Jenny Hawthorn was just getting home from work; it was another uneventful day and she couldn’t wait to get home. She walked up the front steps of her moderate sized home and unlocked and opened the door. She stumbled into the shabby living space and collapsed on her small couch. She picked up her remote and turned on her tiny television, she was lucky to have satellite the way prices kept rising.
Jenny was almost in poverty and she barely scraped by, saving in the oddest places; cutting down on laundry detergent, cutting down on food and cutting down on sleep. It was obvious her priorities weren’t straight; she had stopped paying the heating bill, used coupons and food stamps to start the fires in her fireplace, she stopped paying the water bill and instead used her garbage cans to catch rainwater instead of holding trash her house needed so desperately to get rid of. Once her neighbors tried to clean it for her, but when she got home she actually got angry and called the police (using the public telephone 3 blocks from her house). Yes, the neighbors decided, Jenny Hawthorn had gone out of her mind
She flipped between channels then settled on CNN, she watched as several reports of “flying ships” had made the international news. “Idiots” she chuckled, unaware of the sweet irony in her statement. She turned off the T.V. and scrambled through the trash on the floor making it barely to her bedroom without tripping. She had hardly gotten into her bed when a flash of lightning lit up her bedroom window. She peered through the cracked window pane as another strike of lightning lit up the sky, revealing two large old fashioned galleons floating in the sky. She rubbed her eyes and stared out the dirty glass. There were no clouds. Her mouth opened in awe as the sky lit up with flaming cannonballs. That was no lightning. The sky lit up again as the rumble of cannons filled the air.
That was the last thing Jenny ever saw. Police would find that a freak “meteor” had hit her house somehow not harming a baby found outside. There was nothing found on the baby that would assure Jenny’s Guardianship over the lad. But there was a peculiar silver medallion around the baby’s neck, it read: Blaze. One of the police officers would chuckle as he filled out the birth certificate as Blaze Silver Hawthorn
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