I never really gotten to understand much of the people that surround me.
All so faceless, but overlook my presence to go on about their day. This behavior is the same for any man walking among the streets. Then there are the animals, birds chirping and flocking their feathery wings. It was an ordinary world without the worry of impending doom. I watch people walk in this world without displaying fear, though I do sense that they are feared within themselves from something- to what is unclear.
I travel parts of the world to be amused, yet I have not found that feeling to become addicted to it. I was also alone, myself only to walk within this realm. I have recognized a few faces from time to time, but I hesitate to forward my thoughts to them.
I remember a young boy from an earlier period. It was much, much early as the people were maturing to become industrialized. He saw me as an exceptional person to converse with as I look nothing like the other males. The young boy noticed my attention to the notes I wrote; he spoke of some of the words he knew from my cut and swirly handwriting. I was surprised by his youthful literature skills since he once whispered to me about his impoverished life.
I felt pity for the boy, and I brought him to a nearby diner that I glimpsed before I met the boy. He was worried that I would be taking him somewhere far, but I assured his concern that It would only be for an hour. We entered the diner nearby, and it was packed by those who could afford many things, a house, and proper clothing.
We sat down and ordered our meals. The boy seemed wild, his face glued to the menu with a small inkling of his drool leaking from the edges of his lip. I shook my head of the young boy's ambition to eat; I'd imagine he hasn't had a proper meal ever since he was born. He looked around, but I noticed his temptation to open his mouth. I moved in to give the boy some leverage of comfort.
"Is there something you wanted to come forward with?" I asked curiously.
The boy looked at my dead eyes for the moment. His body calmed like a statue. He wiped his mouth with the stained sleeve on his right before he spoke.
"No, not really, mister. I just haven't been here before. My dad told me that only those with money could come here."
I nodded my head at what he said from his father. It reminded me of my father, who said this to me as well but in a way that I perceived as a lesson of appreciation, not indulgence. I was still surprised by the boy's wisdom and ability; after all, my father was just that.
"Can I ask you something, mister?" The boy asked politely.
"You may tell," I replied.
"Why did you bring me to this place? If my dad finds out I was with a stranger who took me here, he will get angry at me."
I smiled crudely, scoffing under my breath. The boy noticed my unusual act when I took a glimpse to my right, catching the waitress coming by to deliver our meal. As the meal landed on our seats, the boy still looked at me, ignoring the smell of aroma from his fried meal chicken, sauced and included with fried potato chips.
It didn't take a moment for the boy to move on, his focus on the steamed heating meal. I looked under my right wrist, counting the time of the hour.
"Do you know of the date today?" I asked the boy as his mouth becomes greased with the sauce and oil mixed in.
He seemed occupied with his newfound experience of a lavish meal. Those living in his impoverish area would die for anything to get something like this.
The boy snapped from his dream-state, munching as much into his mouth before he exhales a breath of word. "It is May 3, mister."
"And the year?" I pressed more clearly.
I gave the boy another while to take his time as he resumed back to munching much of the meal. Minutes passed as I cleaned myself, using my handkerchief that I kept on my left breast pocket. As the boy sat back on his seat, his hand on his tummy, I can tell that the boy has plenty for the day.
I pressed once more about the year, and the boy replied with a stuffed tone. "I think it is 1901. My dad said he'd spend some time with me today; he's the boss that works nearby at that factory."
As I had suspected from before, I knew who this boy was- this has affirmed my suspicions. I once more glanced at my watch; it was almost the time it occurred. I stood from my seat, closing in on the boy, and I handed him my triangle-shaped pin, the eye shinning at every corner. He looked at me profoundly as I caressed his head.
"Whatever happens forward from this, you should not shed a tear." I briefly paused, looking at the pin that he held. "And do not share this with anyone; it is yours to treasure. For you and your future kindred to continue a legacy."
I hailed my briefcase from the crease, stained floor, grasping the handle as I took one more glimpse at the boy. I slowly paced out of the diner, my eyes concealed under the crown-shaped fedora, something that hadn't existed yet this time. I attended toward the directions where the factory that the boy mentioned, the Cleveland Fibre Factory. This day, May 3, 1901, marked a hiccup in the county's history.
The American Observer
Carrying Out the Patriotic Duties of American Journalism
OCALA, FLORIDA | SUNDAY MAY 4, 1901 | 2 Cents |
DISASTER IN JACKSONVILLE
THE HEART BURNED OUT OF THE CITY
The greatest fire in the history of Florida today laid waste the best portion of this city. Starting in the Cleveland Fiber Factory, the flames soon got entirely beyond the reach of the firemen, and could not be checked in the slightest until the big Gardner building, a fireproof structure, stopped their destructive process.
The burned district extends from the waterworks to the St. John river, east of Laura street. Tonight all that populous section is practically a waste of smoking ashes.
Most prominent buildings destroyed in the maw of this conflagration have been swallowed the most prominent buildings of the city. The Windsor, Duval, St. James and Gerard hotels are in the ashes. Every bank in the city except the State Bank of Jacksonville has been destroyed. The Catholic church was wrecked.
A Hero or an Anarchist?
The company that had property over the Cleveland Fiber Factory is facing scrutiny after Governor William S. Jennings announced that the State of Florida would be launching preliminary investigations to the causation of the conflagration.
The company's management of supervising the factory fell on the behest of Rodney Burnwood. Mr. Burnwood was recently appointed as the factory's supervisor after many years of service. Tragically, he was one of the few that lost their lives during the conflagration. According to his peers, he saved those who have been left in the factory and was never to be seen again.
While Mr. Burnwood has been reportedly a keen interest in the investigation, he has been ruled out a suspect after county police officials have been aware of a suspect, dressed in all black and last seen before the fire set the factory to collapse.
For more information, see Pg. 7.
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