It was early October, the Autumn was already advanced and in the village he had left behind the trees were a blaze of colour, mainly reds and yellows. The city was grey and it was raining.

 

For several months prior to his departure he had been unable to leave the house; the village population was eighty-five, everyone knew everything about him, invented even more and a normal life was no longer possible. On the very day of his departure someone had run up and tried to cut a lock of his hair.  

 

Jimmie stood on the pavement looking up into the leaking clouds, his arms outstretched in supplication and declared; “This is a breath of fresh air!”.

 

Nobody paid him a moments interest.

 

From that moment his life changed. 

 

He went out; he sat in restaurants, he visited museums and art galleries and nobody gave him even the time of day. 

Unless he asked them.

He fell in love.

He got married and only her parents came to the registry office.

 

Sometimes a passer-by would smile and say; ‘How you doing?”

But they never stopped, expecting a reply.

So, he smiled back and waved.

 

Eight or nine years went past.

He woke, he worked, he slept.

In between he dreamt.

He went on holiday.

He came back.

 

Just like everyone else. 

 

Then - a few days’ shy of Christmas -  as he was walking home, someone stepped out of the shadows and shot him four times.

It was snowing.

As he lay dying he watched his blood settle upon the flakes of snow, it reminded him of the leaves back in his village.