Jennifer can’t make up her mind. Her brows furrowed in irresolution, every nerve in her body concentrated on the decision before her. Her mind was completely focused.
Mango ice-cream or fudge brownies?
At the moment, her choice of dinner was about the biggest decision Jennifer could handle. Having just been dumped by her boyfriend of 3 years, his final words still rankled, chafing at the raw wound of her heart…
“We’re over, Jen. I can’t do this anymore. How can I love you if you don’t even love yourself…”
…Right. All Jen heard was “I can’t date you because you’re fat.” And a bunch of other baloney.
But the pain was just too real. Forcing all negative thoughts about her self-image into the crevices of her mind, she grabbed the nearest of the two choices (mango ice-cream. Excellent.) and a Jumbo bag of Sour Cream and Onion chips off the counter and hurried to the living room. She selected the coziest armchair and sank in.
Through the fog of hurt that clouded her mind, Jennifer was vaguely aware that she should start on the ice-cream first, before it melted. Melted ice-cream, not good. As though in a trance, she broke the seal to the ice-cream tub. Spooning out a generous lump, she shoveled it down her throat.
She closed her eyes in a moment of brief, unadulterated pleasure as the ice-cream slid down her throat. For that fleeting moment, Jennifer managed to convince herself that this was real, and all her pain dissolved. Yet that moment flitted by, as brief and transient as a butterfly wing brushing her cheek, and the pain began to return…..
More ice-cream, she diagnosed promptly. Quickly, she swallowed another heaping spoonful of ice-cream.
Jennifer was an emotional wreck. Two states away from her family (not that they made great emotional pillars anyway, but they still meant well. Hypothetically) and stuck in a grueling job that cost her 60 hours of her life weekly and left her an empty vessel of dissatisfaction, her newly-acquired status as “single” was the straw that broke the camel’s already straining back.
She was headed for a downward spiral, she could feel it. Another trip to her costly psychiatrist, which obviously equaled her forking out more cash. This, effectively, would cost her more hours of her life in her jailhouse of an office.
Screwing her eyes shut, Jennifer chanted mentally, “I love my life…I love my life…”
Author's note: Yep, this was modelled after the compo we helped yiYi do. I really liked developing the character, so I thought I'd try it myself! if you like it, tell me and I'll finish it. You know how i need motivation. If you don't, then I'll just add it to my elongated list of unfinished stories. Cheers.
31 December, 2009
18 November, 2009
The New Project
Cass yanked viciously at a weed struggling to take root in the hard, cracked soil. She flung it unceremoniously into the rattan basket, along with the other yellowing, shriveled weeds she had uprooted in this manner.
A biting breeze nipped reproachfully at the stray strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail, whipping them across her face.
To her right a hefty woman with a dirty apron emerged from the shadows of the tumble-down shack. Brandishing a grimy soup ladle, she snapped, “Move your carcass, girl, and get me some vegetables for dinner. You better move it, you dimwit, or you’ll only get half your share of dinner, see if you don’t.” With that she sank back into the shadows once more.
“Yes, Ma. That’s right, I love you too,” Cass murmured under her breath. The weeds would have to die another day, she decided. She turned her attention to selecting the vegetable that looked the least wilted and debilitated (it was a tough call) and, after deciding on a rather doubtful cabbage, wrenched it from the rocky vegetable bed and trotted indoors.
As she was hastily picking the caterpillars from the heart of the cabbage, she heard a rasping voice call her name. It was Max. She went over and plopped herself down on the edge of his mattress, its indignant rusting springs squealing shrilly.
“Hiya, big brother! What’s going down?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your levels of sanity, that’s all. Gross, are we eating THAT for dinner. Just what my poor stomach needs, another bout of food poisoning.” He gripped his stomach and pulled a dramatic, martyred face. Cass giggled at drollness of it all.
“Oh be quiet, nobody here’s ever died of food poisoning. Because I am such a fantastic gardener.”
“There’s always a first.” Suddenly, Max’s mock seriousness turned genuine and he frowned. “Spots of yours still not going away?”
Cass pulled back her sleeve to reveal the dark pigmentation that flecked her thin arm. “Nope, but hey, so long as I wear long sleeves, I’m sure I won’t die an old maid,” she joked, winking cheekily.
“I’m serious. Perhaps we should call the doctor…”
“Yeah because Ma would so love to have me adding to her financial burden. It’s nothing, really! I’m sure it isn’t anything serious. Besides, I feel swell.”
Max sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted from the banter. “Whatever, man. Just saying.” And Cass knew this was her cue to get up and leave him to get some rest.
Poor Max, she mused. Surely he misses playing football with his friends, or just running around and smelling the fresh air. But ever since he (along with half of the village) had fallen ill and developed symptoms baffling to physicians far and wide during the mysterious epidemic the year before, Max had been confined to his bed 24/7, too easily tired to do anything else.
Having de-caterpillar-ed the cabbage during the time spent with her brother, Cass handed it over to her impatient mother. “Good grief what took you so long. I can’t trust you to do anything right. What is this, dying lettuce?”
“Cabbage, Ma.”
“Keep your nasty mouth shut. I can never trust you to do anything right. Just my luck to be landed with a daughter like you. Well dinner isn’t going to cook itself. I suppose you’ll just have to run down to the market and pick out something for the soup. Make sure you get your money’s worth, and do it right this time!”
“Yes ma’am.” Cass hurried from the kitchen, before her mother could notice the tears of frustration that swam in her eyes.
**Author's note: This is a new story I am trying out. It is quite long and with way more action that the previous ones. I'll probably only put up this chapter (If you want to read the whole thing, BUY THE BOOK WHEN I BECOME RICH AND FAMOUS), but if you guys like it maybe I'll throw in Chapter 2. Maybe...
All depends on the kind of reviews i get.
A biting breeze nipped reproachfully at the stray strands of hair that had fallen from her ponytail, whipping them across her face.
To her right a hefty woman with a dirty apron emerged from the shadows of the tumble-down shack. Brandishing a grimy soup ladle, she snapped, “Move your carcass, girl, and get me some vegetables for dinner. You better move it, you dimwit, or you’ll only get half your share of dinner, see if you don’t.” With that she sank back into the shadows once more.
“Yes, Ma. That’s right, I love you too,” Cass murmured under her breath. The weeds would have to die another day, she decided. She turned her attention to selecting the vegetable that looked the least wilted and debilitated (it was a tough call) and, after deciding on a rather doubtful cabbage, wrenched it from the rocky vegetable bed and trotted indoors.
As she was hastily picking the caterpillars from the heart of the cabbage, she heard a rasping voice call her name. It was Max. She went over and plopped herself down on the edge of his mattress, its indignant rusting springs squealing shrilly.
“Hiya, big brother! What’s going down?”
He rolled his eyes. “Your levels of sanity, that’s all. Gross, are we eating THAT for dinner. Just what my poor stomach needs, another bout of food poisoning.” He gripped his stomach and pulled a dramatic, martyred face. Cass giggled at drollness of it all.
“Oh be quiet, nobody here’s ever died of food poisoning. Because I am such a fantastic gardener.”
“There’s always a first.” Suddenly, Max’s mock seriousness turned genuine and he frowned. “Spots of yours still not going away?”
Cass pulled back her sleeve to reveal the dark pigmentation that flecked her thin arm. “Nope, but hey, so long as I wear long sleeves, I’m sure I won’t die an old maid,” she joked, winking cheekily.
“I’m serious. Perhaps we should call the doctor…”
“Yeah because Ma would so love to have me adding to her financial burden. It’s nothing, really! I’m sure it isn’t anything serious. Besides, I feel swell.”
Max sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted from the banter. “Whatever, man. Just saying.” And Cass knew this was her cue to get up and leave him to get some rest.
Poor Max, she mused. Surely he misses playing football with his friends, or just running around and smelling the fresh air. But ever since he (along with half of the village) had fallen ill and developed symptoms baffling to physicians far and wide during the mysterious epidemic the year before, Max had been confined to his bed 24/7, too easily tired to do anything else.
Having de-caterpillar-ed the cabbage during the time spent with her brother, Cass handed it over to her impatient mother. “Good grief what took you so long. I can’t trust you to do anything right. What is this, dying lettuce?”
“Cabbage, Ma.”
“Keep your nasty mouth shut. I can never trust you to do anything right. Just my luck to be landed with a daughter like you. Well dinner isn’t going to cook itself. I suppose you’ll just have to run down to the market and pick out something for the soup. Make sure you get your money’s worth, and do it right this time!”
“Yes ma’am.” Cass hurried from the kitchen, before her mother could notice the tears of frustration that swam in her eyes.
**Author's note: This is a new story I am trying out. It is quite long and with way more action that the previous ones. I'll probably only put up this chapter (If you want to read the whole thing, BUY THE BOOK WHEN I BECOME RICH AND FAMOUS), but if you guys like it maybe I'll throw in Chapter 2. Maybe...
All depends on the kind of reviews i get.
26 July, 2009
Little Mermaid's Happily Ever After
The lunch gong resonated throughout the castle. A gangly redhead flew down the winding marble staircase. Ariel, ravenous from an morning of learning to wear toe socks (the idea of having an “individual sock for each toe” amused her to no end), was exceptionally eager to sample the loopy Royal Cook’s culinary delights.
Seating herself at the dining table, Ariel resisted the urge to run the entrée for through her hair. She now knew there was a similar device known as a “comb” for that. How intriguing these humans were.
She beamed at Eric (her husband). “So. What’s for eats, sweetheart?” she asked. “I’m starving!”
“A favorite of mine, I asked the cook to prepare it specially today!”
Just then, a stiff-looking waiter in a heavily starched tuxedo placed a large platter of rice rolls on the table. To Ariel’s surprise, her fork and spoon were taken away and she was presented with two wooden sticks. She smiled at the waiter. “Its okay, I only need one!” she said, hading one stick back to him. She selected a rice roll topped with what seemed to be orange beads and stabbed it viciously before devouring it with gusto.
“Gawsh Erick! Ish DEE-LEE-SHOS! (delicious)” she exclaimed through a mouthful of rice. Swallow. “What’s it called?”
Eric swallowed his rice roll, too. “This? This, my dear, is sushi. A Japanese rice roll. That one you just ate is…uh…was topped with Ikura.” Seeing Ariel’s confused look, Eric hastened to elaborate. “Ikura. That’s Japanese for “salmon roe” or salmon eggs.”
Ariel’s eyes widened and she began to pale. “S-salmon…roe? OH MY GOSH I JUST ATE SALMON EGGS?!” she stared at the stray “beads” left on her plate. She looked like she had just eaten a baby. “I used to have a pet salmon!” and with that, Ariel ran over to a potted palm and promptly threw up.
Ignoring the housekeeper’s shrieks, Ariel wiped her mouth. “I can’t believe you just made me eat that! You KNOW I was once half-fish! How could you! OH GOSH IS THAT EEL MEAT ON THE SUSHI??!” Ariel tried to swallow the bile that was rising in her throat. What had been a cheerful meal seemed now looked like the morgue after her friends’ mass murder. She glared at Eric. “You KNOW I can’t tolerate seafood cuisine! I thought I made myself very clear after the MacDonald’s’ Fish Burger incident?!”
“But….”
“SHUT UP! And what’s more, I SAW you with that Bikini Blonde down by the pier yesterday. I SAW you come out of that dodgy Sea Salt bar! Don’t lie to me, I saw what you both did!” Eric began to sweat, but Ariel was already working herself into a rage.
“YOU THREW YOUR RUBBISH INTO THE SEA! You POLLUTED it!” Ariel shook with fury. “You REPULSE me!” and with that she, stalked off to vent her anger on some innocent toe socks. When Ariel was safely out of hearing range, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. If she stayed in her room all day, perhaps he could sneak down to The Sea Salt again this evening….
*a slightly more..matured plot. i doubt anyone will understand.
Seating herself at the dining table, Ariel resisted the urge to run the entrée for through her hair. She now knew there was a similar device known as a “comb” for that. How intriguing these humans were.
She beamed at Eric (her husband). “So. What’s for eats, sweetheart?” she asked. “I’m starving!”
“A favorite of mine, I asked the cook to prepare it specially today!”
Just then, a stiff-looking waiter in a heavily starched tuxedo placed a large platter of rice rolls on the table. To Ariel’s surprise, her fork and spoon were taken away and she was presented with two wooden sticks. She smiled at the waiter. “Its okay, I only need one!” she said, hading one stick back to him. She selected a rice roll topped with what seemed to be orange beads and stabbed it viciously before devouring it with gusto.
“Gawsh Erick! Ish DEE-LEE-SHOS! (delicious)” she exclaimed through a mouthful of rice. Swallow. “What’s it called?”
Eric swallowed his rice roll, too. “This? This, my dear, is sushi. A Japanese rice roll. That one you just ate is…uh…was topped with Ikura.” Seeing Ariel’s confused look, Eric hastened to elaborate. “Ikura. That’s Japanese for “salmon roe” or salmon eggs.”
Ariel’s eyes widened and she began to pale. “S-salmon…roe? OH MY GOSH I JUST ATE SALMON EGGS?!” she stared at the stray “beads” left on her plate. She looked like she had just eaten a baby. “I used to have a pet salmon!” and with that, Ariel ran over to a potted palm and promptly threw up.
Ignoring the housekeeper’s shrieks, Ariel wiped her mouth. “I can’t believe you just made me eat that! You KNOW I was once half-fish! How could you! OH GOSH IS THAT EEL MEAT ON THE SUSHI??!” Ariel tried to swallow the bile that was rising in her throat. What had been a cheerful meal seemed now looked like the morgue after her friends’ mass murder. She glared at Eric. “You KNOW I can’t tolerate seafood cuisine! I thought I made myself very clear after the MacDonald’s’ Fish Burger incident?!”
“But….”
“SHUT UP! And what’s more, I SAW you with that Bikini Blonde down by the pier yesterday. I SAW you come out of that dodgy Sea Salt bar! Don’t lie to me, I saw what you both did!” Eric began to sweat, but Ariel was already working herself into a rage.
“YOU THREW YOUR RUBBISH INTO THE SEA! You POLLUTED it!” Ariel shook with fury. “You REPULSE me!” and with that she, stalked off to vent her anger on some innocent toe socks. When Ariel was safely out of hearing range, Eric breathed a sigh of relief. If she stayed in her room all day, perhaps he could sneak down to The Sea Salt again this evening….
*a slightly more..matured plot. i doubt anyone will understand.
28 June, 2009
Sleeping Beauty's Happily Ever After
*Author’s note: Sleeping Beauty has 2 names in the Disney movie: Aurora and Briar Rose, so I have used them interchangeably.
Prince Phillip adjusted his tie with clammy palms. He’d jousted with rival knights, fought off dozens of Maleficent’s (evil witch) minions and even slain Maleficent herself in the form of a dragon. Yet he went weak in the knees at the thought of the task that awaited him tonight. Tonight, Aurora had invited him over for dinner to meet her three fairy godmothers for the first time.
Standing on the front porch of their cottage with a large bouquet of chrysanthemums clutched tightly, he could not bring himself to knock on the door. Was he dressed right? Was his hair messed up from his ride (horseback) over? WERE HIS SOCK MATCHED?!
He was saved from his frightening speculations by a shrill squawk, “ROSIE! There’s a strange man on our porch again! Really, the drunks that get lost in these woods….” The door was flung open by Rose, who looked just as flustered as Phillip felt. She ran her eyes over him briefly (thank goodness his socks were matched) and hissed, “You could have just knocked!” before ushering him nervously into the dining room.
“Phillip? You’ve met my godmothers; this is Flora, Fauna and Merryweather. Aunties, this is Phillip.” Merryweather glared at him from behind her spectacles which enlarged her eyes comically. She muttered in what was supposed to be an undertone but came out quite audibly, “Skinny ankles, poor posture…tsk tsk.” Flora took the chrysanthemums from him, “For us? Oh you shouldn’t have! Here let me put them in some water…” Fauna ran her fingers through the blooms. She whispered to Merryweather, “A local species. Approximate cost: $3.50. Not much effort for a first impression…” Merryweather sniffed.
Aurora looked visibly vexed. “Come…Come let’s have dinner. My Aunties cooked.” Phillip gratefully sank into a chair as Rose ladled some omelet and mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Aunties, eat,” he remember to say before tucking into the food with gusto. He immediately knew something was wrong as the three fairies began whispering among one another. “Goodness gracious…atrocious table manners…worse than a pig…” Phillip stopped shoveling food down his throat, to Aurora’s relief.
Aurora could now breathe easy. She took a dainty bite of the omelet. It crunched. Trying not to make a face, she glanced around the table. Flora, Merryweather and Phillip were all poking around their omelets and frowning. Only Fauna seemed perfectly content to munch away on her crunchy omelet.
“Fauna, dear, are you sure you made this omelet right?”
“I think so! It said “Beat six large eggs and I did.”
“Aunty…did you…did you CRACK OPEN the eggs first?”
“Now why would I do that?”
Aurora immediately pushed her plate away and Phillip said, “I just remembered. I’m a…uh…a vegetarian. I can’t eat eggs.” And Merryweather frowned. “I think its time for dessert,” she declared.
Over their Crème Brule, the fairies suddenly turned to Phillip. Aurora began to sweat. The grilling had begun.
“Phillip, dear, how long have you known our Rose?”
“For about, a month I think.”
“That’s not very long. And you want to get engaged already?”
“Well…”
“Never mind that. And you have a house for her?”
“We were thinking of crashing in on my Dad…”
Frowns all round. “Aah, I see. And how many girls have you dated?”
“Umm…. 8 I think….”
“Dated SERIOUSLY?”
“Uuh…7?”
Gasps of dismay. Phillip shifted uncomfortably. This was probably his cue to leave. “I’ll umm…see you later Aurora. Thanks for the dinner, Aunties.” And without another word he dashed out the door at a speed that would have impressed Speedy Gonzales.
Later that night, Aurora called up her pal, Pocahontas. “Hey Pocahontas. Party still on?”
“Yeah. You coming? There’ll be a buffet spread and three guys for every girl.”
“Awesome I’m starving. Okay save a hot guy for me for when I get there.”
“Won’t Phillip mind?”
“Nope, we are like, so over.”
“Wow, wasn’t he just at you’re place tonight? Snow told me.”
“Yeah, he was. And I don’t think he’ll be coming back. You see, when I think its time for me and my guy to break up,” here Aurora smirked. “I take him to meet my Aunties.
Prince Phillip adjusted his tie with clammy palms. He’d jousted with rival knights, fought off dozens of Maleficent’s (evil witch) minions and even slain Maleficent herself in the form of a dragon. Yet he went weak in the knees at the thought of the task that awaited him tonight. Tonight, Aurora had invited him over for dinner to meet her three fairy godmothers for the first time.
Standing on the front porch of their cottage with a large bouquet of chrysanthemums clutched tightly, he could not bring himself to knock on the door. Was he dressed right? Was his hair messed up from his ride (horseback) over? WERE HIS SOCK MATCHED?!
He was saved from his frightening speculations by a shrill squawk, “ROSIE! There’s a strange man on our porch again! Really, the drunks that get lost in these woods….” The door was flung open by Rose, who looked just as flustered as Phillip felt. She ran her eyes over him briefly (thank goodness his socks were matched) and hissed, “You could have just knocked!” before ushering him nervously into the dining room.
“Phillip? You’ve met my godmothers; this is Flora, Fauna and Merryweather. Aunties, this is Phillip.” Merryweather glared at him from behind her spectacles which enlarged her eyes comically. She muttered in what was supposed to be an undertone but came out quite audibly, “Skinny ankles, poor posture…tsk tsk.” Flora took the chrysanthemums from him, “For us? Oh you shouldn’t have! Here let me put them in some water…” Fauna ran her fingers through the blooms. She whispered to Merryweather, “A local species. Approximate cost: $3.50. Not much effort for a first impression…” Merryweather sniffed.
Aurora looked visibly vexed. “Come…Come let’s have dinner. My Aunties cooked.” Phillip gratefully sank into a chair as Rose ladled some omelet and mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Aunties, eat,” he remember to say before tucking into the food with gusto. He immediately knew something was wrong as the three fairies began whispering among one another. “Goodness gracious…atrocious table manners…worse than a pig…” Phillip stopped shoveling food down his throat, to Aurora’s relief.
Aurora could now breathe easy. She took a dainty bite of the omelet. It crunched. Trying not to make a face, she glanced around the table. Flora, Merryweather and Phillip were all poking around their omelets and frowning. Only Fauna seemed perfectly content to munch away on her crunchy omelet.
“Fauna, dear, are you sure you made this omelet right?”
“I think so! It said “Beat six large eggs and I did.”
“Aunty…did you…did you CRACK OPEN the eggs first?”
“Now why would I do that?”
Aurora immediately pushed her plate away and Phillip said, “I just remembered. I’m a…uh…a vegetarian. I can’t eat eggs.” And Merryweather frowned. “I think its time for dessert,” she declared.
Over their Crème Brule, the fairies suddenly turned to Phillip. Aurora began to sweat. The grilling had begun.
“Phillip, dear, how long have you known our Rose?”
“For about, a month I think.”
“That’s not very long. And you want to get engaged already?”
“Well…”
“Never mind that. And you have a house for her?”
“We were thinking of crashing in on my Dad…”
Frowns all round. “Aah, I see. And how many girls have you dated?”
“Umm…. 8 I think….”
“Dated SERIOUSLY?”
“Uuh…7?”
Gasps of dismay. Phillip shifted uncomfortably. This was probably his cue to leave. “I’ll umm…see you later Aurora. Thanks for the dinner, Aunties.” And without another word he dashed out the door at a speed that would have impressed Speedy Gonzales.
Later that night, Aurora called up her pal, Pocahontas. “Hey Pocahontas. Party still on?”
“Yeah. You coming? There’ll be a buffet spread and three guys for every girl.”
“Awesome I’m starving. Okay save a hot guy for me for when I get there.”
“Won’t Phillip mind?”
“Nope, we are like, so over.”
“Wow, wasn’t he just at you’re place tonight? Snow told me.”
“Yeah, he was. And I don’t think he’ll be coming back. You see, when I think its time for me and my guy to break up,” here Aurora smirked. “I take him to meet my Aunties.
27 June, 2009
Pocahontas's Happily Ever After
*note: okay im writing this one entirely without inspiration so please forgive me if it isn't as good as the last.
“Pocahontas? Is everything alright in there? The neighbours are worried about the smoke coming from your window. Open up please,” called John Smith through the keyhole of Pocahontas’s room door. He prayed that Pocahontas had not set the leopard-skin rug alight again (“It would have attacked me! I killed it for you!”).
After a pause (further prolonged by John’s anxiety for the room’s furnishings) Pocahontas flung open the door wildly. Wearing nothing but a tunic which appeared to be made from the leather couch and a bizarre headdress, she glared at him. “Sacrilege! Who dares interrupt the Great New Moon Ceremony!?”
“Okay okay, I’ll leave you alone once I make sure everything’s alright,” John assured her soothingly. Bracing himself, he stepped forward to assess the damage. And immediately wished he hadn’t.
Most of the furniture had been stacked hap-hazardly at the side of the room. Rugs and bedspreads had been ripped up and fashioned into a multi-coloured wigwam by the window. In the centre of the room blazed a great bonfire, which would explain the black smoke billowing out the window.
“Oh, my gosh. That is so going to leave a mark. Pocahontas how many times to I have to tell you: BE NICE TO THE FURNITURE. And….OH NO IS THAT THE DRESSER BURNING?” he cried, gaping at a charred lump of wood blazing away merrily. He lunged forward to salvage what was left of the dresser just as it collapsed into ashes.
“Stop! Touch not the sacred fire!” Pocahontas bellowed. John turned on her, ready to have a seizure. He was rendered momentarily speechless by her outlandish attire.
“Pocahontas, what is that face paint made of?”
“Bugs. As is traditional.”
“Okay… and….” Scrutinizing her headdress for the first time John’s mouth curved into a perfect “O”. “Is…is your headdress made out of our FEATHER DUSTER?”
“It is customary to don an eagle-feather headdress during such ceremonies.”
John decided not to tell her the duster had been bought cheap in the market and was probably made from chicken feathers. Pocahontas cradled Meeko (her pet raccoon, who had grown uncommonly fat since their arrival in London) in one hand and gripped a large pipe in the other, occasionally taking a drag from it.
John’s left eyelid twitched at the sight of Pocahontas exhaling the pungent, pink smoke. “POCAHONTAS! Smoking is NOT tolerated in this house! *cough cough*” here he gagged slightly on the smoke.
Then something snapped in John Smith. Eyes bulging, he screamed manically, “THAT’S IT! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! You and your blazing rugs and wacko headdresses be damned! I’m going to the pub for a drink!” With that he stormed off to The Greasy Gun where he would share his troubles with the other maritally-vexed men.
Smirking slightly, Pocahontas went into the living room and picked up the phone. She calmly punched in Belle’s number. “Belle? Hey…yeah the party’s still on…have you told the other girls?....yeah, my place…. bring Beast’s stunt double, that guy is HOT!....” Pocahontas picked her nails as Belle gave a rather worried query on the other end. Pocahontas gave a smirk. “John? Oh, he won’t be home tonight!...okay then, see you!” with that she hung up the phone and put on a halter-neck mini dress which appeared to be made from a scorched leopard-skin rug.
“Pocahontas? Is everything alright in there? The neighbours are worried about the smoke coming from your window. Open up please,” called John Smith through the keyhole of Pocahontas’s room door. He prayed that Pocahontas had not set the leopard-skin rug alight again (“It would have attacked me! I killed it for you!”).
After a pause (further prolonged by John’s anxiety for the room’s furnishings) Pocahontas flung open the door wildly. Wearing nothing but a tunic which appeared to be made from the leather couch and a bizarre headdress, she glared at him. “Sacrilege! Who dares interrupt the Great New Moon Ceremony!?”
“Okay okay, I’ll leave you alone once I make sure everything’s alright,” John assured her soothingly. Bracing himself, he stepped forward to assess the damage. And immediately wished he hadn’t.
Most of the furniture had been stacked hap-hazardly at the side of the room. Rugs and bedspreads had been ripped up and fashioned into a multi-coloured wigwam by the window. In the centre of the room blazed a great bonfire, which would explain the black smoke billowing out the window.
“Oh, my gosh. That is so going to leave a mark. Pocahontas how many times to I have to tell you: BE NICE TO THE FURNITURE. And….OH NO IS THAT THE DRESSER BURNING?” he cried, gaping at a charred lump of wood blazing away merrily. He lunged forward to salvage what was left of the dresser just as it collapsed into ashes.
“Stop! Touch not the sacred fire!” Pocahontas bellowed. John turned on her, ready to have a seizure. He was rendered momentarily speechless by her outlandish attire.
“Pocahontas, what is that face paint made of?”
“Bugs. As is traditional.”
“Okay… and….” Scrutinizing her headdress for the first time John’s mouth curved into a perfect “O”. “Is…is your headdress made out of our FEATHER DUSTER?”
“It is customary to don an eagle-feather headdress during such ceremonies.”
John decided not to tell her the duster had been bought cheap in the market and was probably made from chicken feathers. Pocahontas cradled Meeko (her pet raccoon, who had grown uncommonly fat since their arrival in London) in one hand and gripped a large pipe in the other, occasionally taking a drag from it.
John’s left eyelid twitched at the sight of Pocahontas exhaling the pungent, pink smoke. “POCAHONTAS! Smoking is NOT tolerated in this house! *cough cough*” here he gagged slightly on the smoke.
Then something snapped in John Smith. Eyes bulging, he screamed manically, “THAT’S IT! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! You and your blazing rugs and wacko headdresses be damned! I’m going to the pub for a drink!” With that he stormed off to The Greasy Gun where he would share his troubles with the other maritally-vexed men.
Smirking slightly, Pocahontas went into the living room and picked up the phone. She calmly punched in Belle’s number. “Belle? Hey…yeah the party’s still on…have you told the other girls?....yeah, my place…. bring Beast’s stunt double, that guy is HOT!....” Pocahontas picked her nails as Belle gave a rather worried query on the other end. Pocahontas gave a smirk. “John? Oh, he won’t be home tonight!...okay then, see you!” with that she hung up the phone and put on a halter-neck mini dress which appeared to be made from a scorched leopard-skin rug.
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