Story 5

The Obelisk

By Matt Carroll

 

He was sad because he was wearing a new pair of shoes and he rarely got new shoes.

            Vatican City wasn’t what he expected as he walked towards St. Peter’s. His group was on a tour of Saint Peter’s basilica and the catacombs where Saint Peter’s bones are buried. They passed the Vatican guards dressed in colored outfits that made them seem childish until you realized they were some of the best trained soldiers in the world meant to protect the Pope.

            John Matthews looked down at the stone street. He couldn’t help noticing his new shoes gleaming black. They were fresh, new, and professional. He looked like a normal student with his khaki pants, white collared shirt, and black coat. He looked normal. He was happy his pants covered his legs because of all the scars he had from the surgery after the accident. His knees moaned a metallic whistle from all the metal and screws that were inside. His posture was completely straight, almost robotic.

            They entered from the side and listened to their tour guide as they went underground. The passages were small stone walkways. They were compact and John’s six foot tall body had a hard time navigating. He smiled at the other college students in his group. He took note of a cute brunette that kept smiling. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose with each awkward grin he sent back.

            The state-of-the-art bullet proof glass slid closed behind them. It was on a timer with oxygen pumped down into the old catacombs. The box the bones sat in was donated by the United States military during World War II and it was rumored that when the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II happened, and he stayed in the hospital with devastating injuries, the femur of St. Peter was sent because of the healing powers it’s said to have. They could hear the service above as people walked on the golden grates above them where the tall basilica stood. They exited to a casual entrance on the side where they saw nuns praying at a large gray and white granite tomb where Pope John Paul II was laid to rest.

            The brunette brushed against John when they entered the main hall.

            “Where are you from?” Her accent dripped with southern integrity.

            “Nowhere really. What about you?” He smiled.

            “Kansas.” She smiled walking with him as they stared at the engraved marble drawings on the floor that represented every catholic cathedral in the world in comparison to St. Peter’s. “I’m staying in Campo de Fiori. What are you doing tonight?”

            “Going to Campo de Fiori at about nine.” He answered slyly. He hadn’t felt this good about talking to a girl in a long time, since before the accident and his long stay in the hospital where no one was allowed to visit him, even if they knew where he was.

            “Meet me by the statue of Giordano Bruno then?”

            They exited the cathedral and before he could answer he sensed the commotion around them. His eyebrows furrowed and she looked at him with wide eyes. The Vatican Guards were gathering in the center of the court looking to the sky. The people, and the Guard, were shielding their eyes from the surprising January sun.

            John stood on the bottom step of the cathedral. The Christmas tree from the winter celebration stood in the court.

            He looked to the sky and saw an airplane flying unusually low.

            People started to scream when they saw an explosion that sent the right wing crashing from the heavens. The plane was headed their direction.

            “Oh my God!” The girl from Kansas screamed.

            “I love these shoes?” John whispered and shook his head when he looked down at his shoes. He was sad because they were new shoes and he didn’t get new shoes that often before the accident.

            “What?” She asked in the confusion.

            The plane descended faster and faster. It was sure to hit the Cathedral and the people were frozen in terror around them. When the hypothesis of the plane crashing turned to theory the people screamed, but once it became fact it was headed their direction it was too late and the people were uselessly running.

            “Stand back.” John ordered her. She complied. John Matthews sighed ripping his jacket off and throwing it to the side. He reached for his watch and hit a small button on the side that started a mechanism inside his legs that began to roar like jet engines. Suddenly the bottom of his shoes exploded and a fiery storm erupted underneath him elevating him off the ground. Defying gravity the people watched as he flew towards the airplane at lightning fast speed.

            He soared through the Roman afternoon toward the plane. The people stopped running and screaming as they watched him in awe. He became a small speck with the elevation.

He slammed into the nose of the plane. The bottom of his feet had an orange glow and the noise broke the sound barrier shattering all the stained glass windows of the church. The plane’s fall slowed.

            The plane and John were no longer specks and their descent was like a leaf falling off the very top of an oak tree and swaying to the bottom of the forest floor. They swayed back and forth eventually hovering over the court. People cleared the area and John set the airplane on top of the Christmas tree in the court. The fire where the wing was originally had extinguished in the fall.

            John hovered over the crowd for a moment until he hit the button on his watch again. The jets that fired from under his feet had less of a roar as he powered down to the stone street. The Vatican Guard and the people watched as he walked toward one of the exits of the airplane and ripped off the door sending the emergency slide to the ground where people immediately exited the plane with horrified expressions on their face. The people on the street, unmoving, watched John help people off the plane. The people on the plane were panicked unsure of how they escaped death.

            He heard the sirens in the distance.

            John ran toward the steps of the cathedral. He glanced down instantly to see his shoes as a smoldering heap on the stone street.

            “I didn’t get your name!” He shouted over the voices of the people who were now scrambling towards him.

            “Dawn!” She shouted.

            “Okay Dawn, see you at nine!” He hit the button on his watch as the crowd began to surround him. He sent himself flying through the Roman afternoon air faster than their eyes could comprehend.

            “Okay!” She waved to him as he went.

            He soared over Rome. He saw the Coliseum, the Trajan’s market, and when he flew over the Pantheon he looked down through the obelisk when everyone else was looking up through it.

            He didn’t stop until he saw the countryside where he landed on the Via Appia. He dusted himself off when he landed. He looked down at his bare metallic feet. He would have to buy new shoes before his date tonight.