Heavy Paper

A king does not get demoted to be a prince. A king never stops being king. A king merely dies, ends his reign, and makes room for a new one to begin.
Doctor Green was neither a king, nor a doctor, but he liked the way the prefix sounded on his tongue.
“Doctorrrr.” A regal purr to satisfy an attention-craved mind.
In his world, green was the color of life. There were trees, grass, bugs, birds and business. Hell, even Popeye knew the business! Though, to be fair, whatever was at the bottom of those cans of spinach had to be highly illegal, radioactive, or highly illegal and radioactive.
Green was money, money was power, and The Doctor was swimming in money and power.  So it seemed fitting that when he lost his money and when he lost his power, September would be the month the wrecking ball swung.
See, September was the end of an era. It was the bridge between summer and winter. It was fire then ice. The green fades away as trees ignite in brilliant shades of orange and reds and are later drained of their beauty. September was the month of decay.
The Doctor hated that he lived in a city that was burning. After walking for some hours the duct tape that kept his boots from unraveling was already falling off.  He knew if he stopped to look, his socks would be riddled with holes like Swiss cheese and probably smelled like it too.
Oh, and the blisters were dreadful. But somewhere, a clock was ticking and he didn’t have time to stop and smell the “daisies.” He had, however, the map in his head.
Left at the dead squirrel, right of the empty garbage can spray painted with an ‘X’, yada yada.     When he found the spot, he propped himself up against the brick wall and finally took a breath, ready to call it a night.
The shoes stay on, the jacket stays on.  He felt like arguing because the suit jacket felt like it was weighed with bricks and while one can chalk it up to the plummeting temperature, he felt too hot wearing it. Still, there were rules to follow.
“You look far too dapper to be a bum,” said The Girl.
She had been there, under the dimming light of the moon and a nearby street lamp with painted lips and purple hair. She seemed as if she was waiting for him, ready to strike like a Venus fly trap.
“I’m not.  And dapper? What is this, 1920?” The Doctor grunted. He wasn’t in the mood for company. The instructions said to come alone.
“Sure you aren’t.” The girl sucks hard on a cigarette and blows an impressive ring of smoke into the air. “I do admire your beard. You got a corporate Santa Clause or… No. Even better… a Yosemite Sam thing going for you. You’re young too, or else your hair would be white.”
“Aren’t you a little young to be a prostitute?” The Doctor quipped. She looked no older than seventeen.
“I love it when people think so highly of me. Is it the fishnets or the hair?”
“Both,” said The Doctor, wanting to end the conversation at that.
“Hmm. Lovely.  Well I hate to break your heart, but I’m not a hooker. Just waiting for friend.”                She blows another smoke ring.
“So what’s your story? Wife left, parents trust fund run out?” The Girl asked, prompting The Doctor to roll his eyes.  Wouldn’t she just go away!?
“Listen, you shouldn’t be here…“ he started to explain.
“Or young multimillionaire CEO left without a cent to his name after his company gets tanked, then seeking the promise to regain his fortune, blindly follows a masked director to aid in a mystery crime that I assure you, is highly illegal. Did I get it right?” She tosses her cigarette to the sidewalk. Her shoes smother the remaining embers. The Doctors eyes widen.
“Mr. Green-“
“Doctor Green.”
“Mr. Green, don’t fool yourself. You’re no Doctor. A king does not get demoted to a prince. A king never stops being a king even if he dies. However, when you take away the kingdom, you take away the title and you take away the future.  It’s unfortunate that you’ve been left in such an abysmal financial situation. Whoever tore you guys down did a hell of a job.”
He stares at The Girl, so young but somehow old in nature.
“Don’t worry. I’m not a cop. Just your new boss. Please, Mr. Green, let me take your coat for you. ” He hesitantly hands it over to The Girl.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“I’m a lot older than I look. Much older.”  There’s a rip. Then there’s money. Hidden in the lining of the jacket, multiple stacks of hundred dollar bills are emptied into The Girl’s Bag.
“What is this money for? Drugs?  Crown jewels? What’s the business?” he asks her.
“Keeping people young…Doctor.” She smiles, and then tosses the jacket back to him. It’s lighter now. No longer filled with all that heavy paper.
“Seasons change. Let’s keep in touch, shall we?” she says before turning away. The streetlight catches the color of her eyes, a bright green in the growing darkness.

Author: Jazmine De La Cruz