Page 39 of Statler

Stat wasn’t picky. Whatever struck his fancy.

And his resulting conceptions? Not always beautiful, but people seemed to enjoy them. He’d even begun selling the ones he didn’t want to keep, on-line, after Petula coerced him into putting them up for public perusal.

But Statler’s toils—fulfillment for his soul—weren’t about making money.

Nope.

Creating things—on canvas—just from his imagination? That’s what made him truly happy. Perhaps it was an extension of how he raised buildings from slabs. But the difference with painting? He was afforded a more personal touch. He got to determine his finished product with his brushes and his paint, whereas the steel structures that resulted from his day-to-day labors were always dictated by the architects.

Statler was feeling that itch this morning, to get a brush in his fingers, but he’d left all his supplies at home for this mission, knowing that his focus needed to be on the job.

Which meant a sprint up the mountain this morning would have to suffice.

Statler drew in a deep breath and began his pre-run stretches. They were so ingrained in him, he didn’t even have to think about what he was doing. Instead, he warmed up his muscles while appreciating the first rays of morning sun as they filtered through the trees, and tried to redirect himself from where his mind wanted to wander.

He noted that the lights were on in Blue’s cottage, and Tonk’s, but he wouldn’t ask if they wanted to join him.

Knowing them, Blue was already deep into her second cup of coffee while reading some horror-suspense book that would scare the begeezus out of her. She wouldn’t see the light of day before lunch.

Tonk, on the other hand, was most likely chatting on-line with one or another of the veterans he knew who were struggling. The big man had a huge heart, and being a team medic over a good number of years, he’d worked on and put back together many a soldier; some of whom had trouble meshing their new physical realities with their civilian lives.

Tonka always gave the toughest cases his contact info, and kept in touch.

Having severe scarring himself from an undetected IED, he made no bones about the fact that life after injury was often difficult to navigate, but he let his contacts know that by surrounding yourself with the right people, anything could be overcome.

Tonk was proof of that.

Statler?

Well, his scars were all internal.

He needed air, art, and morning runs to keep his ghosts at bay.

And speaking of which…

Stat’s feet turned in the direction of the path he and his crew had taken the last two mornings behind the cottages, and he smiled

This small mountain afforded a great, semi-challenging run.

Four miles up—taking him just under an hour to accomplish—would eventually reveal a stunning view of the town below. An additional loop of two miles across the rise would afford a glorious, panoramic look at an adjacent valley. Once Statler had given himself a few moments to appreciate that, he’d circle back, reconnect to the main path, then head down the mountain in a twenty-minute sprint.

It was a perfect plan, and the weather today was stunning for fall. Cool and crisp with just the slightest hint of fragrant smoke wafting in the air from someone’s wood stove, Statler had no doubt his run would be exactly what he needed to clear his brain of a certain someone he shouldn’t be thinking about.

His feet pounded the trail as the land rose before him, and Statler quickly worked up a nice sweat. He pushed himself, because he already knew the rest of the day would be spent relaxing, eating, and drinking with his crew before their job truly started on Monday.

He could afford to tax his muscles right now.

Statler was half a mile from the top when something caught his eye and made him stumble to a stop.

What the…?

An anomaly.

One he hadn’t noticed before, because, yeah. He and his companions were always trash talking and giving each other shit which cut in on being observant.

Huh. The brush to his right definitely looked…disturbed.

Deliberately.