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Cordovan’s daily routine is quite simple:
Wake up at 6 a.m. Prepare breakfasts and lunches to go for his family. Get his daily kiss from his flower and head pat his sweet princess before they leave; Marigold for her work and little Cinnamon for school. Next, he usually went out to replenish their home’s stock of food and goods. After that, he would move on to the chores, most of them either quick and simple or could be trivialized by the many appliances they equipped.
Only after most of his basic housework was done, usually at 10 a.m., did he begin his work on the side: Selling CORN DOGS! Preparing all the corn dogs for the day normally took him two hours and setting up his stall another one. He would take a noon break in between, savoring the lunch he had already prepared from the morning.
At 2 p.m., he would push his stall to his designated spot on the road nearby, starting his sale for the day. At 4.30 p.m., when the afternoon snack time came to a close, he would clean up and return home, resting a bit before preparing dinner, finishing just in time for when his wife and daughter get home.
The rest of the day was spent finishing the rest of the chores, then bonding with his family before they all called it for the day, letting sweet, blissful sleep take over.
Weekends were a little different, as Marigold and Cinnamon didn't need to go to work or school and he didn’t sell anything. Thus, they were solely dedicated to family bonding time, spent on their outings and little vacations to the parks or cinema.
Sometimes, his flower would nag him, telling him that there was no need for his side job, that her salary and savings were more than enough to sustain them and that he could just focus on their household. Sweet Marigold often worried about him overworking himself, his routine needing constant working from morning to night with only a little break in between.
Every time, he had explained that he could manage just fine and that the extra money was good additional security for them. There definitely were aspects where his life could be better, but for now, he was happy.
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Today was not too different from the others. Marigold grumbled about the employees she was supervising again while little Cinnamon was thrilled about her school’s event, all her afternoon classes replaced by a road trip to the local park for their Science subject. He looked back to the remaining corn dogs in his cart and recounted his cash, letting out a sigh in the process.
Sales had been a little slow due to the recent happenings between The Rocket Corporation and The Chosen One, the infamous black hollow-headed stick. For some reason, the company started putting up wanted posters of the stick and would often send out men to try and hunt him, using weaponry even whilst they were in civilian areas.
‘Cause of that, most Stick figures now opted to stay inside, rushing their affairs if they had to leave the confines of a building. Not as many people would stop for his stall anymore.
Quite the amount of Stick Figures had complained and tried to report the company, but what were a few sticks compared to a Mega Tech-Dominating Corporation?
The whole incident had also caused his flower to fret much more now. She didn’t want him to stay out so long while all the chaos was still happening. He understood her reasoning. There had been no deaths so far, but multiple cases of major injuries had been reported.
Hunting terrorists? All they were doing was terrorizing the others. And his sales.
Cordovan glanced at his phone again. 4.17 p.m. It was quite close to his regular closing time, and he still had six corndogs left. He checked the amount of chili, mayonnaise, and mustard left. It was probably time to restock on them, he mused as he typed it into his reminder app.
Out of the blue, there was a panicked scream nearby. Suddenly, a black silhouette quickly zoomed past, almost knocking him out of his chair from sheer wind force alone had he not grabbed onto his cart. His cart’s sign did get knocked off, though. In the corner of his vision, he saw something round into the alleyway nearby, though he couldn’t turn to look before a motor noise zoomed close by.
A group of four strange-looking Stick Figures flew close to him. Rocket Corporation’s logo, he quickly noted. Before he could take notes of any other things about them, the Pivot Stick with sunglasses spoke up.
“Saw any suspicious Stick Figure coming by?”
He paused, not knowing what to answer before just making up something on the spot.
“A Black Stick Figure just flew past really quickly! I think he’s heading there!”
He pointed in the same direction they had been flying. That’s a non-suspicious answer, he thought.
“What kind of answer is-”
“We don’t have time. Men, forward.”
The Sunglasses stick cuts off the short Pixelated stick’s word coolly before the four of them blasted off, knocking him off his chair for real this time. Damned corporate.
Cordovan huffed, re-adjusting his chair and fixing his cart. He neatly put the sign back in its respective place. To knock it down so far, the Stick that flew past must’ve been really-
Fast.
Right.
The stick that flew past.
The stick that was being hunted by the Rocket Corporation.
The same stick that had darted into the alleyway just a few feet away from him.
The infamous terrorist ‘The Chosen One’.
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Cordovan couldn’t feel his limbs or anything else for all that mattered. He briefly wondered when the life flashes were going to start hitting him. Probably real soon.
Maybe… he had already flown deep into the alleyway and left?? Maybe???? There gotta be no way he’s…still there, what with the active hunt and all.
Well, only one way for him to know for sure! Just…turn his head! There was nothing to be afraid of! With what he assumed to be adrenaline, he jerked his head toward the alleyway and-
Holy shit. Holy fuck. Fucking shit.
The Chosen One was staring straight at him. The Chosen One was hiding behind a comically large garbage container and he was staring straight at him.
He quickly turned away, staring at his cart and blinking rapidly. Maybe he was just hallucinating? Feeling exhaustion bleeding through him, he wondered if Marigold was right. He probably was just overworked and didn’t notice himself losing it!
For some strange reason, he turned his head to that alleyway, his eyes once again locked with the terrorist’s. If he was in these Korean TV shows his flower loved watching, there would be strange romantic music screeching from how heavy the tension weighed the air right now.
Why did he even think of that? This was stupid. He was stupid. Everything was stupid. Life was stupid.
He really should’ve heeded Marigold’s warning. He hoped they wouldn’t be too devastated when they had to bury him. Cinnamon’s 10th birthday was only a month away.
The Chosen One continued to silently stare, not moving a single inch. He almost blended in with the dark alleyway. Cordovan kind of preferred the guy actually do something, ‘cause then his thoughts wouldn’t go crazy coming up with possibilities of what was going to happen to him.
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Okay, it had been 5 minutes of him and The Chosen One just looking at each other. Five minutes. The feeling of annoyance started to rear its head somewhere at the 3rd minute’s mark. There were better things to do, like not thinking about all the ways the terrorist could kill him. Even panicking got tiring at one point!
The Chosen One finally moved, leaning down and hiding himself more behind the large garbage container. He wondered why the terrorist hadn’t just left yet. Was he injured or exhausted, or was he just trying to wait until his hunters were gone for sure?
Cordovan whipped out his phone, surprised that he still could care to check the time even in this situation. 4.25 p.m. Five minutes left before he had to leave. If he could even leave.
He glanced at his cart. The remaining six corndogs sat perfectly still in his cart’s preserver. He doubted he was going to be able to sell them soon.
An idea quickly flashed his mind, and he kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier! Perhaps he could still survive the whole ordeal, after all!
Taking out two corn dogs, he briefly wondered if The Chosen One could handle spices before deciding to just wing it and splattered all 3 available sauces onto them. With the two sticks steady in his hand, he made his way toward the black stick.
The Chosen One lifted his head to look at him, before completely plopping down and getting out of sight. The walk to the alleyway was quite peaceful, if not brief. His limbs weren’t shaking, and he didn’t even feel fear anymore. Must be his end-life clarity. Whatever, it helped him not look murder-able in front of the terrorist.
He passed the garbage container and immediately looked for the stick. Huh, from up close, The Chosen One looked pretty…unthreatening, something not aided by how he was hunching while staring dumbly at him.
There were multiple visible injuries on the stick’s body, new and old, and he saw some part of him…glitch? Definitely injured and resting before he could leave.
“Fancy some corn dogs?”
He talked and all but pointed the corn dog straight at the other’s face, the action seeming to have surprised the other. Wow, did he just make The Chosen One flinch? That wasn’t on his 2023 Bucket List. Or on any of his List, if he had to clarify.
The Chosen One looked at him, then at the offering right in front of him, then at him again. Unexpectedly, he actually…reached out for the corn dog, the action slow and almost… gentle?
What happened next, however, was anything but gentle. He hadn’t even known someone could eat a corn dog that fast until now. That was straight-up just corn dog inhalation. He just breathed it in.
Cordovan brought forth the other corn dog. The Chosen One grabbed it, his action less careful this time and quickly downed it too, looking pleased. His strangely childish expression reminded him of his little Cinnamon somewhat.
“Thank you…” The Chosen One uttered, his voice almost a whisper.
“Uhh, no problemo! There’s still more if you’re still hungry!”
Seemingly sated from his meals, the black stick opted to stay quiet, his gaze pinned on him again. Another awkward silence fell between them.
“You…lied to them. The mercenaries. About where I was…”
The Chosen One slightly tilted his head, confusion written all over his face.
“...Why?”
Good question. The real answer was just him making up something to try and get them away, but he couldn’t say that without somehow offending the other. Another improvisation it was!
“Well…I…I don’t like them, y’know. These Rocket Corps people, relentlessly hunting you without even caring about the civilians! It’s unhinged! Sure, uh, you’re pretty known for being uhh…y’know! But it’s been years since the last time you were on the news, so that’s gotta be something!!”
He ran out of words after that. Curse his lack of speaking skills.
It seemed like The Chosen One was pleased with his answer, still. With his hand grabbing onto the container, he stood up and brushed himself.
“I’ll… remember your deed.”
The black stick only muttered before walking away and then blasting off, quickly zooming into the distance and disappearing from his sight, leaving him standing.
His phone alarm rang. Ah, it’s closing time. He didn’t really feel like making a big meal today. Hopefully Marigold and Cinnamon were fine with takeout.
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Today was not too different from the others. Cordovan counted his money again. Even though sales had been slow due to the recent happening, he had adjusted the number of corn dogs to sell and was still profiting from his side job.
It had been a little over a week since his encounter with the infamous stick. He never told his family what happened, nor did he dwell on it much. Marigold had been concerned when she saw the changes in their meal but was successfully convinced that he was just trying something new. He didn’t want his flower to fret about him even more.
“Vendor, can I have two?”
Suddenly snapped away from his thoughts, he looked at his customer. Standing before him was a stick figure with a beaten-up beanie and a scarf wrapped so tight he could barely see their face. For some reason, they looked familiar.
“Sure, thing! Mustard, Mayonnaise or Chili sauce?”
“All of them on both.”
He efficiently and evenly squirted them onto the Corn dogs before handing them to his customer, who quickly grabbed both sticks in one hand.
“That’ll be ten dollars!”
The stick figure only nodded and handed him two bills before quickly walking away, their behavior stunning him a little. He looked at them rushing before finally remembering to check the money, realizing that it was two one-hundred-dollar bills.
“H- Hey! You overpaid! I-”
That mysterious stick figure had already disappeared completely from his sight, almost as if they didn’t even exist in the first place. Huh, he wondered who that was. His guts told him it was someone he was supposed to know. Yet with nothing coming to his mind, he could only shrug.
His phone alarm rang. Ah, it’s closing time. Time to get home and prepare dinner. He found a new recipe for Carbonara and had been looking forward to trying it out the whole day.
Briefly cleaning up his stall, he closed the cart’s preserver lid and pushed it home.