Grey City
by Bob Muller
Published by Bob Muller at Smashwords
Copywright 2011 Bob Muller
Grey City
All throughout Grey City everything was grey. Grey houses, grey sidewalks, grey streets grey flowers, grey grass, and grey trees. Even the sky was grey. As I said, everything in grey city was grey. Well.... almost.
Deep in the heart of Grey City lived The Junkman. Everything about The Junkman's house and yard was disturbingly (to the others who lived in Grey City) not grey. It even seemed that things were deliberately not grey. But that's how The Junkman liked it. The reason he was called The Junkman (nobody seemed to know his real name) was because he collected junk, a lot of it, and displayed it quite dramatically in a variety of places all over his house and all around his front yard. He called it his "art" with great relish! Others called it junk, without the relish. But all critics aside, The Junkman continued on, as always, creating newer and more fantastic ways to make his junk... uh, "art" beautiful.
That is until one day when Grey City elected a new mayor. His name was Frown. Mayor Frown. And frown he did when he finally got a look for himself at The Junkman's house and front yard. "No, no, no ! This will never do!!" He said. "It is an eyesore in the middle of all this wonderful grey." So that afternoon the mayor got together with his council and passed an ordinance that The Junkman's junk had to go. And that was that.
The next day the chief of police, Chief Sourpuss, gave The Junkman the word that, "the junk's got to go. "
"It's not junk", said The Junkman. "It's ART".
"Well, whatever you call it, It's got to go", said Chief Sourpuss, sourly.
"But why?", asked The Junkman.
"Because people in this city don't like it", said Chief Sourpuss sourly once again.
"Who?", asked The Junkman. "Who in this city doesn't like my art?"
"Everybody!", said Chief Sourpuss so sourly this time that it actually made his mouth pucker!
After Chief Sourpuss drove away The Junkman looked over his house and front yard. He could not understand why the other people of Grey City didn't love his art, see it the way that he did. How could they not? It made him so happy. "Everybody", he said, echoing Chief Sourpuss' reply. This made him very, very sad. So sad, that right then and there he packed up his art into his truck and moved away that day. All that remained was an old grey house, a grey yard, a grey fence, and a grey sidewalk.
Soon after that, The Junkman's yard was overtaken by big, ugly, grey weeds. And a big, ugly, grey cloud seemed to hover over the house, spreading a strange effect over all of Grey City. People walked around wearing long, grey faces, but nobody could figure out why.
As the months passed the situation got so very sad that it seemed that all that could happen was that it would only get greyer and greyer and greyer. Maybe even charcoal!
Until, that is, late on Christmas Eve.......
While The Junkman was fast asleep in his new place, a great, big, gusting wind blew down from way up north. It whistled and howled it's way down the street and over to The Junkman's truck, still filled with his art. It blew a tin can up and over the side of The Junkman's truck, sending it into the middle of the street, clinking and clanking up and down, up and down, in the same spot. Almost like a drum majorette marking time at the head of a parade. Suddenly, the wind gusted up again. This time blowing more pieces of art up and over the side of the truck and out into the middle of the street, single file behind the "drum majorette" tin can. When all of the art had been emptied from the truck and into the middle of the street, the wind swirled around, changing direction. Finally, with one more great big gust it bleeeeew The Junkman's art awaaaay, down the street, like a clinking - clanking, raggle - taggle, cacophonous Christmas parade.
When The Junkman awoke Christmas morning he looked outside and saw that the truck that held all of his junk... excuse me art, was empty. Full of concern, The Junkman quickly dressed and made his way down to the empty truck. As he looked this way and that, trying to figure this mystery out, he found a trail. A bit of string here, and a tin can there. So he got in his truck and followed the trail which led deep into the heart of Grey City, back to the house where he lived for so many years.
And to his amazement there, all over his former house and all around his former front yard was his art. Exactly (except for a piece of string here and a tin can there) as he had originally created it.
"Who's responsible for this?!" The Junkman angrily exclaimed.
"You are", cried a small, rather intelligent voice from a window across the street.
The junkman turned around to see a small boy, his head popped out of his upstairs bedroom window.
"Please don't take it away again. I think it looks very happy."
Then an elderly woman who was passing by chimed in.
"Yes, please let it stay. It just wasn't the same without it. Things around here looked and felt so very, very grey."
"I don't understand", said The Junkman confused. "What are you talking about?"
The elderly woman pointed her cane in the direction of The Junkman's former house and former yard.
"This... This..." The elderly woman couldn't quite find the words.
"Art?” replied The Junkman hopefully.
"Why yes", said the elderly woman. "I do believe that is what I'd call it. Anything that can produce such a reaction must be art." The Junkman smiled broadly at her assessment.
Then, a crowd started to form around The Junkman and they began admiring his art. Others came out of their houses and joined in with the crowd, creating further excitement. Why even Mayor Frown, who was driving by, was so struck by this new found popularity of The Junkman's art he instantly declared the whole place a museum (providing of course, that it was alright with The Junkman).
The crowd that had formed looked at The Junkman, anxiously, awaiting his response. Perplexed, The Junkman looked back at the crowd. He then looked over at the house and yard where he had lived for so many years. He looked at the art that now, so miraculously had returned to exactly the same spot where he had originally created it (except for a bit of string here and a tin can there). It was all very confusing.
Then a thought came to him. Maybe this is just the way it was meant to be. And that nothing could stop anything if it was truly meant to be. He then turned to Mayor Frown and accepted graciously.
And from that moment on he was no longer "The Junkman". He was now the curator of Grey City's first Museum of Art. He became its’ Artist in Residence. He was "The Man Who Made Junk Beautiful.
Proving the point that one man's junk is another man's art.
Soon after, everything in Grey City went back to normal. But because of The Junkman it was never quite the same again.
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