The Association Smoke rose lazily over the box hedges which were green with the rains of late spring and sunlight of approaching summer. The sky was blue, with a few fluffy white clouds dotted here and there like acne of the face of the heavens and the smoke, a grey-brown column that had started off wispy and was getting increasingly thick, marred it. A hint of barbecue was carried over the hedge by an afternoon breeze so warm and tender it might be an actual zephyr and the flowers nodded their heads as the air currents carried it past. Hilda raised her head and sniffed the air, her ears pricking with momentary interest, and then she laid her head back down on her paws and sighed. She appeared to be a black-and-tan short-haired chihuahua but the sigh was so deep, melancholy and resonant that she couldn't actually be anything other than a hellhound. Even a Tibetan Mastiff would have been awed. Pestilence reached a hand down and scratched the back of her head between her ears and she permitted this. For the moment. Somewhere, not too far away, there was a scream that started off high-pitched and then cut off abruptly. "What is going on out there?" Pestilence asked, picking up a tall, thin glass of something colourful, alcoholic and sticky. There was a slice of orange impaled on the rim, and an umbrella obstructing access with a cherry clinging to its cocktail-stick stem. He bit delicately onto the tip of the umbrella and spat it on to the grass, where it bounced beneath his lawn chair. "The Home Owners's Association," said War. Pestilence's chair was a little way back from the edge of an olympic sized swimming pool and War was lounging at the near end of the pool. Scuffles, looking deeply embarrassed, was wearing Speedos and sitting on the side of the pool with his legs in the water trying to place his arms to cover as much of his pale, white skin as possible. "What?" Pestilence sipped his drink now he could actually get to it, and found it to his liking. It reminded him of cough syrup. "Sympathetic resonance," said War scratching his densely-furred chest. The muscles rippled like those of a Greek God. "Ever since War moved in," said Scuffles, sounding a little morose. He moved his hands to try and cover his crotch, as he didn't really believe the Speedos were enough clothing. "When it was just me here it wasn't so bad. They started off by updating their list of permitted and non-permitted things -- plastic flamingos were suddenly in, but ornamental rose bushes were out. Which led to friction, small squabbles between neighbours who resented having to dig up plants that had been there for thirty years and those who thought that the flamingos were a classic design icon." Pestilence nodded and stopped scratching Hilda. She growled, a low, reverberating thudding, until he started scratching her again. "Since War arrived...," said Scuffles moving his hands again to try and cover his nipples. His shoulders felt hot and he was sure he was getting sunburned. "Things escalated," said War, sounding proud of himself. "There are machine gun nests in back gardens now," said Scuffles. His face conveyed a mixture of shock and amazement before returning to embarrassment. "And they not only on the permitted list, they're mandatory!" "The Association has announced that they're partnering with the NRA," said War contentedly. "And I think they're lobbying to be recognised as an offshoot of the Republican party." "They sound lovely," said Pestilence, sipping his drink again.
2 comments:
Less a story and more a vignette today :)
The Association
Smoke rose lazily over the box hedges which were green with the rains of late spring and sunlight of approaching summer. The sky was blue, with a few fluffy white clouds dotted here and there like acne of the face of the heavens and the smoke, a grey-brown column that had started off wispy and was getting increasingly thick, marred it. A hint of barbecue was carried over the hedge by an afternoon breeze so warm and tender it might be an actual zephyr and the flowers nodded their heads as the air currents carried it past. Hilda raised her head and sniffed the air, her ears pricking with momentary interest, and then she laid her head back down on her paws and sighed. She appeared to be a black-and-tan short-haired chihuahua but the sigh was so deep, melancholy and resonant that she couldn't actually be anything other than a hellhound. Even a Tibetan Mastiff would have been awed.
Pestilence reached a hand down and scratched the back of her head between her ears and she permitted this. For the moment. Somewhere, not too far away, there was a scream that started off high-pitched and then cut off abruptly.
"What is going on out there?" Pestilence asked, picking up a tall, thin glass of something colourful, alcoholic and sticky. There was a slice of orange impaled on the rim, and an umbrella obstructing access with a cherry clinging to its cocktail-stick stem. He bit delicately onto the tip of the umbrella and spat it on to the grass, where it bounced beneath his lawn chair.
"The Home Owners's Association," said War. Pestilence's chair was a little way back from the edge of an olympic sized swimming pool and War was lounging at the near end of the pool. Scuffles, looking deeply embarrassed, was wearing Speedos and sitting on the side of the pool with his legs in the water trying to place his arms to cover as much of his pale, white skin as possible.
"What?" Pestilence sipped his drink now he could actually get to it, and found it to his liking. It reminded him of cough syrup.
"Sympathetic resonance," said War scratching his densely-furred chest. The muscles rippled like those of a Greek God.
"Ever since War moved in," said Scuffles, sounding a little morose. He moved his hands to try and cover his crotch, as he didn't really believe the Speedos were enough clothing. "When it was just me here it wasn't so bad. They started off by updating their list of permitted and non-permitted things -- plastic flamingos were suddenly in, but ornamental rose bushes were out. Which led to friction, small squabbles between neighbours who resented having to dig up plants that had been there for thirty years and those who thought that the flamingos were a classic design icon."
Pestilence nodded and stopped scratching Hilda. She growled, a low, reverberating thudding, until he started scratching her again.
"Since War arrived...," said Scuffles moving his hands again to try and cover his nipples. His shoulders felt hot and he was sure he was getting sunburned.
"Things escalated," said War, sounding proud of himself.
"There are machine gun nests in back gardens now," said Scuffles. His face conveyed a mixture of shock and amazement before returning to embarrassment. "And they not only on the permitted list, they're mandatory!"
"The Association has announced that they're partnering with the NRA," said War contentedly. "And I think they're lobbying to be recognised as an offshoot of the Republican party."
"They sound lovely," said Pestilence, sipping his drink again.
Greg - nothing wrong with a good vignette now and then!
And vignettes set in the world of Death, Famine, War, Pestilence and Friends are always, always, always welcome :D
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