At the transitional shelter anything could happen in an instance; - Most, of things are ready to explode as an unforeseeable surprise mounts tension towards the transitional clients, and embedded in each of the transitional shelter, as the group is ready to explore in the human investment of donating time to this weekly vigil, with the group now coming to sense with the tragic loss of their leader. And, the transitional easing of the previous outbursts is ceasing the surrendering of the perfect embracing, yet remaining cautious of the proposed miracle as things are back in the practical application of space and time, where their supernatural visions of a self-caused creation of revelation has still not fully-absorbed in, as they remain in an emotional shock of witnessing the moment.
But, it seems that a few are still fired up for the moment as not knowing the budget information is settling on their minds. Some are ready to act up, while most are transfixed on this week's practical ritual, as most are when being served possible leftovers and nearly expired food donations at the Salvation Army and a few transitional kitchens. But, there are a few places where fresh food like the ARCH and Methodist 13th & Lavaca Breakfast provide dignity to the transitional shelter clients, where the transitional clients have something to look forward too. And, this weekly serving to the transitional clients is something more than merely just edible delights, it's the struggle that represents for them to realize that someone still cares about them.
“How are you Sarah?” ask a concerned Hope.
“I'm feeling a little bit better after our conversation. I think I can survive this.” a bewildered Sarah softly replies. “I know he's in a better place.”
“Yes, he is.” Muhammad replies.
All of a sudden, Black's cell phone rings. He answers with a sense of natural disposition of calm nerves.
“What up John. Okay. There is nothing indicating that anything is being stolen from us?”A reassured Black is being in complete control. “And, we are just being played like “fools”? All right man. Thanks.”
Black rounds up his friends and family to spread the good word that nothing or no one is being taken away from them. They formulate a “game plan” to unleash the good news that all have been waiting to hear for the last few moments. James begins to overhear the conversations of the transitional groups in order to get a better feel of the reason of the passive-aggressive conversation technique, that was recorded earlier. He escapes to the make-shift kitchen to unload the news of the conversations he just overheard.
“Hey Guys, The transitional clients heard a rumor that we were stealing from a government fund. That was the reason for them to act up earlier.” An out-of-breath James reveals to the whole group. “What we will do?”
“Locomotive!” Black's friends yell out loud.
It reaches the first transitional group, then to the next, all with a sense of urgency. And, around the corner it goes reaching the furthest point of the transitional shelter, with the feedback of the groups coming just as quickly. The transitional shelter is buzzing with the news that their hearts will not be broken today, as the puzzlement and fury begins towards the one that started this vicious rumor. They want to investigate the person who played with the minds and hearts with justice as it's more likely than the wrath of revenge.
The high-society, privileged gentleman now walks across the street towards his Cadillac Limo, as the sinking of his grandiose plan does not go as planned according to what the angry mob was supposed to react to the news. He expects that somehow the remaining non-participating transitional clients side with his path on towards the dervish, methodical-anticipated cold venues of the easily-confusitive temporal soul. His ever-lit shade of devilish portrait peering out of the heated vapor as he walked with every step in a cool manner.
Black now begins to look for the source of all the misinformation where he goes from everyone to everyone seeking the source of it, with more following his long-strides, and eager-feet that dances and glides with every step taken much like;- the sweetest feet of the swiftest current of a tailback.
How the reasonable mob has transformed the into the vast class of angels swimming into the upcoming instances of truth to the bittersweet bellows of the rational understanding that occurs, with the upcoming night which has the sweetest breath-of-fresh-air swirling around the transitional shelter. He eventually meets with the information that is needed to confess to the human moral agent of the transitional clients so the forthcoming of the information can shape the weekly transitional gospel.
“So, you say dog that the fat cat over there is the one-who called it illegit? Are you insane? Black responds with a fury painting on his face. “Did you check the information before speaking it with the long-barrows of your tongue?”
“No, man. I didn't.” another senseless fool confesses to the truth of his involvement. “I thought the cat had good information as he is rich. My bad, my bad dog. Yes. That's the fool.”
“Go check him out!” Black commands one of his friends. “Tell that “tight”, we want nothing to do with him!”
The transitional angel now stands at the crosswalk to confront the rich and privileged gentleman. The crosswalk white light turns white and suddenly turn to red-bounded-hand, it continues to malfunction with it repeating just the same, a frustrated transitional human angel grows impatient and begins to cross the street. It is there where he yells out “My God!” from almost being near-hit-and-run takes place with him in it. He hurries in a panic towards the safety of the transitional shelter. He absorbs the event that just transpired as a near-death experience can take the breath out-of-someone.
“Man, that was stupid dog, What were you thinking?” the transitional client blares. “Are you riding the lighting?
“Dog, Shut your trap up!” He responds back.
But, the transitional shelter rings out loud the chanting the incantations of a God.
“Bless all who come to serve in the goodwill of humans!” One proud client echoes.
“We were wrong. Have pity on us?” an embarrassed client softly speaks.
“Oh, God, Oh. Bless all who were so terribly faithless at the moment?” she speaks with a voice of sadness.
On the bountiful weight of the shoulders, lie the life-trials of the transitional volunteers that have gained accordingly to the weight of the souls before them, as hoping for a better outcome is straight-to-the-heart for their purpose and convictions which, have their hearts turning and echoing out to help Humanity, as it needs a little assurance every-now-and-then, that it shapes everyone hearts.
But, an eerie feeling can be imagined needlessly to speak, as well as the understanding it can be real undertaking one of human emotional virtues. “Yet, one more sweet kiss of the gusting wind embrace all of thee.”One transitional clients echoes in the up-and-coming night. “May all rest on the shoulders of your love and faith of thee.”
Bellows of inherent love all of thee,
Echoing in the wind-sounding of a whispering tree,
Lies the love of the greatest of all thee,
Beckoning of the greatest call of he,
Bellows of inherent love of all of thee.
Somehow with a few large steps, Black and part of his entourage express their disappointments about all who might of terrified any of the American Volunteers as they sit there with humble and modest faces of humility.
“I'm so sorry Benjamin that a vicious rumor spread into the transitional shelter, and with our deepest regrets of if any one of us acted in a violent manner,” Black apologizes to the people who kept giving him the faith of a mustard seed. “We are taking care of the matter as we speak.”
“Who could of thought we were stealing from the transitional center?” Peter innocently asks in state of purification. “We could never do that.”
“It's our fault for letting it get out-of-control. We will bring it to the kitchen in a few minutes. We are going to ask him to not come around here anymore as it would suit us all.” Black's Sargent-at-Arms responds. “Our messenger just fell-a little-ill at the moment. He's about to try again when he catches his breath.”
The transitional angel picks up head from all of the heavy breathing again. He stands at the crosswalk. He waits for the light to change. It does. He begins to cross the street again with a roar in his long-stride steps.
Then a sudden high-gust knocks over the transitional angel while the distinguish gentleman is smiling with a gleam in his eyes, and glossing grin.
And, the wind knocks the transitional angel to the ground. “Oh, he wants it that way?” He responds.