Andrew looked out his window. The man was there in his gray suit. He was in his early sixties and had a worn, friendly face. His mother was approaching the house now, she was about a mile away. He looked down again. The man was gone.
CHAPTER 1
The powerful Friesian’s galloping was heard from at least a quarter of a mile. Sasha, the mother of Andrew, was coming back after a meeting with one of the local priests. The local train station was being renovated, due to outdated electrical wires and the caving in of the wall barriers that kept the mountain side from falling into the tunnel. Andrew was curious on the use of the train station, since he had never seen or heard a train coming from inside the mountain side. When Sasha, Andrew's mother, entered the three story French chateau, Andrew didn’t greet her, as he was preoccupied with looking at the book upstairs that his mother thought she had hidden. Once she opened the front door, she noticed the house was too quiet. “Andy!” Andrew quickly put the book back underneath the wooden floor board.
“Coming mum.”
Andrew ran hastily down the three flights of stairs and into the peculiarly, large living room. His face was bland, from his rather boring life. Black hair, brown eyes, freckles around his nose, but yet strangely tall for his age. Though he was only twelve he was nearing almost six foot. His mother though, was a completely different story. She was petite, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She waited impatiently for Andrew. “I want you to go to Brother Mikhail, and ask him where he left the bread.”
“Weren’t you just over there?”
“Now!”
Why was it that mothers always had the special privilege of not having to tell their children what they were doing when they were asked? Andrew contemplated about this on the way towards Brother Mikhail's. Outside was gorgeous, a slight breeze was blowing, and the ruffling of tree leaves was more than comforting. He looked up at the sky. There would be no birds again today, for the smell coming from the train station was unbearable at times; at least, this is what Andrew thought. For all of Andrew’s life, he had never seen animals except for dead ones. The only ones he had seen would be the occasional pigeon flying, but whenever the occurrence of pigeons flying, everyone would sneak back into their homes and no one would go outside for at least a day. Within a couple of days, there would be dead pigeons around someone’s house for unknown causes.
Andrew was at least a quarter of a mile from Brother Mikhail’s house when he saw the old, friendly man again. Andrew nodded and smiled and the man returned the same polite gesture. Brother Mikhail saw Andrew walking and waved for him. Brother Mikhail’s house was the smallest. His dwelling was four thousand square feet. “Who’s that man?” asked Andrew.
“What man?”
“The one that nodded to me when I coming over here, right before I waved to you.”
“I didn’t see a man. Aren’t you a little too old to be imagining things and tell people that they’re real? You know that’s called lying,” retorted Brother Mikhail. Andrew looked and gave him a puzzled face. “Sorry you didn’t see him. Oh and before I forget, where did you leave the bread?”
“I burnt it and discarded it in the ground, so no birds would pick at it.”
“Birds? I never see birds except for pigeons. And I almost never see pigeons.”
“Perhaps it’s better you not see the birds. For if you don’t see the pigeons, the pigeons don’t see you.”
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