In The Spirit Of Maleficent: Everyone Hates Telemarketers
10 March 2010
The first time I was given a “verbal” warning I was told by the M.O.D. “I know I’m just being anal about this” – I don’t remember what – “but I’m writing you up as giving you a verbal warning. I’m having an anal day.”
That’s the gist of it. The impact is I’m off the phone at minimal wage and losing ground in the paypool. On more than one occasion I’m…
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Margaret-Anne spotted a bullet on the ground next to her grandfather’s shed. Her brother Geoff saw and asked. “Can we hit the back?” “It’ll make a big cra-bang! Dad might hear.” She held it eye level. “Do you have to make that noise?” “It shouldn’t if we hit it with a rock” he pleaded. “ Ok. Find a rock.” Dad’d overheard everything.
“If you succeed you could blow up your finger” he explained and then continued with how bullets are made. Satisfied with his lesson he turned trusting them with the bullet.
Excitedly Margaret-Anne turned finding Geoff smiling at her. “Find a rock.”
Flabbergasted dad spun around.
NOISE – WK 142
The prompt this week is:
…Do you have to make that noise?
Wasn’t it supposed to be pods that had people growing inside them and somehow we died? I wish I remembered more details of what was clearly meant as a warning we took as thrills, chills and entertainment to help with what’s happening now. Seeds signified new growth, but there are so many seeds and as many vines growing from them that wrap us in cocoons dragging us to somewhere no one’s managed to escape from yet. Unlike Little Shop of Horrors nothing’s contained, and there’s no cry of “feed me” giving us that choice of us or them. How can we save ourselves?
Or can’t we?
This week’s prompt (141) : “but there are so many seeds”
“It’s been one of those sweltering days good for a workout. When I get home I’m going to peel and drop clothes, shower, then grab something in the fridge to have with the last of my cold white wine and relax.” Gillian hit send on her cell and picked up the pace but slowed to a stop when she reached the railing overlooking an old pier of uneven posts shaped like people walking up from the sea. They’d wake when the sun was down. “Such a beautiful sunset. Better hurry.” Anyone still outside would become one of them.
“Monica, hurry home! We need you to put a stop to this curse.” She hit send again. It wasn’t a totally bad curse in a sense seeing everyone in the town got to live forever almost like Brigadoon. They didn’t fall asleep at night and wake 100 years later, they slept and woke normally but without the aging thing and there were the people on the partially collapsed dock who woke at night fated to wander through the town no longer able to be a part of it and take with them anyone who hadn’t followed curfew caught outside. No one took it all seriously at first, which is how the dock became loaded with posts – people posts – well, anyway.
If only they hadn’t held that séance trying to contact old lady Murrone.
She’d lived in that town over 30 years and had become recluse to avoid the ridicule. She’d said she thought she had stopped a heart attack one day by calming and centering herself causing the pain that was traveling up her arm to reverse. She’d tried to encourage people to use natural remedies and described how touch could cure. When she’d go to Joe’s Place it’d spread faster than wildfire and many would meet up with her exhorting her to tell them, to teach them, about healing and meditation having no idea all the while she was being made fun of until one of the older kids, who’d stopped in, could no longer contain himself causing the entire room to burst into laughter. The owner of Joe’s packed up her dinner along with a few other things in the picnic basket she used for shopping, but when she stepped outside to head home some of the townspeople threw rotten tomatoes and eggs. How archaic in these modern times one would think! Joe’s wife screeched to a halt along side her and drove her home while her husband cleaned out his café. Anyone who’d assaulted his friend Ms. Murrone could not come back. In spite of it his place always prospered. When she’d died, they closed up shop and left town.
A stranger had stopped at Margo’s Café and overheard people laughing about the séance. “Old lady Murrone tell you how to cure athlete’s foot? Wouldn’t want to put my hand on that. Maybe you should wash your socks.” “A town of witches and warlocks? I didn’t know they needed séances to contact their dead.” The stranger smiled as she walked to the counter to pay. “It’s been a year since her funeral. Wanted to wish the old girl happy anniversary. Just passing through, ma’am?” “If I understand you correctly, I’ve just moved into old lady Murrone’s house. I’ll let you know if I find any treasure hidden in the walls or under the stairs.” “Hah! Or people living under the stairs! We didn’t know anyone’d bought the old place. Thought it was going to forever remain the town’s wart. Welcome! Maybe this time around it’ll have some life to it or at least in it. Our high school’s yearbook committee could use a donation if you do!” The stranger smiled back. “Oh, I spent my first night at the house last night. A lovely place with great ambience. All her original furniture is there. A real find if you like antiques. I’m a writer and have been at ease about it since the first moment I saw it. It’ll be a place of great inspiration. In fact, I feel a short story coming on as we speak.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, before I forget the reason I stopped in this morning, it was the strangest – I’m not one for this kind of thing, but old lady Murrone said you’ve brought a curse upon yourself. Something about your own doing and when this used to be Joe’s Place? Don’t know… just got here.” She shrugged, shoulders still trembling amusement. Her eyes twinkled. “If you stay inside from sundown tonight to sunrise and reflect on the town’s unkindness to her it will pass. Interesting woman. Knew a lot about healing. Can really talk up a storm.”
A dead silence had fallen over the entire place. There was something about her, like she was a young Candace Murrone. They gaped out the front window as she headed home, carrying a picnic basket with delicacies from the market. It was eerie like they had seen it all before. Johanna Scarlett was the first to break the silence. “A clam bake tonight celebrating our curse and the beginning of summer?” Everyone erupted into laughter.
Old lady Murrone’s house was set back far enough up a hill offering a view of the town leading down to the shore. The stranger walked out onto the balcony from the master bedroom and watched the revelry that night on the beach, the one with a dock partially collapsed into the sea. Old man Jenkins, a tomato thrower back in the day, saw her and hollered, “Come join us! Hank’s the best cook in town!” She cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered back. “Thank-you! But, I feel another chapter coming on! Enjoy!” Her heart became heavy. “So be it”, Monica sadly exhaled. “I’m so sorry grandmother. So be it.” She walked back inside. “Don’t worry my dear. They did it to themselves. Can you believe there’s still no remorse? If any of them had at least attempted to come to the funeral out of curiosity they’d’ve found out there wasn’t one. I could’ve played it up like I wanted to throw the town a party. How old did they think I was? Old Lady Murrone indeed! I told you it’s a great place to write. How about we remove the curse when enough people in town put these few in their place.” “Sounds like fun!” “Are we packed? Joe and Cindy are looking forward to our visit.” “Yea, we’re good. I thought whatever I forgot we could pick up there.” “Love to shop just like your grandmother!”
No, they didn’t cast a spell to make things shrink into a miniature carpetbag and get on their brooms. Monica had the luggage in her Jeep. She locked up while Grandma Murrone stood back from the windows then they left through the back door and drove along the coast away from the party. Joe and Cindy were heading to Europe next month and they were going to housesit until their return or the town smartened-up. That was mid-June. It was early September. Gillian had gotten a job at the high school and moved into the house on the grassy-rocky hill above the tideline beginning of July. In the moonlight looking out the bedroom window her house seemed like it was floating on the sea and she could see the empty dock that was covered with posts come morning. Recently that number hadn’t been increasing. Each morning she took a walk for the purpose of counting.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
I honestly don’t know what more I can take, or how much for that matter. I want to be happy but my heart is heavy. I’m unsure…
Complaints about nothing everyday as I write. I’ll be ok. What else today?
Sabrina sat back and pushed the typewriter across the desk. Yes, typewriter. She looked at it lovingly. “You’ll be my first, you’ll be my last, which is probably true. Do they make them anymore?”
She walked to her Davenport across the room and powered up the laptop. “Typewriters”, she keyed into the Google search.
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But even when I listened carefully
I couldn’t determine
But even when I listened carefully
I couldn’t see …
100-Word Challenge For Grownups
The Prompt … but even when I listened carefully…