Thursday September 18th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about something or someone that is: out of place.

Had a quick harvest for the bakery this morning before getting some things done around the house. After I got Max down for his nap after lunch I went into town to do the delivery and run a couple errands.

Things are definitely slowing down around here. It's nice.

So, of course, we're going away next Tuesday to the Lower Mainland. Just, you know, to tighten the schedule up around here.

Also for Kat to attend a training session for her new teaching job that she can finally start doing now that the BC teachers strike is over, as of tonight. It's a position with the local learning center (based out of OK Falls) for homeschooled children which, at two days per week, is pretty ideal winter work.

Also, also: it'll be good to visit friends while we're there too.

Mine:

I don't belong here.

The realization was as true as it was painful. I didn't let it show, or at least I tried not to. Those savages were drawn to weakness like sharks to blood in the water.

But they knew, some of them anyway. They must have sensed it. Maybe I started walking differently, my shoulders hunching without my noticing, my body instinctively drawing in to protect itself. Or it could have been something I said.

Or didn't say, more likely. I remember trying to disappear into silence on more than a few occasions.

Whatever it was, the abuse increased steadily after my gloomy light bulb went on. Verbal, mostly, but of course there was a physical aspect to it as well. There always is, isn't there?

High school has its rules, after all.

3 Comments:

ivybennet said...

How dare he? How dare the little bitch confront me at work? Now all my coworkers think I’m a home wrecker.
I slammed the front door behind me, throwing my keys onto the kitchen counter as I made my way to the fridge for a much needed glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Something, anything, to dull the rage. If only I could stomach vodka.
It all was just so incredulous. He chose me, not her. Doesn’t mean she should get her panties in a twist. Crazy little bitch.
I took my full glass and headed towards the bathroom. A bubble bath would surely calm me down. I passed the magnetic strip that holds my five knives.
Five?
I took a slow step backwards and counted again. Only five. The thick knife was missing.
That’s when I heard a giggle and the start of the shower.

Greg said...

@Marc: Whenever you say harvest for the bakery I have a momentary flash of you harvesting barley and wheat with a hand-scythe :) I know it's tomatoes and fruit for them, but I still can't resist the idea that you're supplying the grain for the flour as well.
Which bit is the Lower Mainland then? Is that still part of Vancouver, or outside of it? I know I did visit, but I was pretty much up at the top end for those few days :) I hope Kat enjoys the training session; the job does sound like a really nice to have! I bet the kids are interesting too if they've been mostly homeschooled... there's probably a whole world of experiences there.
That story sounds like it's been well observed! The language is fascinating in how it builds the picture, with gloomy lightbulb being the perfect image to crown it with. Really nicely done!

Out of place
"You seem to have forgotten to line your swimming pool." The words were clipped and there was an emotion there, whether anger or impatience though it was hard to tell. The rain was drumming down still, mostly bouncing off the roof tiles except where they'd gone missing last time a storm came through. The windows let in a little gray light, but the water streaming down them made it impossible to see what was outside. Even the fire, burning furiously and hot, sizzled now and then as water fell down the chimney.
"Yiz don't swim that much at my age." The man sitting in the chair was naked, his mud-streaked clothes hung over the back of a hard-backed chair in front of the fire. They were steaming slightly. "But yiz didn't mean that, did yiz? Yiz still trying to pass for one o' us?"
"We are one of you," said the woman who was standing by the window. She was staring out rather than at the old man in the chair. Her clothes were sharp, and surprisingly dry.
"See, yiz iz wrong again. Any one o' us woulda axed what'n I meant by sayin' that. Yiz just knows and denies it. Yiz gits it wrong."
"It doesn't matter." She turned and stared at him. He stared back, a big grin on his face.
"An' no decent woman from round here would stare at a man in the nuddy neither."
The look of puzzlement on the woman's face was priceless, and he couldn't help but laugh. "I knew yiz'd come," he said. "Let's pass on the niceties. Yiz iz here 'cause'n I dug up a box you wanted kept buried."
"If you understand this, why did you dig it up?"
"'Cause'n it don't belong here, no more'n yiz do. Happen as I'm tired of guardin' it too. So I'se dug it up and gi'n it out to a man what wanted it. You can go and find him and make him take care of it instead'n me."
"And what will you do now?" This was a new voice, from someone in the shadows behind the old man's chair. "Go swimming every morning?"
"Reckon as I'll fill that in. Mayhap it's outta place here. I gen'rally don't bathe that often neither."

Marc said...

Ivybennet - that's a delightfully creepy scene you've left us with. Very nice work!

Greg - hah, that would be quite the sight, me in the fields wielding a scythe...

The Lower Mainland is Vancouver and the surrounding area. Not sure how it got that name, but there you go.

Ah, a continuation from one of your many intriguing scenes! Thank you :)

And I am left most curious about the voice from the shadows. And about all of these characters, really.