Thursday November 6th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the busybody.

Getting pretty excited about Max's birthday tomorrow. We're taking him to the Desert Model Railroad, where we'll be meeting up with lots of his friends (and their parents, obviously). After that we're coming back to Kat's parents place for cake and more hanging out, as unfortunately the model railroad place doesn't have any sort of room where we could do that (I dropped by last week to check, since neither Kat nor myself have actually been there before).

Anyway, he's really too little to understand what's going on, but I hope he has a good time no matter what. Pretty sure he will, as he's gotten very interested in trains in recent months.

Fingers crossed he has a decent sleep tonight to help him be at his best for his big day. So far, so good.


The neighbours are at it again. Out there, hammering away like woodpeckers, apparently completely unaware that it is the middle of the night. This is getting terribly old... maybe I should just call the cops and be done with it.

No, no, I'm being too rash. Time to put a kettle on for tea, that's the thing to do. A warm, fragrant cup cradled in my hands always calms my thoughts.

That's better. Just right, just right.

I'll talk to them in the morning. Face to face, like reasonable, sane people do. Enough of this underhanded, behind the scenes skulking about. One conversation, that's all it will take. There's no other choice in the matter, not now.

I cannot lose any more sleep to this silly midnight fence building, waking to find higher and higher barriers between our properties. It's utterly pointless, honestly. It's like they think I can't buy a taller ladder or something...


Greg said...

Most children seem to get fascinated by trains at some point, and I sometimes wonder what the attraction is. I kind of hope it's the sense of controlled power, and a kind of awe of what we can do to manipulate the world around us when we really put our minds to it :) It sounds like a pretty cool thing for his birthday though! Excellent parenting ;-)
And hah, I laughed when I reached your final line and the whole scene was so neatly explained. I feel a little sorry for the neighbours, but your narrator is right. There's always a longer ladder if you look hard enough :)

The busybody
The church-hall smelled of pine-fresh polish, but when you sat in one of the hard, metal, folding chairs for any length of time you realised it was masking the smells of beef hot-pot (made to give out to the homeless and the greedy), urine (the homeless weren't above using the corners of the hall as an impromptu toilet), and roofing tar (that was an ongoing puzzle that people had been trying to figure out for half-a-year). Chloe rubbed her nose, shifted in her seat a little, and looked around.
The busybody-seminar was well attended; there were only two seats currently unfilled, and there was a commotion at the door that sounded like people were protesting at not being allowed in. Chloe allowed herself a small smile; she'd queued outside like it was an Apple store on new-iPhone day for the last three days to assure herself of a seat. And she'd bought a ticket too.
Finally the doors were closed, the last two seats were filled up, and the first speaker came out on the stage where the infant school's nativity play was held each year (and so, consequently, also smelled distressingly of urine underneath the pine scent).
"Google is your friend!" she said in a broad scottish accent. She tapped a stack of papers as she placed them down on the stage. "I hacked into the registration web-page for this seminar," she said, "stole all the details you'd all provided, and then spent two-and-a-half days googling. What I'm going to tell you all in the next half-hour is what I found out. Now, is there a Chloe in the audience here today?"
Chloe raised her hand as her stomach sank.

ivybennet said...

Marc, I didn't realize until yesterday that you went through the prompts and commented on them. You are so kind. I am overjoyed that you've liked some of my writing.

I hope Max has a lovely birthday!

He shook the empty Clorox bottle before throwing it against the ceramic floor. Should’ve stopped by the market and bought another, he thought with dismay. Now he’d have to leave his work to get another bottle. It was never good to leave things unfinished. All the better for another to stumble upon his work.
His boss would never approve of his lack of foresight.
But the deed had to be done, if not to protect himself but to protect the man that had saved him so many years before. Without his boss, his life would still have no meaning.
He just had to hope the neighbors or other family members wouldn’t stumble upon the bloody mess of limbs and flesh laid out in the target’s kitchen floor. That would be most unfortunate indeed.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, I remember thinking trains were pretty frickin' cool when I was a little one. Couldn't tell you why though.

Hah! I do not think I would raise my hand should my name be called out in that situation.

Ivybennet - well I can hardly blame you for that! I'm pretty sure I've been hideously behind on the comments since before you joined us :P

Anyway, it's my pleasure. And, I feel, the least I can do for the people who are kind enough to share their writing :)

You have me curious about the back story referenced in this one. I'm left wondering who the boss is and just how, exactly, had he saved our mysterious cleaner?