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859WORDS @Cillian duCrosse + BG MUSIC Cling cling to your escapes from reality Become a loser and roar roar Throw throw out your ideals Dappou Rock by Neru | It was the birthday of Mrs. Cartigan’s nephew. He was only shy of twelve, and the morning was gleaming gold in the gardens of perhaps the grandest mansion in the neighborhood. While she had much to do for her pride and joy’s special day, she had no motivation to do much of anything except weep for the loss of her precious wedding ring, so it was naturally a matter of concern to the widow that she should find it before nightfall. But what a fine morning it was turning out to be and what a shame for the elderly woman to waste it on so many tears. Exotic flowers stood erect upon their green stalks, like an assemblage of intricately dressed ballerinas, and greeted the labyrinth of roses with their vivid petals and abundant radiance. The sight of her garden alone could coax her out of any dreary spell she was under, and for the first time in her life not a slight upward curve was to be found upon her lips. There wasn’t even a smile for the sweet perfume her beloved fruits often sent her way. Oh, but understandably she thought herself too frail to bend her knobby knees or too old to seek out her ring with less than adequate vision, and when the present was waning from her constant brooding, she pondered and wandered away through the lush greenery and entered the house with a simple but effective plan in mind. The party wouldn’t have to wait at all if she had an extra set of helping hands to assist her in this much needed search. But she had to work quickly if she wanted to get an early head start with the preparations for the party, ignore the curses that came with being old such as, the aching in her bones, the brittleness of her frame, and more. Mrs. Cartigan would indeed have to go to the marketplace for a bit of speedy recruiting. In seconds she left the comfort of her estate. She really was thankful it was just a short walk away from her home, to some decent extent, because five minutes in and her joints felt as if they were being mercilessly seared by the fires of hell. “I’ll be jitterbugged if I have to take another step,” she panted, having made it to the marketplace, where customers ran in and out of every store looking for goods, “but I may not have to. Hello, young people, I could use your help. Would you all kindly lend me your eyes and ears? I’ve lost something and I need someone to find it for me.” It was long past five minutes when she stumbled upon the realization that no one had actually bothered to even look her way. Others kept avoiding direct eye contact to see if she would stop talking, and this caused her to experience nothing but disdain for the dwellers of Clover Town. Finally she stopped pouting, and a woman came out of the store with a big bag of groceries, a bag so fully stocked it appeared dangerously close to bursting, and the tiny hole that went unseen stretched until it was vomiting fruits and vegetables. The old lady witnessed just how frazzled the stranger was, and reasonably so, for all the edibles she bought only a few seconds ago were rolling away at an alarming speed from the entrance to the sidewalk. There was very little time to waste. “Quick, Vera! What is your disaster recovery plan?” came the powerful cry of agony, only for it to turn into something pitiful, “The one in my head suggests I run around screaming ‘What do I do? What do I do? But I doubt that’s going to do me any good. T-This better work. Sorry, hey, excuse me!’” the distraught stranger spewed, faster than a bolt of lightning, before coming to the real conclusion; which was to run past countless of people in hopes of salvaging the food she so foolishly lost, she even went so far to shove everyone aside with her own bare hands, and many were naturally angered by her ruthlessness to say the least. The witnesses moved warily through the tension, and in doing so inspired the masses to partake in the unintentional kicking of her precious fruits. An exaggerated gasp flew from her lips when her latest purchase, everything she ever had in that bag, were irreversibly disfigured by a passing car. She stared at her ruined spoils with such great intensity, Vera nearly convulsed. “Good grief. D-did that just seriously happen? Dude, this is making my ass twitch.” She half-whispered, burying her face in her hands. “Everything has a reason. Even jelly beans.” Mrs. Cartigan moaned, edging near desperation herself. Perhaps she’d ask a more lucid individual for assistance, and leave the desperate woman for last. Much to her dismay, however, the streets were becoming rather barren, and what she needed the most right now were people. Preferably, normal people. She tried again, yelling with all her might,“I will pay you handsomely for your services, but I do need willing volunteers!” |
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