Uncle Steward
Finally, a few hundred years and 234 "Ahem mm's" later, the cable car reached the top of the mountain, where my uncle lived. When I got out, I had a total view at his house, in a dimple on the top (technically a valley, I always thought). It was a little, lovely house, made even smaller by the giant cherry tree next to it. The porch always seemed to be sunny, even on cloudy days and invited everyone who made the trip up to this desolated mountain to knock on the door, or, with shy people, to enter the veranda and sit on the bench to enjoy the view from it quietly.
My uncle Steward was a mad man. He had an legendary temper, which he doesn't mind showing to anyone, except to the wanderers who made use of the especially made cable car and used the invitation to sit and watch the view, he didn't mind them. But the loud groups of tourists, or people who knocked on the door expecting to meet an elderly, apple pie making, little lady got the fright of their lives. Because my uncle he was... not much loved by the Maker who gave him form, sort of speak. He looked horrifying. There was a good reason why he went to live his life on this mountain and leave the community in its pity superficiality, its inability to accept the form some persons are made in when it doesn't match the common standard of beauty.
The real ugly girl was taking the same path as I was; the path to uncle Stewards house.
She was still harrumphing while walking directly behind me, it almost seemed she was laughing, or bleating.
