A Borrower's Anthology

Dread & Relief

A vicious cycle of ups and downs plague Michelle as she meets the human-from-afar up close and personal.

...

The new Grapple Hook 2.0 was composed of similar pieces as its predecessor: an earring's hook and thick thread, the most necessary component to it all. Yet the hook was loaded onto a set of small, wooden planks that had been crafted in the shape of a toy gun. On each side of the wooden planks were two tiny screws gutted from an old, abandoned watch. Tied to these screws was the rubberband, which she could adjust its loose- or tightness depending on the distance she stood from what she was aiming at. All she had to do was twist the tiny bolts. It was almost like Nick's guitar. Maybe his uncle, the tinkerer, had been inspired.

2.0 was deemed safe-to-use but "experimental". Safe-to-use was safe enough to her though, and Michelle told Nicholas' uncle she'd get used to it--let him know how it felt to borrow beyond the comfort of their hidden home. The rule for her new grapple was to be accompanied by someone who could watch and make sure she had assistance when needed, but Nick had been preoccupied with his guitar for the last week. And she was tired of waiting for him.

The tile of the kitchen wall shifted as Michelle stepped out to a quiet house. Sunlight peering through between the silken, gray curtains replaced the need for the lights. Michelle made sure the tile looked undisturbed and shuffled her way past the stacked dishes from the morning's breakfast. It had been Philip's turn to cook before the others headed out for the day. Though he wasn't his mother, the Henderson's meals always smelled delicious to Michelle no matter whose duty it was that day. When she was fourteen, she'd made it more of a habit to eat from the secrecy of the kitchen, letting the smell of pot-roast or smoked ham or whatever sweet dessert they had created for the evening encompass her little place away from their table. Somehow, the smell would make her own bits and pieces taste a bit better.

Eventually however, she'd had to stop. After enough watching from a distance, it would ruin her appetite.

Glancing up to the ceiling then to the table miles apart from her placement on the counter, Michelle tapped her eager finger against the trigger of Grapple 2.0. It was such a picky little contraption; it only wanted the best support possible for its performance, otherwise it refused to work at all. Latching onto jars was out of the question, as was the smooth granite countertop itself. If she wanted to creep along the floor, perhaps she could have tried shooting the hook toward the fridge's handle at the other side of the room. Yet she'd been close to that monolithic and cold tormentor before. It was far too huge.

Overhead were the wooden cabinets and their metal handles for deft, human fingers to pull open. She shifted her weight onto one foot, watching as the metal caught the light at a different angle. Underneath those cabinets was a little shelf that typically held a few spice bottles and seasonings jars. Sometimes the tiny pot that held the sugar cubes was up there too. Michelle grinned, aiming Grapple 2.0 at the cabinet's handle.

Looks like I found your stage, little guy, she thought.

Preparing the hook onto the rubberband was by far more complicated than the actual firing of it, and she was careful to sacrifice enough of the string to loop her ankle through. It was the only anchor she had in providing herself not only better climbing grip, but a way to unfasten the hook once it had latched onto its target. Nicholas' uncle hadn't wanted to detail all of the gruesome ways it could have gone wrong, but Michelle was smart enough to fill in the blanks herself. That, and she'd heard more than enough from her mother. The bit of line she tied around her waist was just extra precaution.

Secured, fastened, and ready, Michelle fired the hook, watching the line wiggle in serpentine delight as it sailed through the air. Completely missing the cabinet handle and falling to the counter with a small clatter. She frowned and sighed, rolling her eyes. Things were never easy for a borrower.