|Once upon a Cloak
Author: Eiya Weathes PM
One-shot: "Merry Christmas my ass, you little piece of unwanted poo! Hand it over!" I am enraged. I am exhausted. I am ticked off. I am running after an old homeless man wearing my granny's clothes. And guess what? I'm also a Leo. / OLD WORKRated: Fiction K+ - English - Family/Humor - Words: 1,013 - Reviews: 20 - Favs: 2 - Published: 12-04-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2870254
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Once upon a Cloak: Thoughts of a Deranged Granny's Girl
A December Writing Challenge Contest prompt…
"Merry Christmas my ass, you little piece of unwanted poo! Hand it over!"
I am undoubtedly enraged. I am exhausted. I am ticked off. I am running after an old homeless man wearing my granny's clothes.
In response to my angry yell, he sticks his tongue out, leaving a smidge of saliva on his prickly beard. For a second, I wonder if his facial hair tastes funny to his tongue. I bet it does.
"Stupid and possibly homosexual hobo," I growl under my breath which causes puffs of white to appear in the air as I tighten my autumn orange scarf around my neck and stop to rest on a bench.
To any regular human being—oh bless his fortunate soul for having the sanity, of which I lack—in New York, I would be seen as a shrieking nineteen year old brunette with chestnut brown eyes suffering from a severe case of dementia.
Oh how clueless. If only everyone in the Big Apple knows what actually started this…perhaps I should explain.
My grandmother, Granny Fanny, is kick ass.
She's the kind of grandma who wears a vintage cloak-like body wrap with a multitude of colors of the rainbow and beyond, and invites her friends to her home for tea. Granny Fanny is definitely not your average senior citizen who's as gaunt as a telephone wire. Heck no. She doesn't bake no batches of triple chocolate cookies, she hands out fancy finger sandwiches and dee-licious scones. She doesn't call me 'dear' in a kind, elderly voice, she calls me 'little ducky' with her thick British accent. I mean, if that doesn't scream "Hey! I'm pretty kick ass awesome!" then I don't know what is.
On the sad note, Granny Fanny moved out of New York a week ago to go back to her roots, also known as Great Britain. I don't get why though. Not to toot my own train whistle and all but what's better than being with me? I'm pretty awesome too!
Anyway, being her favorite grandchild, a title that I am proud to claim, she phoned me, to ask if I could get the rest of her stuff from her small apartment. I, of course, agreed which is why earlier this morning, I went inside her apartment.
Where's the amazingly amazing part? I went inside her apartment just to find a hobo sleeping on the cold hard floorboards while using her signature body wrap as a blanket. A doggone blanket! It was such a travesty to witness. I screamed, cursed—albeit using phrases like 'dang flabbing' and 'oh my leaping bananas'—and chased him out of the building until this very moment.
That cloak is everything to Granny—well, aside from her collection of porcelain teacups—which is why I need to get it back!
I jump out of my sitting position on the bench and start jogging, eyes open and ears attentive for a certain cloak-stealer who I decide to name as 'Sir Cloak-stealer' which is very creative, coming from me.
I am determined. I am a warrior. I am a Leo. Fear my sharp lion-ish claws.
. . .
Minutes pass and I see Sir Cloak-stealer taking a nap on one of the park's benches. He's using my granny's second best, one-of-a-kind darling (Rank one is obviously taken by me, you know) as a stupid source of warmth. Again.
"There you are," I say, referring to the prize of the apple pie: the cloak.
Glancing around, I spot a fallen tree branch nearby. Instantly, an idea starts forming. Cue the light bulb.
Sneakily, and slightly giggling to my self, I pick the tree branch up and pretend to swing it like a baseball bat.
"This will be epic," I declare almost-silently as I chuckled…evilly.
So this is how that evil nerd enemy of Dexter in Dexter's Laboratory feels like…
I advance towards him.
I'm in front of his sleeping form. I feel like a crazed stalker but I don't care. He doesn't even notice me…yet because believe me, he will notice.
This is all for you, Granny. Your little ducky is one hell of a smart fowl.
I tighten my grip on the branch.
I take my position cautiously…
I look for his precious 'valuables'…
I grin in absolute mischief…
I take a deep breath…
Oh to Barney—the dinosaur from our imagination and when he's tall, he's what we call a 'dinosaur sensation'— with it! Two. One.
I swing my mighty sword of tree bark-ness forward, hitting him with a strong force. Now, if anyone is wondering where…then let's just say, I aimed where Mister Sun never really shines.
"Bitch!" he cries out in pain as I hastily grab the cloak from him. "Bitch! Bitch… Son of a bitch!"
Staying indifferent and unfazed, I tell him, "I suggest you add 'wider vocabulary' to your wish list this year and maybe throw in 'blanket' too. Add anything but Granny Fanny's dang flabbing cloak!"
"Bitch!" he groans, hands covering his you-know-what.
I blink at him in response, feeling like the epitome of utmost innocence.
Checking the time on my cell phone, I exclaim, "Oh my leaping bananas! I'm late!" Then turning to Sir Cloak-stealer, "I'm sorry but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do…especially for her kick ass granny."
…And I skipped merrily towards the imaginary sunset, clutching my prize in victory.
This piece is written for December 2010 WCC (Writing Challenge Contest) from Fractured Illusion's forum.
Prompt: www .sourharvest wp-content/uploads/2009/09/Esao-Conjoined-Bell-sma ll . jpg (Remove the spaces)
Copyright Eiya Weathes (Author ID: 697805). All Rights Reserved.