A bit of a flying visit; this was largely written yesterday with yesterday's post so it might fit the prompt very well, but I'm trying not to leave everything till the weekend :)
Scraps “Perhaps we can do this at your place?” she said. The log looked rotten and there was still snow clinging to it despite Adrian’s attempts to sweep it off to the ground, plus she had her suspicions about why the massage teacher had cried. “Unless yours is closer?” She admired his gauche attempt to find out where she was living now, but even if she’d wanted to tell him she knew that she’d left clothes out, make-up on the floor, clumps of hair in the shower-stall and she really couldn’t remember if the toilet flush had been working this morning or if it was broken again. It was going to be unpleasant enough when she went back; she couldn’t risk letting Adrian see it when he was being so thoughtful. Then she thought again about the potentially twenty dogs and eight children and wondered if perhaps this wouldn’t be the nicest way to let him down and say no. “I’d really like to see the dogs again,” she said, and surprised herself by realising that that was true. Moreover, it might get her out of a bone-crushing, foot-crippling attempt at a foot-rub. Adrian’s first job had been as a steel-worker, back when America had been Great if the politicians were to be believed, and he seemed to assume that everything he touched now was made of surgical-grade steel. “Of course!” Adrian’s face lit up and he smiled broadly, his steel-grey teeth (a legacy of the dental-plan of that first job) catching the dying rays of the sunset and glittering. He held out his arm in a gentlemanly gesture, and she considered taking it. If she took it she could take a very cute selfie of herself, cropping Adrian artistically to hint at his blonde, androgynous beauty without revealing exactly who he was; maybe she could even Pinterest it and increase her social capital. If she didn’t take his arm, perhaps she could still take the selfie with him trailing along behind her and upload it to her favourite post-post-feminism forum with a suitably tart comment about the depravity of men and the necessity of them knowing their place; hashtag “this is the fairytale” perhaps? She took his arm; maybe she could get both selfies and the best of all worlds. “Do you still feed them on scraps?” she asked, taking her phone out and angling it to bring out her best features. “I had to stop,” said Adrian. He was warm next to her, and she could smell his aftershave. He still wore Old Spice like a teenage boy, and as she tilted the phone to make sure that just enough of him was visible in the picture she wondered if she could get him to wear something a little more sophisticated. “They attacked a homeless man because they mistook him for a large pile of scraps.” “That sounds terrible,” she said, taking the picture and checking it. “What did the police say?” “Nothing.” She looked up at the tone of his voice and saw that he was looking at her, his eyes crinkled in puzzlement, his broad hands scratching his head. “No-one saw them do it, and the guy was homeless. I don’t think he even made the missing persons list.” Aubergine looked away; she remembered the day when she’d found a picture of herself, only ten years younger, on a milk carton listed as missing. Having a parent with memory-loss and dementia could be cruel sometimes. “So what do you feed them now?” she asked. “Cheeseburgers.”
Purple silk, a cow's skull Ever jangling pans Driving along Down the plains Lounging along the river bank Eye catching cacophony Ready to take your money
Greg - yeah, you managed to make it fit the prompt just fine :D
This tale has yet to fail in making me smile while reading it. Like, the whole time. Still can't stop smiling as I'm typing this. So many fun, ridiculous details.
Morganna - that is quite the tale to fit into an acrostic (and seemingly effortlessly done too)! I'd happily hear more from this thieving peddler, as he seems like quite the character :)
3 comments:
A bit of a flying visit; this was largely written yesterday with yesterday's post so it might fit the prompt very well, but I'm trying not to leave everything till the weekend :)
Scraps
“Perhaps we can do this at your place?” she said. The log looked rotten and there was still snow clinging to it despite Adrian’s attempts to sweep it off to the ground, plus she had her suspicions about why the massage teacher had cried.
“Unless yours is closer?”
She admired his gauche attempt to find out where she was living now, but even if she’d wanted to tell him she knew that she’d left clothes out, make-up on the floor, clumps of hair in the shower-stall and she really couldn’t remember if the toilet flush had been working this morning or if it was broken again. It was going to be unpleasant enough when she went back; she couldn’t risk letting Adrian see it when he was being so thoughtful.
Then she thought again about the potentially twenty dogs and eight children and wondered if perhaps this wouldn’t be the nicest way to let him down and say no.
“I’d really like to see the dogs again,” she said, and surprised herself by realising that that was true. Moreover, it might get her out of a bone-crushing, foot-crippling attempt at a foot-rub. Adrian’s first job had been as a steel-worker, back when America had been Great if the politicians were to be believed, and he seemed to assume that everything he touched now was made of surgical-grade steel.
“Of course!” Adrian’s face lit up and he smiled broadly, his steel-grey teeth (a legacy of the dental-plan of that first job) catching the dying rays of the sunset and glittering. He held out his arm in a gentlemanly gesture, and she considered taking it. If she took it she could take a very cute selfie of herself, cropping Adrian artistically to hint at his blonde, androgynous beauty without revealing exactly who he was; maybe she could even Pinterest it and increase her social capital. If she didn’t take his arm, perhaps she could still take the selfie with him trailing along behind her and upload it to her favourite post-post-feminism forum with a suitably tart comment about the depravity of men and the necessity of them knowing their place; hashtag “this is the fairytale” perhaps?
She took his arm; maybe she could get both selfies and the best of all worlds.
“Do you still feed them on scraps?” she asked, taking her phone out and angling it to bring out her best features.
“I had to stop,” said Adrian. He was warm next to her, and she could smell his aftershave. He still wore Old Spice like a teenage boy, and as she tilted the phone to make sure that just enough of him was visible in the picture she wondered if she could get him to wear something a little more sophisticated. “They attacked a homeless man because they mistook him for a large pile of scraps.”
“That sounds terrible,” she said, taking the picture and checking it. “What did the police say?”
“Nothing.” She looked up at the tone of his voice and saw that he was looking at her, his eyes crinkled in puzzlement, his broad hands scratching his head. “No-one saw them do it, and the guy was homeless. I don’t think he even made the missing persons list.”
Aubergine looked away; she remembered the day when she’d found a picture of herself, only ten years younger, on a milk carton listed as missing. Having a parent with memory-loss and dementia could be cruel sometimes.
“So what do you feed them now?” she asked.
“Cheeseburgers.”
Purple silk, a cow's skull
Ever jangling pans
Driving along
Down the plains
Lounging along the river bank
Eye catching cacophony
Ready to take your money
Greg - yeah, you managed to make it fit the prompt just fine :D
This tale has yet to fail in making me smile while reading it. Like, the whole time. Still can't stop smiling as I'm typing this. So many fun, ridiculous details.
Morganna - that is quite the tale to fit into an acrostic (and seemingly effortlessly done too)! I'd happily hear more from this thieving peddler, as he seems like quite the character :)
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