Sunday, October 13, 2013

Story Time: Green-Eyed Tom



The fair lights humped to life, and then extinguished. Weak current briefly, bravely overpowered the circuits, but as the feverish schoolboy rolls back under the covers, the moisture proved fatal to the sparks, and the lights surrendered to the rain. Just the evening prior, the sky circled the black-silhouetted pines in parabolic orange cream: a deceitful pudding of sky, attracting admiration from the fair goers while to the north the grey, linty clouds recessed, poised to make a judgment.

Under a dark and silent caravan, Mrs. Whitworth shook in wet rage. The girl left her behind.  Mrs. Whitworth vowed when she returned home, she would piss on her petticoats, and scratch the heirlooms! She would never forgive the girl for forgetting her. Stupid, stupid girl. When the fair was in full corpulent bloom, in a moment of boasting, the priestess summoned Whitworth out of her pocket to show her off, displaying her like she was some prize pumpkin! The girl’s pride demanded a spiteful response: Mrs. Whitworth’s neck snapped and bit the girl’s wrist, escaping with bullet-speed. The girl did not give chase. 

But in the dark fall morning, the deserted fair shambled out of its glamour (or what little shabby glamour it contained), the portal arrays closed and padlocked, and the path to the woods lie scattered with crows' bones and garbage. The rain melted the candy-corn sunset from the night before, and melted the sugar and salt, the soggy tickets and fish heads, forming tributaries and islands of filth, down to where Mrs. Whitworth sought ersatz sanctuary.







Writer's Note: This tale shall be told moon-to-moon.

4 comments:

  1. I love your words and imagery. For a short piece it is compelling!

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    1. It's not done yet: figured I would do this one in seven installments. Wish me luck! (And thank you!)

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  2. OMG! I shudder to think what kind of retribution Mrs. Whitworth will take for this abandonment and she's going to have lots of time fuming to think something up. Thank you, as always Mrs. Whitworth is magic.

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  3. doesn't she make pancake sauce? kinda buttery or is it for waffles? I dunno anymore. I got to lay off teh pills. or something. but reading it made me hungry for pancakes. ok, nice story but like I said made me hungry.

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