Day 12: The last day

Dec. 26 I’m so sorry for writing so late. I spent Christmas Eve with Miles and I didn’t want to randomly interrupt the evening to break open my diary. I’ve sent presents back home to all my relatives in Barry (it’s in Ontario, remember?) but I still had a huge pile of wrapping today. On Christmas Eve though, all we did was spend some time together. We talked together and he made his mom’s eggnog cocoa to go with my grandmother’s shortbread. It was magical and I’m not doing it justice at all by describing it here but I don’t care. We wound up together on the couch watching an old Muppet Christmas special at almost ten. Petty came and sat on Miles right at the best part, but he was okay with it. I think he’s finally warming up to her. Now the biggest news so far: THEY CAUGHT THE STALKER!! He was trying to slip a set of tickets for a traditional Scottish Christmas concert under the door. It was on Christmas Eve, during the day when I was out visiting my grandmother. I don’t know how he knew so much about my schedule or about I but you know what? I don’t care. This Hell is over. I’ve gained some feathered friends, a beautiful tree and a new boyfriend out of the deal. I’m almost out of space in my diary now, but I’m sure I’ll buy another one someday. Who knows what other crazy stuff might happen? Hang on, Miles wants to fill in the last line. “There is no real ending. It’s just the place you stop the story.” -Frank Herbert

Day 11

You won't believe this. I say it a lot but this time I mean it. There's a manhunt on right now for the man who's been stalking me and a few other girls during the Christmas season. He's been systematically seeking out girls who live alone without their support network nearby and giving them strange gifts. One girl got nothing but greeting cards and figgy pudding every day. I was apparently the worst hit though but I wouldn't give back some of my gifts for the world. I'm so happy to not be alone anymore, not with Patty and my doves. I'm not supposed to write about who he is or what he looks for confidentiality reasons but he is an ex con so what somebody with his mental health issues wanted with these girls... I shudder. Ooh, doorbell! I think it's Miles and he and I are due for a long talk. He brought the doves over yesterday but he couldn't stay long so today I'm going to try and figure out what's going on between us. I like him and he likes me. What does that mean for us? With all this drama my life is just crazy and I'm not sure I can put him through something like this. Is there any way to avoid it though or is the damage already done? He's been by my side for so long and-hang on I'm sorry. There's this weird drumming noise...

Day 10

Dec. 20

Turns out, I have less priority in line than a drunk driver testifying in some tribunal so I finally got my diary back. The next guy on shift after the lady cop took it away as a breach of protocol. Right, the creepy stalker dude is totally reading this. OHMYGOSH what if he actually is?! I need to stop terrifying myself because I already have enough problems. I get out today! Geez that sounds like I’m in jail which I guess I sort of am. No headway on the case so far. No suspects at all. This is apparently very unusual but all I can say is that I want to go home! I’m supposed to keep my face covered though because the story got leaked and now there is literally a price on my head. The first reporter to get a headshot of me gets 250 dollars cash. Time to go now, in a scarf and ugly coat that I hate. If they don’t know what I look like how will they know the photo is genuine?

Wow, that was more than I expected. Apparently this city is full of amateur reporters. Sigh. Just killing time now, waiting until Miles clears the police checkpoints outside my door. Looking out the window always helps to clear my head. It’s so bright this time of year, everything clear and perfect. The skyline’s dotted with Christmas lights and strange clusters of men in traditional costumes- wait, what?

That was the strangest spectacle I have ever seen. Ten men in traditional English costumes did an illegal BASE jump from the building next door. Now that’s ten lords a leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a milking, seven swans a swimming, six geese a laying, five golden rings, four  calling birds, three French hens two turtle doves and partridge in a  pear tree. Also, excellent news! I came back to the apartment to find a box waiting on the door step. After careful scanning and far too much drama they discovered Patty inside the box! She hadn’t been there long so the police went searching but she’s home now! The police think that according to the evidence my love is a man, tall with graying hair. I doubt that more than a little.

Last entry today. Miles came in as I finished the last sentence, so I had to stop writing but I figured I owed you an update. The first thing is that he brought the doves with him and Noelle’s laid her first clutch of eggs! I’m excited to see what they look like but I’m giving her some space. She’s still getting used to being back  with me. Miles had a lot to say about it actually.  Before we could talk seriously his visit was up. Damn this stalker. I want to be free again, free to spend time with whoever whenever not stuck here.

Day 9

Dec. 18

                My life is over. I am finished and alone. I don’t know where I am anymore, because it wouldn’t be safe. The police think that I need protection now, because he knows so much about me. I don’t know who he is and all my family is so far away and I just feel so alone. I’m in a tiny room now. The door isn’t locked, but there’s nowhere I can go. The TV’s broken, stuck on the Korean network and the books are all covered in crayon. Guess all I can do is keep waiting and write in this book. It’s the only thing they let me bring so I may as well put it to good use. What to write though? I can’t write more about where I am, it “wouldn’t be safe” so I guess I’ll just write. Nothing to write, ho hum just sitting in jail waiting for my life to go back to normal. Who am I kidding though? I’ve never been normal. I was always the odd one out, and I’m stuck now. Supposed to get a gift today according to the pattern. Wonder how he’s going to get it through the police barricade? BORED.

                Okay, took a walk around the room.  I’m still upset, but I’m going to take the advice of the cat poster and just chill out. Think happy thoughts and all that. What can I think about that’s happy? Patty’s still missing and Noelle and Gentleman (my doves, remember them?) have gotten colder towards me. They’re staying with Miles and I’m afraid that by the time I’m out of here they’ll- Hang on, door opening.

                You won’t believe what happened after the door opened. It was the lady cop (she’s super nice- always asking me if I’m comfortable, if there’s anything she can do. She even let me borrow her own personal book to read). Anyways, she led me out towards the reception area and Miles was waiting for me! We took a walk in the park together and just being out of that room and with him was beyond anything. There was a ballet demonstration set up, nine beautiful dancers performing scenes from my favorite ballet, The Nutcracker. It had an anonymous sponsor and our police escort looked suspicious but we didn’t have to go back to that awful place. We just walked the winding paths aimlessly talking about Christmases back home. Both of us are away from our families this year so we might even be spending Christmas morning together. Just open up little gifts and eat junky cereal. Even that wasn’t the best part though. As we walked by the pond he leaned towards me and he just took my hand in his. My cool hand surrounded by his warm one was a magical feeling. What do you say to something like that? So we walked together, hand in hand. My life right now is terrible, and the cot I’m lying on his harder than the floor but there’s always a little brightness in the darkness. 

Day 8

Dec. 16

Where do I start? Should I talk about the heart wrenching sadness of knowing that even though I’ve only had her for two weeks, my apartment is now partridge free? It seems really silly now, I guess to be so sad about a partridge. Still, I don’t want to be so depressing. I need some cheer in my life right now, so let’s talk about Miles. Miles who actually wrote in my diary that he thinks I am beautiful. It is the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me. Even in high school, I never got the greatest guys. Something about me just screamed PLEASE MAKE ME PAY FOR EVERYTHING AND GOD FORBID ANYBODY ACTUALLY LIKE ME! I don’t know why but there was always just this sense of not being worth anything, and those trashy guys just made it worse for me. I really regret what happened then, and I hope I get the chance to redeem myself. Miles make me feel as though I’m worth it.

                Old ladies at the door. My grandmother? Crud, she’s coming this way.

                Okay, I probably need to explain. That was my grandmother and her knitting circle at the door. She lives in a nearby residential facility, but she used to have her own home. I lived with her in university and we used to be really close. We got into a huge fight over the care home though, and she hadn’t spoken to me since she entered. She came over today though, to visit her favorite granddaughter (her only granddaughter) with all seven of the other women in her group. Eight old maids milking me for every bit of information about my life was a very pleasant afternoon, especially after Miles made his way into my apartment (he changed the locks for me, but still has a key). I am bushed, but the way he responded to ALL their questions was so nice! He sat down with us and had a cup of tea, speaking clearly and slowly so that everyone could hear.

                I miss Patty, Miles is spending the night again, but I’m going to bring him some more blankets. He was cold last night, and maybe we can have a cup of cocoa before bed. Horribly stereotypical? Maybe, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a good idea. Good night!

Day 7

Dec. 14

                Okay, very excited for today! Still early, but I figured I’d write something quick because I feel like it’s been a while since I wrote and I owe you an update. I’ve got the day off while they “revaluate their situation” which basically means I’m getting fired, but I really don’t care. A few nights ago, last time I wrote I said I was going to go get a cup of tea, right? Well for once, that’s actually all that happened. You know how there are always those rom-coms that have somebody up and vulnerable in the middle of the night and they have a beautiful discussion about life and each other? Unless you count his snoring and my absentminded humming, the only person I talked to was Patty. Hey, she totally counts. Anyways, I just feel really happy today, not sure why. Miles isn’t even here today, he has to work. He’s training to be a nurse of some sort, geriatric maybe? I’ve been spending more time with him lately, but not a creepy amount. He’s really nice. Bye now, need to get a laundry machine before they all fill up. J

I don’t even know where to start my day is just so messed up now. My life went from being happy, with laundry soap and Christmas carols to the police and tears and okay I just need to breathe.

                Wow, this is the most awkward moment. I’ve now written not once but twice in my neighbour’s diary. You wanted me to write out what happened, and I’ll do my best.

                The young woman, living on her own for the first time walked up the stairs, a laundry basket in her arms. She is tall, wearing loose, faded jeans and a green shirt with a Christmas tree on the front. She stops at the apartment labelled 1243 and shifts the basket to her hip to unlock the door. There is no need to, as it swings open at the lightest touch. She steps inside cautiously, watching her feet to avoid stepping on one of her many birds. She doesn’t see them. She almost misses the package sitting on the front table, seeing it at the last possible moment. She stifles a scream, especially at seeing the bright tag on the top. She knows what it says and does not approach. She calls the police first, and her caring, very attractive-ow! Why’d you hit me? Sorry, geez. Anyways, she calls her neighbour.

                Inside the box is a beautiful set of crystal swans, inlaid into a deep sapphire pond. They have miniscule golden gears, and are clearly very expensive. It is kept as evidence. The note is clearly foreboding, warning her that she will love him and that her partridge will be kept by him until she does. Finally, all the police leave the home. There is nothing else they can do, though they promise to keep the file open and investigate more. The girl, left alone with her neighbour in the empty apartment leans against him, and very gently begins to cry against him. She hates to do it, has always felt that somebody truly brave shouldn’t cry. She is the bravest woman I have ever met.

Day 6

Dec. 12

                I am going to collapse into my bed in about thirty seconds but I just had to scribble this down before I forget to. After work (I finally got a job as a temp!)  I went for a walk in the cute little park down the street. I’m on a really tiny salary still trying to pay off student loans and this is not the greatest neighbourhood so of course Miles, ever the gentleman  insisted on coming with me.  We saw the beautiful Christmas decorations, and even the Nativity set at the community church. It hasn’t been vandalized yet, which is something that really warms my heart. I know it isn’t quite Christmas yet, but it’s still so nice to see people remembering that they aren’t the only ones on earth. When we got back to our apartments though, I almost had a panic attack. I screamed so loud that he literally came running in from next door and the guy upstairs called the police.

                What I found out on my balcony was what looked like six dead geese. They were lying there in dark puddles and I almost puked. Miles was brave enough to go take a closer look at them, despite my fervent cries of ohmygoshdon’tgo and discovered that they are apparently stuffed. Six taxidermied geese just lying on my balcony. A whole bunch of stuff happened at once as he came back in and I’m still trying to get things in order. First, Miles came back from the balcony and all that. He’s actually about to call the police, literally with his cell phone in hand when the police come. They actually almost smashed down the door before I could sprint to open it. There was a whole thing about how the hell he got it up onto my twelfth floor balcony (they think he/she knows somebody in the building) but the end result was that Miles is spending the night on my couch, just to make sure that nothing happens. I’m not even sure how this happened, everything’s a blur. We’re both really afraid right now, much as I hate to admit it. This situation went from something weird to something really quite terrifying. I almost forgot to mention- there was a note alongside the six geese. This guy just seems to have caught the writing bug. It said (the police took it)

                “My dear, my love for you shines as bright as the noon day sun in the arctic winter. I will be with you soon and I will have you as mine forever. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. You must be thrilled with your gifts by the way you treat them. How’s Patty? – Your true love”

                I am so afraid right now I actually did something I haven’t done since I was a little girl. I prayed. I never saw the point in praying to some invisible super hero before but now? I need all the help I can get to overcome this. I’m probably not going to be able to sleep tonight, so I’m going to go make some herbal tea. Maybe it’ll soothe my nerves. 

Day 5

Dec. 10

                Okay, I probably owe you a bit of explanation as to why there’s some random dude writing in my diary, beyond the one he already gave. Patty is NOT scary Miles, just a little… intimidating. I’m sorry about not writing sooner, but I’ve actually been working on creating an actual room for the doves. I’m really glad I met Miles actually. It was a total fluke that he was so cold and wet that he actually hit my button by accident, instead of Mme deFourchette’s but he wound up coming over to my place until the super could come back and let him in. No matter how much it sounds like a date, it was really not. He was literally shivering, so I let him take a shower, gave him a blanket and my brother’s old robe from when he was like, 15. I seriously don’t know why I still have that, but Miles seemed to warm up quickly. I’ll write a brief description, which I’m supposed to be practicing for my online course.

                The boy- no the man at my door was shivering, drenched to the bone. Even though he was already shaking, I could see a tangled mop of dark curls and bluish lips covering chattering teeth. Still staring at the floor, his freckled features seemed frozen into an expression of surprise. Later, when he was dry his hair lightened to a dusty brown and his amber eyes sparkled. As the Polar Express theme played, his eyes lit up like a child’s and he exclaimed in delight. He was modest and very shy but you should have seen how he reacted to the dove cage. I think his mom must have kept birds or something, because he was completely shocked at the idea of keeping my birds inside like that. Like I said, that’s what we were doing yesterday is fixing up the dove cage- sorry Aviary. All that happened today was, randomly enough, I received five onion rings. Weird, huh? I invited Miles over also, after ordering more food so I could tell him about my newest (and weirdest) gift. Oh, there’s the doorbell now, Bye!

Day 4

Dec. 8

                This just gets weirder and weirder. I’ve been researching more about what connection these gifts have to each other, and according to my search all of the things I’ve gotten so far are completely unrelated. Three French hens (as my neighbour calls them) two turtle doves and partridge in a pear tree. None of the guys I know would even dream of doing something like this, let alone being able to pay for it. The doves (who are starting to love me, by the way) are such an odd gift; I’m not sure who would think of it. Oh, speaking of doves I have great news. My doves are now named Gentleman and Noelle, in honor of the holidays. I love them so much now that they’ve stopped attacking me every time I come within 10 feet. I’ll be back later today probably, but the phone’s ringing and the birds are starting to get upset.

                Hi, sorry about the tea stain. I had a cup of tea, and Patty got curious, but I figured partridges probably shouldn’t have caffeine. She didn’t like that much. Anyways, you won’t believe who was on the phone. It was this random bird sanctuary. They played the calls of four different indigenous Canadian birds as a thank you for adopting. Four calling birds? Really? Hang on, who’s buzzing?? Geez, I can’t sit down and write for three minutes before something happens.

                

Hello in case you forget this is your neighbour who isn’t French and crazy, Miles. I’m really sorry about writing in your diary, but Patty was sitting on top of the printer paper and I’m kind of scared to go near her. Anyways, if you’re going to be keeping doves, you’ll probably want a bigger aviary. They need to have plenty of space to stretch their wings, and they eat mostly seeds.  If you want them to, um, breed they will need plenty of private, secluded spaces. Also, you should add a nesting box or two, because doves are really terrible nest builders. It was really nice to meet you. I’d never have guessed somebody so nice lives next door and thank you again for letting me watch The Polar Express with you until the superintendent came and unlocked my door. I had a lot of fun, but I really wish that Patty was a bit less territorial.

Day three

Dec. 6

Wow. Okay, sorry it’s just been one heck of a day. I am completely wiped out. As you don’t know yet, I’ve been looking for a new job, after my last boss had a nervous breakdown. I may be on a semester long break, but student debt is a great motivator. Sigh. Anyways, I probably should update you on how goes Patty, as well as my timid turtle doves. Patty is still roaming free throughout the apartment, and seems quite happy, although I don’t actually know what she’s been eating. Pears I guess? And spiders, since the huge amount of them that used to live here are gone.  The turtle doves have been eating wild bird seed, although I suspect Patty might be stealing it. I’m still waiting for today’s gift, if the pattern holds. I should probably go start dinner now, I’ll be back soon.

I’m back. It’s been about three hours and the weirdest thing has happened. I was about to throw on the ramen noodles and frozen peas (I spent my food money on bird food and a newspaper subscription) when there was a knock on the door. First, I was freaked out. I live in an apartment building, with a buzzer and I didn’t buzz any one in. My neighbor though, a French woman who smells like onions and is always saying how she “used to be someone”. Before what, the French revolution? Okay, sorry that was mean. Anyways, she called out from behind the door.

“Hallo? I ‘ave something for you, from your True Love?”

“Who?”

“I do not know, but I ‘ave been paid to give it to you.”

So, I opened the door, and was forcefully handed a large plate full of what appeared to be chicken wings. Three of them.  No note, no nothing although they did taste pretty good. This “True Love” guy (Girl? I’m not judgy) is trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what. Whoa, is that the time? It’s really late, goodnight,

Day Two

Dec. 4 2014

Hello again. No new gifts so far, thank goodness. The partridge (weird bird I got a few days ago) seems to be mostly self-sufficient. I’ve left the window to my balcony partially open, but she doesn’t seem to want to go outside much. She’s so sweet! I wonder what you name a partridge anyways. Oh, there’s the doorbell. Pizza’s here!

Sorry about that. Turns out, it wasn’t the pizza I never even ordered but actually another one of those weird gifts? I can’t decide whether I should open it. It’s got a weird shape to it and it’s covered in like twenty pounds of paper. Patty seems to be afraid of it. She (I think it’s a girl) is shying away from it. Hang on, there’s a card.  I’ll paste it here.

To my True Love. May this gift remind you of my love for you.

Creepy. All right, I’ll write later. I’ve just got to open this now.

Sorry about being so late, I’ve been online trying to figure what on earth I’ve been given. Again. You’ll never believe what happened as soon as I opened the package. Inside was a beautiful golden cage and two gorgeous birds that google identifies as turtle doves. They were terrified when they saw me, so that was upsetting. I mean, my hair isn’t THAT bad.

Anyways, I am now apparently starting an aviary in my new apartment.  Good thing there’s a tiny spare room and no rules against pets. All I need now is a whole bunch of newspaper. 

Day one

Dec. 2 2014

Hello. I’ve just found my old diary after moving. I can’t believe I haven’t written in this thing since I was 12. It seems so long ago now that I’m living on my own. The new apartment’s lovely, but a bit dark. The neighbors seem okay and it doesn’t smell like onions like the last place, so that’s a plus. Oh, there’s the timer. I told myself I’d only sit down for a few minutes, I’ll be right back.

Hello again. Figured I’d keep writing as long as I have time. There’s a few housewarming gifts to open, but I’m feeling really tired. I’ll probably leave them until tomorrow. Michelle’s coming over later with the Christmas movies, so I’ve got to get this place presentable. Hang on a second, what’s that sound?

I’m back, and you will not believe what happened to me. It’s been a few hours since I wrote that last post. Remember those gifts I wasn’t going to open? Well, they made the decision for me when a fat brown bird pecked its way through the ribbons wrapped around the largest box, and began flying around my brand new clean apartment banging into windows. He didn’t poop; thank goodness but that creep who signed himself “Your True Love” had better not send me anything else. Who even gives somebody a pear tree anyways? 

Christmas is coming!

Greetings to my fellow humans. Also, greetings to all of the aliens, cyborgs and fictional characters living among us. Happy thanksgiving to all my American readers, and I'm really sorry for not posting yesterday. This isn't really a post, it's more of an update of what's happening. Because of the abundance of Christmas songs, I will be posting every other day starting tomorrow. Why will be quite evident once I begin, so no spoilers. Now, a brief blurb to sate your appetite for twisted nursery rhymes.
 

   The bells were ringing. There was no end to the ringing of the bells. All around and beneath him. They were beautiful once, brought joy to those who listened. But there was no snow to drown the endless tormenting noise, no sleigh on which to flee its grasp. All there was was the ringing of the endless bells.

Blue boy

Hi, I'm sorry. I have a huge project due frighteningly soon, but im here anyways. Comments are officially down, so I apologize to anyone who has tried to comment and failed. I'm working on it, and I will get back to you. Without further ado (because who likes ado?) perhaps though hast read it incorrectly.  WARNING: This one wound up way sadder than I meant. I'm sorry guys!

    The boy was so cold. It seemed to surround him, leaving him empty, hollowed out by the icy wind. His fingertips were already tinged blue and his breath came in white gusts. He shivered inside the hay stack, his horn beside him. Why had he run away from home? Only a crook would employ a kid like him, and a crook definitly had. He worked for hours with spiteful sheep who butted him and stole his sparse food when he called. The only thing that soothed these savage beasts was a blast on a mouldering trumpet given to him on his first day. He didn't like to think about who had used it last.
     He couldn't focus his thoughts any longer. The cold surrounded him, clutching him in a deadly embrace. His muscles tensed against it , but relaxed. He felt warm, truly warm for the first time since the weather had turned. He relaxed, and allowed it to flow through his muscles. He gave in at long last to a sudden desire for sleep, and for freedom.

Beary unhappy

     So, hi guys. I introduce you to our guest blogger Lyric Robbins AKA queen of the Fangirls. Sorry about the time, but Lyric and I have been emailing each other trying to figure this out for weeks. Finally, despite the lack of comments, we have a new voice. I present, Miss Lyric Robbins.
     Hi. My name is Lyric Robbins and I did this as a favour to my friend Emma. I realize it's a little late, but time differences you know. Anyway, please go check out my blog. I'm not as good as Emma with keeping up to date with schedules, but I have been known to be funny at times. So yeah check it out. http://bitsandpiecesfromafangirlsbrain.blogspot.ca/?m=1 (Note: this is the mobile version. To reach the computer version, delete everything after .ca)
    Teddy bear teddy bear do this, do that. The only words he'd ever heard. Show your shoe, say your prayers, go to bed. Commands, hidden as a rhyme. He'd never disobeyed them. Why, he never knew. He always wondered what would happen, but he never tried anything because that voice would come back and he would have to start following orders again. The what purpose, he never knew. But it's not like he cared to.

It's raining

 Hi. I said I wouldn't post, but I've changed the settings. Commenting should be easier now, so please do. The guest blogger is coming, but she's still working on her post. She's really cool, although I've never really met her in person. This post was my attempt to make you cry, or at least feel sad. Did it work? Either way, you read this one wrong I think.

   The old man knew that his time was a time gone by. He had grown old, and the world had moved on without him. He had fought for what he thought was right. He had fought for freedom and the people he saw had already forgotten. They lived their lives and often wasted their lives without remembering the cost. 

    As the rain poured down outside the large house he couldn't bring himself to sell, the tired veteran climbed slowly up the steep stairs. He didn't stop, ignoring the pain from ancient wounds until he reached the top of the staircase. He winced once, limping to the bathroom. With shaking hands he downed pills for memory, for strong bones, for pain, and prepared himself for bed. 

     "He didn't go in pain."

     "He'll never be forgotten."

     "At least he's with Evelyn now."

     "I'm sorry."

    

Happy Halloween!

Hello! Happy (late) Halloween! This is my 13th post, ironically enough. I'm doing pretty well for views but my muse needs fuel. I need comments, suggestions! Even a blow by blow of how terrible my blog is would be helpful. COMMENT or no guest blogger. No post at all next week.
Now, I'm not avtually sure there's aright way to read this one.
  The gingerbread witch had one holiday she hated worse than all others. Now that she didn't eat children, she had chosen a more suburban neighborhood. Close to the "organic" market and with full broom service, it was the ideal location. Except for one thing. Halloween. 

    The children swarmed her house, yanking off whatever their fat little hands could carry. They shoved their bags full of her house, and then had the nerve to knock on her desiccated door and ask for more candy. Next year though, she would turn their rhyme back on them. She would full their noses with a scent so foul their candy would taste like feet for a month. She would fill their room with a waterfall so large their beds would slosh. And then she would hand them a lollipop and say "Happy Halloween!"

Overcome Odour

  So, I have a really good excuse for not posting until so late where I am, but you probably don't care. Cool news, I may be having a guest blogger soon. No details yet, but she's pretty awesome. For that to happen anytime soon, I would need at least one review from somebody who hasn't yet. Please? Halloween is coming soon, so that post should be fun. Anyways, here is what all have you waiting been for. Wait, did you just read that wrong?
    Vivian Galosh truly was grateful. After Stanley's death, she had a very small income and no way to pay Boy Blue's  enormous rent. What the giant had done was incredible, since she had so many children and no way to feed them. The home was incredible, but would it have killed him to spray it first? It stank. Badly. Mrs. Galosh's children exactly filled the lace holes, leaving her in the very smelly bottom.

     She had tried everything. Her shower was inside the shoe, so as soon as she got out she smelled again. Her friends at sewing circle and book club suddenly started to forget her invitations after she started testing various perfumes. She even lit incense until she began to feel vaguely light headed and hungry. The solution seemed non existent and Vivian despaired for her social life. She needed to get out of this house! 

    Patty, her youngest, was the eventual savior. She was the one who discovered brand X drier sheets. 

Let's give thanks this isn't us

Hi. I'm so sorry about last week. It was Canadian thanksgiving on Monday so I had to help get ready for all my relatives. I'm back though with my thanksgiving post. I know it's late, but I couldn't resist. Go scour mother goose readers, because you probably read it wrong.

   Thanksgiving dinner that year was rather awkward. The entire family had come together but Peters seat was noticeably empty. His wife had come but was sitting alone off to the side, still unused to people after her solitary confinement. Needless to say, they served Apple pie rather than pumpkin. There were so many children running around that tea cups smashed and shattered this way and the teapot whistled all night long. Poor Vivian Galosh sat, abandoned in the corner thanks to the pervading odor of feet that surrounded her. Finally, grandmother Hubbard called them all to the table. Her basset hound lurked in the corner, gnawing on a  milk bone(he had no teeth anymore, much like grandmother herself).
   At the children's table, miss Muffet fed the baby mush on a spoon while all the little Galoshes squabbled over who had to sit next to her. Jack and Jill sat at the adult table to accommodate casts and bandages. The prayer was said and the vegetables were brought out first. They were passed around, casually skipping the man rocking back and forth humming 'The Wheels on the Bus'. Finally, the goose was brought out. Jack burst out crying to see it, crying for his mother. Or possibly calling the goose mother? They blamed his head injury and finished the meal amicably, if stiffly. Finally, everyone was thrilled to realize that it was eight'oclock and they had a whole two moths until they had to do this again.
 

A rather predictable tumble

Everyone knew this would happen. For once, you may have read it right. 

    The unnamed social worker stood in the middle of a crowd of cops clutching a small bundle. The crime scene tape was up, the evidence labelled. It looked like the scene of a twisted case on CSI. The only difference? There was no body. They were lucky. 

    The small bundle she was clutching hiccuped once and began to cry softly. She was alarmed to see that the pale blue of the baby's cheeks had barely faded. Steeling her nerves, she pushed her way to the front of the crowd. The commissioner of police stood in front of her, caterpillar mustache and all, glaring. 

    "Just where do you think you're going with our biggest lead?"

    " To my car. Unless we get some heat and formula your 'biggest lead' will develop hypothermia." 

    Grudgingly, they let her pass under the tape. Ignoring the mob of reporters surrounding her, she hid the infants face and dashed to the car. Inside, with the heat blaring and the baby nestled under layers of blankets, she allowed herself to remember what had happened that night. 

    It had been a druggie to find the baby, nestled in a small wooden cradle. He called the cops about a ufo crashed into a tree. The dispatcher sent out one car, to arrest him and bust whatever party he was coming from. It wasn't anything special. There was no caravan of cop cars. Just two caffeine fueled cops on the graveyard shift. 

    They arrived just in time. The small wooden vessel had begun to rock gently in a sudden breeze. It grew harsher, and faster and the cops could hear a baby screaming inside. Suddenly, it fell. The nearest cop stretched his arms out and caught the baby just before it hit the ground. The cradle was smashed in an eerie preview of what could have happened. 

    She shook her head in disgust that somebody would leave a newborn baby alone like this, up a tree in the middle of October. It must have been somebody with a sick sense of humour though, because the gentle rocking would have soothed the baby at first. But when the bow broke, the cradle would fall and down would come baby, cradle and all. 

Really? She's married to who?

   You might be right about it. Might. But then, maybe you aren't. What if you read it wrong?
    The square was full of people, rushing around their day. The only reason they would stop was for gossip.
    "Do you know-"
     "Yes, I-"
     "Absolutely shocking how he-"
      Amongst this crowd of babbling gossips stood a young mqn clutching a covered basket.  He was silent, listening to the waves of chatter surrounding him. His eyebrow was quirked and a wry grin spread across his face. He leaned in to the two women nearest to him.
     "Do you know the muffin man?"
     " The muffin man?"
     He lifted the corner of his basket cover to reveal a pile of steaming muffins. He nodded once.
      "The muffin man."
     The second woman pursed her thin, sour looking lips.
      "Do we know the muffin man who lives on Drury lane? Yes, we know the muffin man."
     The first woman looked excited.
      "The muffin man? The muffin man! What can you tell us?"
      She handed the boy a coin and he leaned in as though imparting great knowledge.
     "Well," the boy began and the two women looked at each ther excitedly, "she's married to the muffin man."
    Instantly the women's faces fell. The boy drew a muffin from his basket and strolled off.
   "Sorry ladies, no refunds or exchanges!"

How much wood would she sell by the sea shore?

   I'm getting annoyed here guys. I haven't got a single review. Or a married review! Just a simple hi, I liked this post. C'mon! Ok, rant over. What if you said it wrong?
   This was quite probably the worst way to earn money imaginable. Her grandmother may claim to have earned money off of it but she had her doubts. Grandma was just trying to get rid of her as usual and setting up a seashell stand on the beach was just one of many plots. It was almost funny how many people looked at her stand and then took two steps to the nearest seashell. This idea was never going to work, and she should probably just go home  

  Meanwhile, over a grassy verge a young woodchuck was returning to his burrow after an unsuccessful attempt to find a mate. Maybe his mother was right about him after all. Sighing, he entered his burrow, or at least tried to. The entire entrance was blocked by a tall stack of planks. What the heck? Oh well, this was easy enough to deal with. He grabbed the nearest plank and threw it carelessly behind him. It struck something with a thump and a "Hey!"and hit him square on the back. 

   

   She was angry now. Some kind of jerk had just thrown a plank of wood and broken her seashell stand! She grabbed it angrily and threw it back. Slowly, an exchange of fire developed until they were almost juggling the planks. The beach emptied out except for an older woman sunning herself and laughing. 

Jack ain't nimble

Hello people of the internet! I greet you again this fine day and ask you one question. What if you read it wrong?
    Jack was no longer a small boy who enjoyed playing with fire. He was a tall, strong, moderately hot stuntman. He had been in everything from Galactic Battle to Twinklepuff movies. He was most famous however for his motorcycle stunts and today he was planning his most audacious yet. He had jumped over shark tanks, little old ladies crossing the street and an entire preschool once but this was even better. He was going to jump an active volcano live on camera to the tune of Rise of the Valkeries wearing no protective gear whatsoever.
    It was the stunt of a lifetime and he was born ready. He reved his engines once, twice before slowly backing up. The music began and he steeled his nerves. The volcano rumbled and just as he began to wish for a helmet a taunting voice cried
"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candle stick"
    He turned to scream at Carl and his foot slipped. Shouts of anger turned to screams of terror as  instantly his motorbike shot forward. He went up, up, up soaring just as the music reached it's climax. He came down just before the ramp. There was a collective intake of breath. Would he make it? It looked like he would when just in front of the ramp he stopped and fell straight down into the lava.
     Three months later, Jack lay recovering in a body cast. He sat and stewed over the accident the whole time. Two important lessons had been learned that day. Those who play with fire get burned and also, you can't trust Carl.

Row your boat right off a cliff.

Hello. I am experimenting with format right now so bear with me. Let me know how I can improve.
SCENE ONE
(The camera cuts to a man, paddling down a calm river in a small canoe with a camping pack clearly visible in the back. The man, clearly alone in the woods, begins to whistle to himself. Time passes and he breaks out into song)
MAN: row row row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily merrily merrily merrily
(Scene cuts to a crude campsite near the beach during this line. The canoe next to him, the man curls into his sleeping bag by a fire of dying embers)
MAN: life is but a dream. (Yawns)  What a good day. I should sing everyday if this is any indication.
End scene
SCENE 2
The man is again seen paddling his canoe. The water is rougher, and he is rocking from side to side to stay balanced. He continues to sing.
MAN: rock rock rock your boat, gently down the stream
If you see a (pauses) oh crap.
(A loud scream is heard and the camera is splashed with water. Flashes of scaly green are seen. Picture loses definition.)
(When picture resumes, the man is holding a paddle with a large bite mark at the end. His supplies seem to have been  violently attacked. He is visibly rattled and extremely shaky. A wave splashes against the boat, which has returned to calmer waters. The man jumps, tipping the canoe.)
End scene.
   SCENE 3
   (The man paddles the canoe into the cameras sight. He is shaking and remains dripping wet. His pack is visibly absent. He is shaking as he inefficiently paddling in almost circles with the bitten paddle. Each splash seems to startle him to the point of almost flipping each time. His voice sings out shakily.)
MAN:Ok, last verse guys. I just have to finish this.
Row row row your boat
Underneath the stre- wait what?!
(A periscope emerges from the water with a loud splash. The man leans towards it cautiously, just as a surge of water tips his boat. He lands on the top of a huge metal submarine with an audible clang.)
MAN: (groans) what the hell?
(He raises his head, examining the submarine. He thumps his head down heavily. He lifts his bitten paddle before dropping it in submission.)
MAN: I give. I GIVE! (Mutters) so much for a relaxing holiday.
Fades to black, credits role.

Thank you thank you. For more of this awesomeness check back every Sunday. And comment. Please. 

Teapot terror+marathon pigs

So, hi. Sorry about the timing, I got back from vacation way more tired than I thought. To make it up to you I will give you two stories. They both are kind of short, sorry.
Marathon pigs
  When pigs are mentioned the first thing in your head is probably filth, or slop. Definitely not speed, sleek finesse and OCDlike cleanliness, however these pigs were a little bit different. Formerly known as the three little pigs, Sam, Tim and Bruce were now marathon runners. None of them wanted anything like that to ever happen again. Old habits die hard though and none of the brothers could agree on how to train.
  Steve wanted the easy way. He went to the gym on Mondays and Wednesdays and ate the same way he always had. Tim watched videos at home every day and participated half the time. He made a big show of eating organic and vegan. Bruce ran. He ran one mile in the morning and two after work. He focused, worked hard and ate healthy. Guess who won?

Note: there is actually a different rhyme behind this other than the three pigs.Kudos to you if you catch it. Leave me a comment if you do or just  want to know.

Teapot terror
  She lived her life in constant pain and terror with no hope of escape and no choice.  Her whole life she had been frozen, unable to speak but to scream. She hadn't asked the witch to throw a curse and miss. She hadn't told the potter what  she wanted to be(a beautiful statue of a golden mermaid). She was made alive and each day she suffered. Boiling water scalded her, somehow reaching new, tender spots. As the tea  began to cool, and comfort it was slowly robbed  from her, drop by drop. All she could do was scream.
  The little teapot was a family favorite. Her design was pleasing to the eye and easy to use. She held enough tea for the family and the butler without overfilling cups and her whistle was calming instead of shrill.It seemed to call gently "Teatime, Teatime." Nobody ever suspected she was screaming for her life.

Round and round and round and round and round and...

   So hello all you non-existent readers. I am giving you an update today instead of tomorrow because I couldn't wait. I hope you all enjoy reading this. If you do, leave a comment. If you don't, leave a comment, just don't flame .Thanks!
   Patrick drove the bus every day at 9:30, 12:00 and 2:30 around Metrocity. He drove down 84th street and up Carlton Avenue, right past Happy Times preschool. He was the preschool bus. Parents sent huge loads of buspools, with one adult for five children. They handed him lunches at his various stops and he gave them to the teacher free of charge. They all knew and trusted Patrick, and Patrick was okay with that. This was why on the day that would change his life, Patrick said yes.
    On the day in question, the teacher called Patrick. Her bus license had expired and she wasn't able to get it renewed. Could he take and hour off and drive the preschoolers to the library? So it happened that Patrick became the official preschool bus driver as well. Whether it was a trip to the fire station or an afternoon in the park Patrick could be counted on to drive the cutesy, smiling flower adorned Happy Times Bus. The kids were polite and it looked great on his resume.He was happy, they were happy.Where it started to go wrong was the unit on song, and Patrick saying yes. Again.
   It wasn't that he wasn't expecting a silly,  repetitive song. They were preschoolers. He just wasn't expecting it to be so true and so, so aggravating. The wheels on the bus did go round and round. The doors opened and shut and even he himself was frighteningly predictable. He always greeted them the same way and they noticed. The coins on the bus goes jingle jingle jangle. The kids on the bus go bump bump bump, over and over and over.
  But Patrick never quit. He never stopped driving, and he never stopped smiling. Even though sometimes it seemed a little thin, and caused some of the younger children to cry.

Twinkle Twinkle

Hi! just in case anyone is actually reading this, sorry about the irregular update. I went camping. From now on I will try to update every  Sunday. Now, without further ado, twinkle twinkle little star.

    Twinkle was the next big thing. She could sing, dance, act and smile like the happiest girl in the world, even when she wasn't. She had two Oscar nominations for her role in "Twinklepuff, Saviour of the Galaxy" and a starring role on Broadway. In short, she had everything she could dream of , and she didn't know how she felt about it.
  She knew she should feel happy, but she never saw her father. He had left when the money had started rolling in. He was in Vegas right now, with Rochelle and sometimes sent her letters that stank of expensive cologne. Her mother was her agent, always pushing for more money, more fame, more lines. Nothing was enough for her or her daughter. Twinkle knew that she only had her best interests at heart but was it wrong to want more than "Not right now dear, Mommy's on the phone."
   She returned to her trailer that night alone. It was after midnight and her face was caked in stage makeup. Her cheeks ached from smiling and her feet ached from dancing but it was at least another hour before bed. She had a photo shoot the next day at 9:00, an interview with Star magazine and of course her next show. She groaned as she entered the trailer. Shutting the door behind her, she sat her small, tired body down in front of the vanity in the dark room. Her face seemed ghostly in the  mirror and she stopped fumbling for wipes to look at it.
"Is that all that I am? A ghost, living someone else's life?"
 Her eyes filled with tears, leaving the worlds saddest raccoon. She drew breath and looked at herself again. She asked herself one more question, as she sat wallowing in pity. One question that would haunt her until she died, 8 years later, in a drunk driving case. "Who am I?"

Spider

   The spider  wanted to spin a new web. While his webs were practical, he also liked to make them pretty. His excuse for his friends was that they caught more flies. The truth was that he thought of himself as an artist and like every artist he needed inspiration. He looked towards the clouds  in search of it. In the sky, he didn't see clouds though. Because he was a spider, he saw the roof and a way to reach it.
  He climbed slowly up the waterspout with his head in the clouds. He was so distracted figuring out how to represent colours through web that he missed the slow pattering beginnings of rain and only  noticed  when it began to come down full force.The spider looked up in time to see a enormous wave of water come crashing down, directly at his head. He shut his mouth just as the water came rushing down and everything went black. 
 Three hours later the spider woke up in a coughing fit. He caught his breath and saw that the pipe was dry and that he was unhurt. Looking carefully for clouds and finding none he approached the gutter slowly. He began to climb as quickly as he could, not looking up but going as fast as possible. Finally he reached the top and gazed down at the farm below. 
  He had expected to be struck with awe and breathtaking wonder. He had expected that somehow by achieving what so few had done something within him would change. He had expected, at the very least inspiration for his greatest project yet. The only great discovery that day? The spider was deathly afraid of heights. 

Why are you here?

Remember when you were a kid sitting on mom's lap, or at Grandma's kitchen table  as they told you stories? Or maybe dad, singing all your favorite songs with all the wrong words and crazy actions. All of us know at least a few good stories, songs or nursery rhymes. my question for you is, what if you read it wrong?