"That dog is mine said those poor children; that place in the sun is mine; such is the beginning and type of usurpation throughout the earth."~Blaise Pascal
An ugly sunrise was blinding on the horizon, a selfish orb that demanded attention and respect. It hung crookedly in the sky, as if God had knocked it askew while walking down heavenly halls and forgot to tack it back properly. Fire and light rays escaped across the neighborhood, scorching corneas and driving people to the shade of porches, where they clutched glasses of sweating lemonade and rocking chair arms with a dead mans grip. Just attmepting to survive, nothing more.
Peanut also glared, becoming a sun himself, blazing on the outskirts of a field of summer golden globes, his own universe of stars, which he would pluck now and again to hold in Atlas like poses and decide what was worth saving. However, today he had no need for his universe. Every star sat atop their own miniscule Atlas stems, waiting, wishing, hoping for their sun to keep blazing, but as far from them as possible.
Peanut sat at the end of the golden globe field, watching Will zig-zag amongst the bee capped dandelions, almost in a drunken stupor, which made Peanut smile behind his eyes. But he knew good and well that no hint of happiness could seep out of his stolid features, for their was work to be done today and there was no need in exciting Will's hopes of having fun this picaresque summer morning. If any joviality somehow seeped between the cracked mortar, Will would store the leaked happiness in his camel hump, and revert back to it once Peanut began dealing out swift, and perhaps uneeded criticisms. Peanut didn't expect his friend to be focused though. Will was notorious for letting his perephrial vision drag him in different directions, which left Peanut in charge, a position he both loved and despised. But despite his shortcomings, Peanut knew very well that Will was chizzled in the most appropriate places as to fit his own, lets not say infirmities, but unpolished aspects of character. They were a two piece puzzle, very specific, and as Peanut liked to think, alone and not apart of a larger, more meaningful puzzle.
The Red Sea of grass parted for Will's feet as he darted free of the golden globe field. He promptly saluted Peanut, and he promptly dropped his faded Jets helmet in the process. Peanut smartly saluted, and then gave Will a moment to pull his eyes back into his sockets and away from the dropped helmet, which had landed in a patch of taller, whispier grass that seemed to grow up through the face mask. It was now an instantaneous remnant, discarded and permanently apart of the scraggly grass bed it was sitting in. An antiquity of sorts, the sort that lined the edges of chain link fences around the dump and are home to rich, well-to-do spiders.
"What took you so long, it's nearly 10:30," said Peanut lethargically while standing in a slightly brighter and altogether more illustrious beam of light than Will. Will dug his foot into the ground, accidentally kicking the yellow rain cap off a dandelion. Peanut glared at him, "Well, I think you realize what is at stake today Will. Does your tardiness speak of your devotion to the task ahead?" Will shook his head, and kept his eyes fixed on the decapitated dandelion. Peanut took his silence as an apology, and even if it wasn't, there was no time to squeeze a heartfelt anything out of Will.
Stocks of Goldenrod were leaning in the ground behind Will and Peanut, only held together by spindly spider webs with big, black dots stuck in the middle. Middle-aged spiders trapped in the suburbia of Goldenrod upon Goldenrod, as far as their eyes could see. The field was surrounded by houses upon houses, and seemed like stonehenge to the modernized black-top dwellers; a last remaining dwelling of the alien inhabitants who used to let plants grow higher than 1 inch grass blades. As far as diversity was concerned, the patch of field held only comatose spiders and hordes of Golden Soldier Beetles, which made each bud of the Goldenrod seem alive. Although Peanut had scowered, or as he preferred to call it "scouted" the field, he had that tingling, aching feeling of premonition that this no good patch of unbundled kindling had lanterns in it. He just knew it.
"Alright Will, lets get started. You take the North side of Soldier Beetle Field and I'll take this side. The jars are in the wagon, and as you may already have noticed there are no nets. We are searching for a more docile pet today, so two hands and a jar are sufficient." With his orders in place, Peanut dismissed Will, who stood rooted to his spot, which Peanut had easily deduced in earlier meetings as meaning Will had a question. "Do you have something further to add?" Peanut asked, somewhat impatiently. Will, drawing up courage, most likely from his happiness camel hump, pushed out a babbling question; "Sir, er Peanut, sir. I was just wondering what it was exactly, today that we were catching today. I just want to be, er absolutely clear crystal, um, crystal clear." Peanut wanted to smile, but tucked the notion away in his mind, behind his rigid drive to get a job done well. "My dear Will, we are looking for the most prized and undoubtedley most sought after pet in the summer months; we are looking for lanterns."
"Lanterns sir, er Peanut?"
"Yes, lightning bugs, lanterns." Peanut anticipated Will's next question, as he saw his partners lips parting and his eyebrows furrowing. "We are looking for lanterns now because every other pea-brained outfit around this place will be looking for them at night. I'm sure The Minutemen will swagger out here," Peanut let his hatred be outwardly noticeable, wrapped himself in it, hoping that some of it would linger over and rest on Will's shoulders. Will stood there, watching a bee zoom around his pant leg, chasing its shadow. "Besides, The Headless Horsemen, Johnny Rebs, and of course your old army, the dim-witted ones," Peanut was snapped his fingers to arouse his memory; "What is their name again?" Will was wary, he knew Peanut was on edge already, stupid sun, always made the hot-headed boil over. "Oh, we were Sherwoods Merry Men. Jensen led the way as Robin Hood. You know, rob from the poor, that whole speel." Peanut blinked, "I think you mean rob from the rich, unless you were Commies. A Commy Robin Hood, now isn't that just an interesting thought." Peanut smiled, which immediately put Will on edge, smiling never means anything good. "So who were you in this gang of ruffians Will, Maid Marion?" Smirks all around, the cleverness curled the grass blades; a teeter-totter of joy and humiliation where Will was always on the ground. "No sir, er, Peanut, I was actually Little John." He tried to appear apathetic, but his heart pushed out frustration like goosebumps, and Peanut perceived his victory imediately. Peanut rarely lost any sort of wit battle with Will, Little John, fitting.
"So, lets get to work here. If we get a good crop of lanterns now, we can leave the rest of those pin-heads in the dust. Will's face brightened and then became tentative, sweat tears stuck in his eyebrows catching and holding the sun, "Don't you mean our competition will EAT our dust sir, er Peanut."
Now Peanut released one of the limited smiles from his own happiness bump, "Yes, they will be eating our dust, yes they will."
