I've realised that it's a little odd not always getting to comment on your writing; how is it from your side? Is it a relief to not have me constantly criticising and finding typos? :)
Surplus The hedges outside the church were looking tidy, and the topiarist, Mr. Benson, was just finishing up with trimming a cross into a privet. The deep green leaves, reflecting the spring's abundant rain, were welcoming. The street nearby was quiet; two children in school uniform were crossing over towards the small strip of shops further along the road, and a jackdaw was perched on a street-light watching Mr. Benson at work. The doors of the church creaked slightly as the left-one was pushed open, and Des, the Presiding Religious Authority, came out. He stretched, one arm out to the side and the other above his head as though he was giving semaphore lessons, and then put both hands on his hips as he puffed his chest out and sucked in a huge lungful of air. His army fatigues stretched across his chest and stomach, hinting at muscle rather than revealing fat. Then he noticed Mr. Benson and the hedges, and walked over. "Good art'rnoon, Rev'ren'," said Mr. Benson. "I've been doing the 'edges." "Indeed," said Des with a broad smile that showed off gold-capped teeth and a diamond inset into an incisor. "Only don't call me Reverend, ok? I'm non-denominational." "What's that mean when it's at home then?" Des's smile got somehow broader, which must have required surgery in a previous life. "I cover all faiths and beliefs," he said. "The important thing is that people believe in something, and that can be a Christian God who is mystically split into three bits, or it can be your own ancestors watching out for you, which is basically Shinto, or it can be that there are Midichlorians everywhere and if they concentrate enough you get magic. I'm honestly not sure if that's Jedi or Scientology but no-one's said I've got it wrong yet." Mr. Benson chewed his lower lip for a while. "Don't you get Midichlorians in bleach?" he asked. "I thought that!" Des looked almost radiant with joy. "But when I mixed it in with the communion wine we got all kinds of upset stomachs, so I think maybe we get a different kind of bleach here." "That's a shame," said Mr. Benson. "I think I could convert to Jedi-ism. I get to meet Tom Cruise, right?" "I think that's Shinto actually," said Des. "Plus I've met him, and trust me, he's a disappointment. Very short. Tempered." Mr. Benson nodded thoughtfully. Then he regarded Des with a flicker of curiosity. "Is this all part of that long-word-ination thing," he said, his topiary shears gesturing casually at Des's army fatigues. "Haha! No, I ordered a surplice," said Des. "And they sent me army surplus instead. But not to worry, it came with an M-16 and a four-pack of grenades and I just know I'll get a sermon out of it."
2 comments:
I've realised that it's a little odd not always getting to comment on your writing; how is it from your side? Is it a relief to not have me constantly criticising and finding typos? :)
Surplus
The hedges outside the church were looking tidy, and the topiarist, Mr. Benson, was just finishing up with trimming a cross into a privet. The deep green leaves, reflecting the spring's abundant rain, were welcoming. The street nearby was quiet; two children in school uniform were crossing over towards the small strip of shops further along the road, and a jackdaw was perched on a street-light watching Mr. Benson at work. The doors of the church creaked slightly as the left-one was pushed open, and Des, the Presiding Religious Authority, came out.
He stretched, one arm out to the side and the other above his head as though he was giving semaphore lessons, and then put both hands on his hips as he puffed his chest out and sucked in a huge lungful of air. His army fatigues stretched across his chest and stomach, hinting at muscle rather than revealing fat. Then he noticed Mr. Benson and the hedges, and walked over.
"Good art'rnoon, Rev'ren'," said Mr. Benson. "I've been doing the 'edges."
"Indeed," said Des with a broad smile that showed off gold-capped teeth and a diamond inset into an incisor. "Only don't call me Reverend, ok? I'm non-denominational."
"What's that mean when it's at home then?"
Des's smile got somehow broader, which must have required surgery in a previous life. "I cover all faiths and beliefs," he said. "The important thing is that people believe in something, and that can be a Christian God who is mystically split into three bits, or it can be your own ancestors watching out for you, which is basically Shinto, or it can be that there are Midichlorians everywhere and if they concentrate enough you get magic. I'm honestly not sure if that's Jedi or Scientology but no-one's said I've got it wrong yet."
Mr. Benson chewed his lower lip for a while. "Don't you get Midichlorians in bleach?" he asked.
"I thought that!" Des looked almost radiant with joy. "But when I mixed it in with the communion wine we got all kinds of upset stomachs, so I think maybe we get a different kind of bleach here."
"That's a shame," said Mr. Benson. "I think I could convert to Jedi-ism. I get to meet Tom Cruise, right?"
"I think that's Shinto actually," said Des. "Plus I've met him, and trust me, he's a disappointment. Very short. Tempered."
Mr. Benson nodded thoughtfully. Then he regarded Des with a flicker of curiosity. "Is this all part of that long-word-ination thing," he said, his topiary shears gesturing casually at Des's army fatigues.
"Haha! No, I ordered a surplice," said Des. "And they sent me army surplus instead. But not to worry, it came with an M-16 and a four-pack of grenades and I just know I'll get a sermon out of it."
Greg - it still feels strange to only post the prompt on the main page. And yes I do miss getting your feedback, it was nearly always helpful :)
Haha, really enjoyed the dialogue here. Also: I find Des fascinating, and think I would like to hear his M-16 and grenades inspired sermon!
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