The Legend of the 1500, Part 2

Day 103. 76 pages, 33,838 words. Gaah, I got into writing this instead of the book, send help.

Now, I’m not one of those neighbours who complains a lot about things. In fact, I suppose it’s fair to say that Creepy and I are often the cause of complaints in others, but the truth is that – for the most part – we just don’t have that sort of neighbourhood. We don’t call the police to report loud parties or raised voices. We don’t want the authorities involved, generally speaking.

Sometimes, in extreme circumstances, we take matters into our own hands and make the neighbourhood a safer and quieter place for everyone. That may involve some noise – or, in the case of Drackenstein, quite a lot of noise and a certain amount of housal collapsage – but more often than not we all just pull together and mind our own damn business.

But it was almost nine in the morning and I was getting ready for bed after a long night of building in the garage, and … well, one does not cower and huddle when Barbarians get rowdy. That only encourages them and perpetuates the cycle of Barbarian-Townsfolk contempt. Not that I’d recommend actually explaining it to them in those terms, but you get the idea.

I kilted up, booted up, sunglassed up, tucked a pen and a piece of equipment I thought would come in handy into my jacket pocket, straightened my hat and marched right over there, just like our parents always encourage us to do with murderously intimidating things.

This, I remain convinced to this day, is because parents hate their children.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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