Age Challenged(MOM enters carrying a ridiculous amount of groceries. She sees STACEY sitting on the couch reading a book, and stops abruptly.)
(STACEY does not seem to hear her, just stays fixed on her book.)
Stacey! (no response) Stacey Louise Finney!
(looking up, clearly startled. Sees MOM and horror dawns on her) Oh no.
(Angrily) Oh yes.
Oh God… Mom, I’m so sorry.
Tell me you didn’t forget…
(Jumps off couch, pausing only long enough to dog-ear the page she was reading and toss the book down on the cushions. She runs to a nearby chair where a coat, hat, and scarf are sitting. She begins ramming these on to little success as she talks very quickly)
I’m so sorry. I’ll go get her. I’ll go get her right now. Oh God… I didn’t mean to forget. I mean, I didn’t forget. She said she’d call. Why didn’t she call? She must be so cold… What time is it?
I Didn't Mean to Tell Her...I didn’t mean to tell her. I know what you think of me… I know that we haven’t always gotten along… [silence] Okay, fine. We’ve never gotten along. But it’s not like we hate each other, right? [longer silence]
Fine, don’t say anything. I don’t care. I don’t care if you never talk to me again. [Speaker crosses arms and turns away, is silent for a moment, as if waiting for a response, and then unable to stand the silence, starts talking, never looking back.]
It was an accident, you know… Mia’s my best friend, and I was so upset, and there she was. How was I supposed to know that if I told her what happened she’d go so far? It was just between you and me before. I mean, I guess I said some pretty horrible things about you, but it’s not like it wasn’t true. And it didn’t mean you had to do that. What I said wasn’t that bad, and it was just to close friends. It’s not my fault they
Go Fish"Do you have any sevens?"
I sighed impatiently and pushed my blond bangs out of my eyes to hide the exasperation on my face. My sister, Megan, flashed me a warning look before turning back to answer Grandma Beatrice.
"No, Beatrice. Go fish." Megan spoke clearly, making her voice significantly louder and slower than usual, the same sort of way one would talk to the particularly young or stupid. Megan was a teenager, long and lanky, and not particularly curvy like a lot of her classmates. Her hair was blond like mine, but much longer, and curlier, pulled up into a ponytail to stay out of her face. She was pretty—I knew because people we were always telling us so—and had lots of things that she could have been doing with her friends, or alone, or even with me. Lots of things that we were way more fun than this.
Grandma Beatrice smiled, her chapped lips forming new cracks and crevices along their badly damaged surface, little pieces of slimy white skin sticking at the corner of her mouth a
Moving to CanadaDear World,
This may come as some surprise to you, although considering the current political devastation, it probably should not: I am moving to Canada. Now I know that you will be heartbroken, that you will miss my daily presence, but fear not. I still have a facebook where I will continue posting political commentary and sharing the pictures that have changed the world through cute little phrases and pictures of puppies.
I would like to leave you with a few words, to impart my wisdom and to let those few liberal minds who have yet to be un-friended know just why I have decided to make such a leap. It can be summed up in one word, and I urge you to keep reading even though I include this Satanic phrase in my post: Obama. There, I said it, and I promise not to say it again. This man, or more likely, Muslim-African-Devil bent on destroying our country from the inside out, is the cause for my departure. I had thought that the American people would recognize their stupidity the second ti
Reporting for DutyThere wasn't a lot to look at, Ginny Sullivan decided, gazing around at the hallway. Had the hallway been more tastefully done she would have said that the designer's favorite color was brown, but as it was, Ginny doubted a designer was involved in the choice of décor at all. More likely, the state bought whatever paint was on sale and said it matched. The ending result was very beigedull, overworked, and overused. It was not a particularly uplifting color.
Had Ginny Sullivan redone the hallway she would have made it orange. No one had orange walls because old people found them too bright. That would at least make the hallway a little more original.
And it really ought to be more original, Ginny thought. She had been sitting there for nearly a half hour, and there was nothing much to do but stare at the walls. Others were on the benches near her, some reading books, others dozing with their head tilted to one side, but only she was really taking in her surroundings.