What Happens In Mapleton

Mapleton, a small suburb, a pearl in the strand of pearls around the bustling acropolis of Ashton. Mapleton was a small agricultural town with four Maple Tree Farms. There are only two now. Maple Leaf Vista is the largest of the two, and is in the center of the growing suburb. Maple Leaf Vista Ridge Park is bordered on one side by the tree farm and the other side by Pine Street, a main route through town. Pine street runs through Brookridge, Pinehurst, Mapleton, Culverson, and into Ashton, all the way to the water front of Trine River, where the old shipping docks are.
Cah-Caw-Cah-Caw. The caucaphony of a screeching rooster call can be heard penetrating the walls of the 1800's, two story building, on the corner of Pine Street and Main Street, across from the Maple Leaf Vista Ridge Park and the bus stop 51. Cah- Caw- Cah- Caw, the increasing volume is met with a slam. Thud. It's Four am. Erik Clauf has hit the floor silencing the insistent mechanical rooster beast. The thud is met by Tromp, tromp, tromp. Three heavy morning steps and Clap of the bathroom door. The old pipes screeching with the burden of warm water traveling through the winter-chilled pipes. This screech, too, can be heard outside the old building. A building that has been dressed for the 21st century but retains its old bones of the 19th century, like an old crone whom probably should have stopped having plastic surgery a few surgeries ago.

This building used to be the Mapleton City Bank of old. The building was updated and turned into "Main Attraction", a second generation Florist Shop. The beauty of flowers and party adornments framed in the large windows on the bottom floor. Theresa Delmore lives upstairs with her nephew, Erik Clauf and Alicia Clauf. Theresa, was a deep sleeper. Erik's four am routine hardly stirring her sleep. Alicia was not a deep sleeper.

Alicia lay in bed. Every morning, at four am, her eyes opened, Her body remained calm but her mind screaming "Noooooooo" as it awoke from that infernal mechanical rooster beast calling her from what ever world her subconscious conjured up for her to enjoy that night. The tromping, the clapping, the screeching and finally as Erik's bathroom routine ended and the door clapped open once again. There was a muffled bustle in the room, she could hear through their shared wall. Erik, she caught one morning, employed the "floor-drobe" technique. All his clothes were scattered about the floor. He found the clothes he wanted to wear by "The pick and sniff" technique. Where he picked up a piece of clothing, sniffed it, and if there was no repugnant smell, the garment was worn for the day.

Erik spent most of his time in between states of extremes, busy then exhaustion. Dressers, laundry, food, maybe even breathing, at times, were too trivial for the young medical student to bother with. Erik's bedroom door flew open. Leather satchel, left behind by his father, loaded with text books and laptop, slung across his shoulder. He flew across the upstairs to the small kitchen. Found his tennis shoes at the bar. Slid into them. Theresa had breakfast for him and a lunch packed on the counter waiting for him, with a travel mug of coffee. He grabbed his coat of the bar stool at the counter island. Ran down the stairs and out the door. He ran across the street just in time for bus 51 to pick him up at Four Forty-five, to go to Ashton State University. One hour. TIme to study, a little.