A plaything The Convent of Saint Anne was a limestone lego brick. The pale yellow stone, streaked here and there with lines of black rot or pollution, depending on whether it was the shore-side or the road-side, squatted on the corner of Mayor Battista Street and Shore Street as though it had been dropped by a careless child. The roof was crenellated, making it seem ever more lego-like and the windows were painted newly white, which again added to effect. Several of the nuns were gathered together outside in the orchard -- really just a stretch of ten fig trees that no longer bore fruit and might have been a metaphor for the nuns themselves -- and were sweating in their heavy white habits and black hoods. "The children were here this morning," said Sister Agatha. She was sweating more than most, and not just because her fifty-year old frame was carrying about twice the weight her God had intended for it. "I distinctly remember one of them coming in and asking for access to the shed." The shed was a small wooden structure where the playthings were kept, alongside the gardener's tools and a collection of fertilisers and chemical pesticides. The nuns felt that God would keep the toys and poisons separate and if he didn't, then who were they to gainsay his greater plan? "Which one?" asked Sister Charlotte after Sister Barbara declined to speak. No-one could remember who had instigated the rule that sisters must speak in alphabetical order but it had been decades since they started using it and change was too much for them. "They all look the same to her," said Sister Desdemona after a very quiet consultation with Sister Agatha. "She thinks it was a girl though." "Did you give them access to the shed?" Sister Georgette was next and she, alone, looked worried. She was in her seventies and could remember the last time the police had been called to the convent and their scathing commentary on the nun's attempts at caring for orphans. Now it was Sister Henrietta's turn to whisper furtively with Agatha and after a few seconds she announced, "She did! She gave them the key, so that's missing now as well!" "Oh Good Lord," murmured Sister Irene, and then clapped her hand over her mouth realising that she'd inadvertently used up her turn to speak. "To the sea," said Sister Jeanette looking grumpy. "The children always take the playthings to the sea when they get them. We'll have to walk down there and bring what's left back." There was more grumbling amongst the nuns but they did start moving towards the large gates on the shore-side with some pretence of purpose. "Why did she say, 'what's left'?" whispered Sister Patricia to Sister Maureen as the two brought up the rear. "Because the children always seem to end up summoning Dagon," said Maureen. "One of their playthings seems to be rather dangerous."
Greg - have to admit I laughed a little too much at the shed situation and the reasoning behind it. Though I think I made up for it by laughing just the right amount at the alphabetical order of speaking :D
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A plaything
The Convent of Saint Anne was a limestone lego brick. The pale yellow stone, streaked here and there with lines of black rot or pollution, depending on whether it was the shore-side or the road-side, squatted on the corner of Mayor Battista Street and Shore Street as though it had been dropped by a careless child. The roof was crenellated, making it seem ever more lego-like and the windows were painted newly white, which again added to effect. Several of the nuns were gathered together outside in the orchard -- really just a stretch of ten fig trees that no longer bore fruit and might have been a metaphor for the nuns themselves -- and were sweating in their heavy white habits and black hoods.
"The children were here this morning," said Sister Agatha. She was sweating more than most, and not just because her fifty-year old frame was carrying about twice the weight her God had intended for it. "I distinctly remember one of them coming in and asking for access to the shed."
The shed was a small wooden structure where the playthings were kept, alongside the gardener's tools and a collection of fertilisers and chemical pesticides. The nuns felt that God would keep the toys and poisons separate and if he didn't, then who were they to gainsay his greater plan?
"Which one?" asked Sister Charlotte after Sister Barbara declined to speak. No-one could remember who had instigated the rule that sisters must speak in alphabetical order but it had been decades since they started using it and change was too much for them.
"They all look the same to her," said Sister Desdemona after a very quiet consultation with Sister Agatha. "She thinks it was a girl though."
"Did you give them access to the shed?" Sister Georgette was next and she, alone, looked worried. She was in her seventies and could remember the last time the police had been called to the convent and their scathing commentary on the nun's attempts at caring for orphans.
Now it was Sister Henrietta's turn to whisper furtively with Agatha and after a few seconds she announced, "She did! She gave them the key, so that's missing now as well!"
"Oh Good Lord," murmured Sister Irene, and then clapped her hand over her mouth realising that she'd inadvertently used up her turn to speak.
"To the sea," said Sister Jeanette looking grumpy. "The children always take the playthings to the sea when they get them. We'll have to walk down there and bring what's left back." There was more grumbling amongst the nuns but they did start moving towards the large gates on the shore-side with some pretence of purpose.
"Why did she say, 'what's left'?" whispered Sister Patricia to Sister Maureen as the two brought up the rear.
"Because the children always seem to end up summoning Dagon," said Maureen. "One of their playthings seems to be rather dangerous."
Greg - have to admit I laughed a little too much at the shed situation and the reasoning behind it. Though I think I made up for it by laughing just the right amount at the alphabetical order of speaking :D
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