Ok, it looks like we shall revisit the gang next week then and see what's happened since they got themselves involved with a crooked Sheriff and his rather more honest son :)
Voodoo "When I die, I don't want to rest in peace." My eyes widened and I turned from the hob, where I was checking on how burned the soup was, and I stared at Elsa. She was sitting at the table running her hands through her long, auburn hair and gazing off into the distance. On the table in front of her, already divided into three piles, were her tarot cards. "Elsa!" My words came out rather more as a gasp than I'd intended. "You can't mean that!" "I want to dance in joy," she said. "I want to dance in the graveyards." I sighed, and brought my attention back to the soup. It was largely carrots and I suspected that the broth was thin and weak. Luckily she'd not yet burned it. I stirred it, looking at the veins standing out on the back of my hand while I thought about what to say. "This again?" I said, and immediately regretted it. All that thinking, and I just reverted back to the old argument? "This again," she said. She leaned back in her chair, and the old wood creaked and squealed. "I don't see why I should rot in the earth and be worm-food, Mamie, and I don't see why you should want me to. Can't you be happy for me for once?" "For once? For once!" And the old, old arguments bubbled up inside, almost too strong for me to contain and put down. How she felt I did nothing for her and would say so while I was walking around the house, taking the burning food off the heat, picking up the mess and discarded things and setting them back to rights, and a hundred other things that Elsa was oblivious to because she was too busy listening to the spirit world. Almost too strong, but not this time. I caught myself and directed my anger into mashing the carrots quite savagely against the side of the pot. "I'm trying to happy for you Elsa, but... the old magics are not for fun. You know that. You tell people that every day." "That's not to say they can't be sometimes used for fun," said Elsa. "While I'm alive I don't want to be alone, mourning the ones who came before. I want to dance with them some more." I shuddered, holding back my rage with her impossible dreams and idiotic ideas. She turned the top of the left-most pile of cards. "Lady Bon Ange," she said. "That's a good sign, Mamie." She turned the top of the middle pile. "Ah, and Papa Legba." She pushed the chair back and heaved her bulk to her feet; Elsa liked to eat and did so when she didn't have visitors... supplicants. "Let's dance in the graveyards, Mamie." She shuffled outside and as she opened the door I caught the smell of tobacco smoke. I didn't need to, but I looked through the window next to the hob anyway and saw the dirty straw hat going past on the other side of the fence. "Dance," I muttered as I stirred the soup so hard it splattered on the stove-top. "You can't pick one foot up enough to walk instead of shuffling, Elsa. How are you going to dance in the graveyards?" And then, because I was curious about these things, I went to the table and turned the top card of the last pile, and Baron Samedi smiled up at me, teeth glittering with inset diamonds, and his eyes twinkling with mirth. My legs felt weak and I had to sit down. "Oh, Elsa."
Thanks for the video link. Not only did it add to this piece but I also enjoyed the song.
These two are an interesting pair. While I obviously enjoy your longer tales, it has been a nice change to see you dabbling with new characters and stories.
2 comments:
Ok, it looks like we shall revisit the gang next week then and see what's happened since they got themselves involved with a crooked Sheriff and his rather more honest son :)
Voodoo
"When I die, I don't want to rest in peace." My eyes widened and I turned from the hob, where I was checking on how burned the soup was, and I stared at Elsa. She was sitting at the table running her hands through her long, auburn hair and gazing off into the distance. On the table in front of her, already divided into three piles, were her tarot cards.
"Elsa!" My words came out rather more as a gasp than I'd intended. "You can't mean that!"
"I want to dance in joy," she said. "I want to dance in the graveyards."
I sighed, and brought my attention back to the soup. It was largely carrots and I suspected that the broth was thin and weak. Luckily she'd not yet burned it. I stirred it, looking at the veins standing out on the back of my hand while I thought about what to say.
"This again?" I said, and immediately regretted it. All that thinking, and I just reverted back to the old argument?
"This again," she said. She leaned back in her chair, and the old wood creaked and squealed. "I don't see why I should rot in the earth and be worm-food, Mamie, and I don't see why you should want me to. Can't you be happy for me for once?"
"For once? For once!" And the old, old arguments bubbled up inside, almost too strong for me to contain and put down. How she felt I did nothing for her and would say so while I was walking around the house, taking the burning food off the heat, picking up the mess and discarded things and setting them back to rights, and a hundred other things that Elsa was oblivious to because she was too busy listening to the spirit world. Almost too strong, but not this time. I caught myself and directed my anger into mashing the carrots quite savagely against the side of the pot. "I'm trying to happy for you Elsa, but... the old magics are not for fun. You know that. You tell people that every day."
"That's not to say they can't be sometimes used for fun," said Elsa. "While I'm alive I don't want to be alone, mourning the ones who came before. I want to dance with them some more."
I shuddered, holding back my rage with her impossible dreams and idiotic ideas.
She turned the top of the left-most pile of cards. "Lady Bon Ange," she said. "That's a good sign, Mamie." She turned the top of the middle pile. "Ah, and Papa Legba." She pushed the chair back and heaved her bulk to her feet; Elsa liked to eat and did so when she didn't have visitors... supplicants. "Let's dance in the graveyards, Mamie."
She shuffled outside and as she opened the door I caught the smell of tobacco smoke. I didn't need to, but I looked through the window next to the hob anyway and saw the dirty straw hat going past on the other side of the fence.
"Dance," I muttered as I stirred the soup so hard it splattered on the stove-top. "You can't pick one foot up enough to walk instead of shuffling, Elsa. How are you going to dance in the graveyards?"
And then, because I was curious about these things, I went to the table and turned the top card of the last pile, and Baron Samedi smiled up at me, teeth glittering with inset diamonds, and his eyes twinkling with mirth. My legs felt weak and I had to sit down.
"Oh, Elsa."
Greg - I am excited!
Thanks for the video link. Not only did it add to this piece but I also enjoyed the song.
These two are an interesting pair. While I obviously enjoy your longer tales, it has been a nice change to see you dabbling with new characters and stories.
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