Six months later, Rachel was working with a counter-witch-doctor who specialised in these sort of curses. Slowly, she was learning to check the features she saw in the mirror against reality. Her nose – green, warty and dripping? When she ran her fingers over its length, she discovered that it was actually straight, smooth and dry.
“Your fingers must be your new eyes!” explained the counter-witch-doctor. “They don't lie to you.”
“It's a hard road,” he'd explained to Cindy and George, “but she's got you two for support, and I think she'll be OK.”
Rachel sighed. This was hard work, and the progress was slow.
“Why does this take so long?” she complained, “That stupid witch cursed me in a couple of minutes, and probably went home and forgot all about it... why do I have to suffer for her bad temper?”
“It's a mystery,” agreed the counter-witch-doctor, “but I guess that if we couldn't do anything nasty to anyone, we wouldn't have any free will at all. And you know... you're kind of lucky”
“LUCKY????” Rachel yelled.
“Yup, lucky,” the counter-witch-doctor nodded. “You know, you have two parents who love you and watch over you carefully, and support you in everything. Most kids I see have actually been cursed by their parents, over and over, every day of their lives.”
Rachel thought about that a bit.
“Hmmm, you could be right...” she said reluctantly, “I just want to finally see the real me..”
The counter-witch-doctor rolled his eyes sympathetically, “Oh, join the club, Rachel!” he said. “I've been trying to see the real me for decades! You'll get closer, though, I promise you that!”
29 December 2007
The Witch's Curse - Part 3
15 years later
Little Rachel was a stunning teenager. And not in a bad way. Her hair was dark brown and glossy, and curled gently around her ears. Her eyes were bright and brown. Her face was sort of triangle-shaped, with a not-too-pointy chin which stuck out when she felt stubborn. She was beautiful inside and out.
Cindy was perplexed. She knew that witch had had power. She knew that Rachel had been cursed. So... what had happened? Had something intervened? Carefully, she watched her little girl. She made her wear a hat. She made sure she didn't eat too much junk. Ballet and aerobics provided her exercise – she didn't want a car accident or something nasty to fulfil the curse all of a sudden. Wrap her in cotton wool? Well, maybe, but at least her daughter was safe!
But the old witch was just more wily than she seemed. Instead of making the little girl look ugly to everyone else, she made her look ugly only to herself.
Rachel, on the other hand, felt lost. No – what she mostly felt was fat. And ugly. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw a short, fat, spotty, green, ugly toad-like creature. Little did she know that it was a trollette spending some time in the mirror world as a favour to the old crone – not her true reflection at all.
So Rachel dieted. She slathered on facial treatments. She 'borrowed' her mother's makeup. Nothing seemed to make a bit of difference. Every morning, her grotesque reflection stared back at her. Cover-up makeup just accentuated the zits and craters and miscellaneous marks. Push-up bras looked lumpy. Everything bulged in all the wrong places, no matter how well it was tailored. And no-one else would ever admit to a thing being wrong – because of course, they saw the REAL Rachel. Rachel, however, didn't see it that way. Everyone around her was lying to make her feel better. If only someone would have the guts to tell her the TRUTH!
Still, it was a surprise to her parents when they finally realised that their beautiful girl was starving herself to get thinner. She was already slim, even the scales agreed... but the mirror told her she was fat, fat, fat! So she dieted. She alloted a piece of fruit and a carrot to each day, eating slowly and carefully. If her willpower failed, she purged. Her parents watched the kilograms slip off and worried. Finally, they sat down with her for a 'talk'.
Rachel sighed. She didn't see the issue. She was fat and ugly – she was dieting so that she could at least be thin and not-quite-so-ugly. She explained this, calmly and logically. Suddenly, a light switched on in Cindy's head.
“The curse!” she exclaimed.
“No, I haven't had my period for a while” said Rachel, baffled.
“No no no!” Cindy shook her head, “a witch cursed you when I was pregnant with you! I TOLD you!” (this last directed at George) “I thought... when you grew up so beautiful and nice... that your dad was right, and she was just an old woman with a few screws loose who thought she was a witch! But I understand now... she's let you grow up as you should have, except she's changed how you see yourself. And I've made things worse by cossetting you... oh I've been so STUPID! Why didn't I see?”
Rachel looked at her, speechless.
“Ummmm...” she managed. Then she shook herself, and got back in control. “You mean... you honestly don't think I'm ugly? Or fat? Or stupid?”
“Oh, darling!” Cindy sobbed, “I'm not that dumb! But I just don't know how to convince you!”
Little Rachel was a stunning teenager. And not in a bad way. Her hair was dark brown and glossy, and curled gently around her ears. Her eyes were bright and brown. Her face was sort of triangle-shaped, with a not-too-pointy chin which stuck out when she felt stubborn. She was beautiful inside and out.
Cindy was perplexed. She knew that witch had had power. She knew that Rachel had been cursed. So... what had happened? Had something intervened? Carefully, she watched her little girl. She made her wear a hat. She made sure she didn't eat too much junk. Ballet and aerobics provided her exercise – she didn't want a car accident or something nasty to fulfil the curse all of a sudden. Wrap her in cotton wool? Well, maybe, but at least her daughter was safe!
But the old witch was just more wily than she seemed. Instead of making the little girl look ugly to everyone else, she made her look ugly only to herself.
Rachel, on the other hand, felt lost. No – what she mostly felt was fat. And ugly. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw a short, fat, spotty, green, ugly toad-like creature. Little did she know that it was a trollette spending some time in the mirror world as a favour to the old crone – not her true reflection at all.
So Rachel dieted. She slathered on facial treatments. She 'borrowed' her mother's makeup. Nothing seemed to make a bit of difference. Every morning, her grotesque reflection stared back at her. Cover-up makeup just accentuated the zits and craters and miscellaneous marks. Push-up bras looked lumpy. Everything bulged in all the wrong places, no matter how well it was tailored. And no-one else would ever admit to a thing being wrong – because of course, they saw the REAL Rachel. Rachel, however, didn't see it that way. Everyone around her was lying to make her feel better. If only someone would have the guts to tell her the TRUTH!
Still, it was a surprise to her parents when they finally realised that their beautiful girl was starving herself to get thinner. She was already slim, even the scales agreed... but the mirror told her she was fat, fat, fat! So she dieted. She alloted a piece of fruit and a carrot to each day, eating slowly and carefully. If her willpower failed, she purged. Her parents watched the kilograms slip off and worried. Finally, they sat down with her for a 'talk'.
Rachel sighed. She didn't see the issue. She was fat and ugly – she was dieting so that she could at least be thin and not-quite-so-ugly. She explained this, calmly and logically. Suddenly, a light switched on in Cindy's head.
“The curse!” she exclaimed.
“No, I haven't had my period for a while” said Rachel, baffled.
“No no no!” Cindy shook her head, “a witch cursed you when I was pregnant with you! I TOLD you!” (this last directed at George) “I thought... when you grew up so beautiful and nice... that your dad was right, and she was just an old woman with a few screws loose who thought she was a witch! But I understand now... she's let you grow up as you should have, except she's changed how you see yourself. And I've made things worse by cossetting you... oh I've been so STUPID! Why didn't I see?”
Rachel looked at her, speechless.
“Ummmm...” she managed. Then she shook herself, and got back in control. “You mean... you honestly don't think I'm ugly? Or fat? Or stupid?”
“Oh, darling!” Cindy sobbed, “I'm not that dumb! But I just don't know how to convince you!”
The Witch's Curse - Part 2
The hag straightened, grew to twice her height, turned purple (not an attractive shade of purple, of course) and SCREAMED.
“HOWWWW DARE YOOOOOU!!!!!!” she thundered. “A witch's anger you earned – a witch's curse you reap! A girl you bear, a beauty she would be – but ugly and fat forever see! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you stuck-up snip!”
POOF! She vanished in a cloud of bad-smelling smoke, setting off the smoke detectors.
Cindy – wet, cold and very upset – sat at her workdesk talking to her husband.
“But George, she cursed me!” she explained for the tenth time.
“Sweetie, she was just a nutty old lady with a mean streak a mile wide... call the police, report her, and forget about it” George advised for the fifth time.
“But... she rhymed!” Cindy wept. “Normal nutty people don't rhyme. People with weird powers rhyme!”
George sighed. This was one 'discussion' he could tell he wasn't going to win.
============================================================================
The baby was born 26 weeks later. She was beautiful – well, as beautiful as babies get. She was a little squashed-looking, and bright red, and bald... but the nurses assured Cindy that it would definitely pass. Cindy wasn't so sure. She knew babies didn't look like that for long. But her baby was cursed, and she didn't know what to do.
“HOWWWW DARE YOOOOOU!!!!!!” she thundered. “A witch's anger you earned – a witch's curse you reap! A girl you bear, a beauty she would be – but ugly and fat forever see! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you stuck-up snip!”
POOF! She vanished in a cloud of bad-smelling smoke, setting off the smoke detectors.
Cindy – wet, cold and very upset – sat at her workdesk talking to her husband.
“But George, she cursed me!” she explained for the tenth time.
“Sweetie, she was just a nutty old lady with a mean streak a mile wide... call the police, report her, and forget about it” George advised for the fifth time.
“But... she rhymed!” Cindy wept. “Normal nutty people don't rhyme. People with weird powers rhyme!”
George sighed. This was one 'discussion' he could tell he wasn't going to win.
============================================================================
The baby was born 26 weeks later. She was beautiful – well, as beautiful as babies get. She was a little squashed-looking, and bright red, and bald... but the nurses assured Cindy that it would definitely pass. Cindy wasn't so sure. She knew babies didn't look like that for long. But her baby was cursed, and she didn't know what to do.
11 December 2007
The Witch's Curse - Part 1
Once upon a time, a boy fell in love with a girl, and vice versa. They got married, and in a good amount of time, the girl got pregnant.
One day, the girl – Cindy – was travelling to work on the train. She'd managed to get a seat, and was enjoying the rare privilege. Suddenly, her attention was dragged away from her book with a loud AHEM! Standing in front of her was the oldest, ugliest woman that she had ever seen. It wasn't so much the woman's features that were ugly, though – it was the clear evidence that she'd spent the last 80 years scowling at the world. Her mouth was turned down, with so many frown lines that she couldn't have smiled even if she'd changed her ways and wanted to. Her forehead was creased into a permanent glower. Crow's feet? Not for this charming old soul. You had to smile occasionally to get crow's feet.
“This generation are so RUDE!” exclaimed the old woman loudly. Everyone not listening to their mp3 players turned to look. “LOOK at this girl,” she continued, “won't even get up to give a poor old woman her seat!”
“ummm...” said Cindy, embarrassed.
“And she doesn't care a BIT that I could fall and fracture my hip, and die in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, without my loved ones around me to soften my last minutes!” the ugly old woman yelled, sobbing realistically. People who HAD been listening to mp3 players took off their headphones to see what was going on. Almost everyone shot dirty, disgusted glances at Cindy. Strangely, though, none of the other seated passengers offered their own seat instead.
“I'm pregnant and my back hurts” Cindy whispered.
“Oh, stop making excuses!” the old woman screamed into her face. “You're just a selfish little bitch! Aren't you?”
“NO!” Cindy yelled, finally snapping. “I'm pregnant, you old harpy, and my back hurts, and I'm sick, and I'm emotional, and I don't need some stupid miserable hag making my life hell because she can't find happiness in anything decent! Go annoy someone else, and leave me the hell alone!” But the unusual emotion and exertion upset her stomach just that little more than usual, and Cindy threw up all over the old hag's shoes.
One day, the girl – Cindy – was travelling to work on the train. She'd managed to get a seat, and was enjoying the rare privilege. Suddenly, her attention was dragged away from her book with a loud AHEM! Standing in front of her was the oldest, ugliest woman that she had ever seen. It wasn't so much the woman's features that were ugly, though – it was the clear evidence that she'd spent the last 80 years scowling at the world. Her mouth was turned down, with so many frown lines that she couldn't have smiled even if she'd changed her ways and wanted to. Her forehead was creased into a permanent glower. Crow's feet? Not for this charming old soul. You had to smile occasionally to get crow's feet.
“This generation are so RUDE!” exclaimed the old woman loudly. Everyone not listening to their mp3 players turned to look. “LOOK at this girl,” she continued, “won't even get up to give a poor old woman her seat!”
“ummm...” said Cindy, embarrassed.
“And she doesn't care a BIT that I could fall and fracture my hip, and die in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, without my loved ones around me to soften my last minutes!” the ugly old woman yelled, sobbing realistically. People who HAD been listening to mp3 players took off their headphones to see what was going on. Almost everyone shot dirty, disgusted glances at Cindy. Strangely, though, none of the other seated passengers offered their own seat instead.
“I'm pregnant and my back hurts” Cindy whispered.
“Oh, stop making excuses!” the old woman screamed into her face. “You're just a selfish little bitch! Aren't you?”
“NO!” Cindy yelled, finally snapping. “I'm pregnant, you old harpy, and my back hurts, and I'm sick, and I'm emotional, and I don't need some stupid miserable hag making my life hell because she can't find happiness in anything decent! Go annoy someone else, and leave me the hell alone!” But the unusual emotion and exertion upset her stomach just that little more than usual, and Cindy threw up all over the old hag's shoes.
24 November 2007
The Changeling - Part 3
NEXT DAY
Kylie and Justin woke just after dawn to the sound of a blood-curdling, bubbling scream. They leapt out of bed as one, and headed out to the landing. Nothing. Justin called 000.
An hour later, a policeman knocked on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “are you the folk who called Emergency?”
“We are” said Justin, “is everything OK?”
“Ummm..” said the policeman, “we're not sure. Do you know if your neighbour Mrs Gabbage was home last night?”
“Well, she was banging on the wall yesterday evening, and whenever the baby woke up,” stated Kylie, “or at least someone was – from her apartment, as usual.”
“Oh...” said the policeman, “You see, all we found was a pile of clothing and some gunge... ummm... do you know if she was a witch, at all?”
Justin and Kylie looked at each other, perturbed. “We think so?”
“Hmmmm... suicide, then,” pondered the policeman. “The door was locked, the windows were bolted... she had to have poured that water on herself. Unless of course she had a leak somewhere... hehehe... sorry, terrible taste to be making jokes, so sorry, I'll leave now!”
“OH. MY. GOD.” squealed the fairy godfather, “She was THAT sort of witch? I never would have guessed. I can't imagine how she did it though, she only should have melted a little! Oh darlings, the bill's on me, I feel terrible!”
Half an hour later, the fairy godfather called them back. “You know how the old idiot died?” he demanded, “Eddy the brownie saw it all. She was preparing a 'pee yourself every 5 minutes' hex for your baby, the naughty wench! Then she tripped and got it on herself instead... and lo and behold, pee melts witches too! She was hoist with her own petard!”
The baby cooed and giggled contently.
Kylie and Justin woke just after dawn to the sound of a blood-curdling, bubbling scream. They leapt out of bed as one, and headed out to the landing. Nothing. Justin called 000.
An hour later, a policeman knocked on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “are you the folk who called Emergency?”
“We are” said Justin, “is everything OK?”
“Ummm..” said the policeman, “we're not sure. Do you know if your neighbour Mrs Gabbage was home last night?”
“Well, she was banging on the wall yesterday evening, and whenever the baby woke up,” stated Kylie, “or at least someone was – from her apartment, as usual.”
“Oh...” said the policeman, “You see, all we found was a pile of clothing and some gunge... ummm... do you know if she was a witch, at all?”
Justin and Kylie looked at each other, perturbed. “We think so?”
“Hmmmm... suicide, then,” pondered the policeman. “The door was locked, the windows were bolted... she had to have poured that water on herself. Unless of course she had a leak somewhere... hehehe... sorry, terrible taste to be making jokes, so sorry, I'll leave now!”
“OH. MY. GOD.” squealed the fairy godfather, “She was THAT sort of witch? I never would have guessed. I can't imagine how she did it though, she only should have melted a little! Oh darlings, the bill's on me, I feel terrible!”
Half an hour later, the fairy godfather called them back. “You know how the old idiot died?” he demanded, “Eddy the brownie saw it all. She was preparing a 'pee yourself every 5 minutes' hex for your baby, the naughty wench! Then she tripped and got it on herself instead... and lo and behold, pee melts witches too! She was hoist with her own petard!”
The baby cooed and giggled contently.
The Changeling - Part 2
The next day, 2 hours of broken sleep later, they had their answer.
“It's that hag who lives next door to you, dearies” explained the fairy godfather, “she's hated you for years, apparently your kitchen tap drips far too loudly.”
Kylie and Justin looked at each other, confusion waxing and waning. “THAT'S why she kept banging on the wall in the middle of the night?” Justin asked, “Sheesh, we thought she thought we were having sex or something!”
“What do we do now?” asked Kylie.
“Wellll...” the fairy godfather drawled, examining a nail, “We could counter-curse her – it's only fair. And she'd be so busy getting rid of it she'd take her energy away from keeping up her own curses”
“Ummm...” said Kylie. “Would that hurt her?”
“Ohhh, you're no fun!” pouted the fairy godfather. “Alright, just something annoying, then. A leaky tap in her kitchen. And I'll charge you mate's rates, because your husband's so darn cute! Rowwwwr!” And with a flick of his wrist, he vanished.
“That stupid woman!” yelled Kylie, then quieted her voice when a banging on the wall was heard. “She's caused herself more annoyance just to upset us – what a twit! Do you think she's incompetent? Mentally unstable?”
“Probably, darling,” Justin grinned, “after all, it takes a strange person to curse someone... or arrange for it!” He ducked and ran, with a skill born of long practice.
“It's that hag who lives next door to you, dearies” explained the fairy godfather, “she's hated you for years, apparently your kitchen tap drips far too loudly.”
Kylie and Justin looked at each other, confusion waxing and waning. “THAT'S why she kept banging on the wall in the middle of the night?” Justin asked, “Sheesh, we thought she thought we were having sex or something!”
“What do we do now?” asked Kylie.
“Wellll...” the fairy godfather drawled, examining a nail, “We could counter-curse her – it's only fair. And she'd be so busy getting rid of it she'd take her energy away from keeping up her own curses”
“Ummm...” said Kylie. “Would that hurt her?”
“Ohhh, you're no fun!” pouted the fairy godfather. “Alright, just something annoying, then. A leaky tap in her kitchen. And I'll charge you mate's rates, because your husband's so darn cute! Rowwwwr!” And with a flick of his wrist, he vanished.
“That stupid woman!” yelled Kylie, then quieted her voice when a banging on the wall was heard. “She's caused herself more annoyance just to upset us – what a twit! Do you think she's incompetent? Mentally unstable?”
“Probably, darling,” Justin grinned, “after all, it takes a strange person to curse someone... or arrange for it!” He ducked and ran, with a skill born of long practice.
The Changeling - Part 1
Kylie looked at the baby and pulled out another handful of hair. Was this why new mothers complained about losing hair after giving birth? She was honestly at her wits' end. He wasn't sleepy. He wasn't hungry. He'd burped 5 times – surely enough to bring up any wind. He had a clean nappy, no nappy rash. He wasn't hot, he wasn't cold. The baby screwed his face into an uglier grimace and turned up the scream volume another notch. The old lady in the flat next door banged on the wall, but Kylie could only hear the banging while the baby was taking a breath.
Justin wandered in, bleary-eyed and looking like death warmed up.
“What's wrong with him?” he asked.
“I HAVE NO BLOODY IDEA!!!” screamed Kylie, snapping the cords that tied her to a semblance of sanity.
Justin took a few steps back and stared at her from the relative safety of the hallway.
“Ummmm...” he attempted, then gave up and went back to bed.
The baby stopped screaming, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and went to sleep. Ruth stretched out on the floor next to the cot and slept too – for a whole half hour.
“There there dear, it'll get easier,” soothed Kylie's fairy godmother, Ruth, on the phone the next morning. “They all go through this love, you can survive it!”
Kylie sighed, hung up the phone, and wondered.
Justin brought her a cup of coffee. “What'd she say?” he asked.
“Oh, the usual crap,” she said “It'll get easier!” She kicked the fridge, then hopped around the kitchen squealing in pain.
“Hmmm... I think maybe we need a fairy godfather on the job, darling.” Justin pondered, “And I know just the fellow!”
“Ohhh, that's terrible, pet!” George said swishily a few minutes later. “It sounds like a nasty-wasty curse. I'll see what the word on the street is, darlings. Toodle-oo!”
“A curse?” Kylie asked the empty air. “To... what? Make the baby cry? Who'd do such a horrible thing? Why on earth would anyone put a hex on a baby?”
23 November 2007
Juliette and the Beast
Once upon a time, a beautiful, intelligent woman fell in love with an ogre, because that's what beautiful, intelligent women are supposed to do.
Her name was Juliette. She was blue-eyed, with an oval face and light brown hair. Her nose was straight, symmetrical and just the right size. Her bachelor's degree hung demurely on her bedroom wall. The rose-coloured glasses she'd had since she was young and innocent sat on the bridge of her nose, making everything seem even better than it was.
His name was Urg, because that was the sound he mostly made. His fur was long, coarse and matted somewhat around his nether regions. When he farted, children fainted. When he smiled at Juliette in the pub, she swooned. Unfortunately, she assumed that this meant love, rather than intoxication and airborne poisons from chronic bad breath.
So Juliette loved Urg. She loved him with a devotion that the stars and planets themselves could envy. He moved into her flat. She cooked him dinners. She picked up his dirt-and-other-stuff-besmeared-undies from the kitchen table, the TV, and any other place it pleased him to throw them. She did his laundry and paid his credit card bill and bought him a mobile phone, and considered herself the luckiest woman in the world.
Urg, on the other hand, wasn't particularly happy. Juliette didn't have sex with him nearly often enough. She circled job ads in the newspaper for him. She encouraged him to bathe. He growled. He sulked. He started to throw completely understandable tantrums whenever she made an unreasonable demand. And Juliette smiled, and thought that all ogres were the same, you had to take the good with the bad. After all, he loved her – deeply, madly, truly.
“You don't have to date an ogre, you know,” said Juliette's friend Marge. “I mean, you could date a human being.”
“Oh goodness, what an idea!” dreamed Juliette, “But you know all the good ones are chasing after fairies and elves. No, Urg loves me, he's just a bit troubled. Growing up as an ogre, you know.”
Marge sighed, shook her head, and shut the hell up.
Three years of not-quite-bliss (nothing like it, in fact) later, Juliette asked Urg to marry her.
“Urg...” said Urg, as he watched the football.
Juliette started shopping for the dress.
Urg played World of Warcraft, and wondered vaguely where his dinner was.
“Ummm...” said Marge, “does Urg know he's getting married?”
“Of course!” scoffed Juliette. “He's an ogre, not an idiot!”
Juliette poked Urg to distract him from WoW for a second. Without a sideways glance, Urg backhanded her across the room.
“Urg” said Juliette (grunting, not talking to her fiance). “I shouldn't ave poked him.”
Marge was horrified. “I told you not to date a stupid ogre! He's beating you!”
“Yes, but only when I need it,” said Juliette, reasonably. “And he's an ogre, it's affectionate. Don't be silly, Marge, I'm going to be a bride! Can't you be happy for me?” And she skipped away happily, only a little lopsided where her ankle was a tiny bit sprained.
Juliette was euphorically happy. So was Urg, who'd just killed an elf and gotten all of his treasure (on WoW this time).
“FOOOOOOOOD!!!!” yelled Urg.
“Coming!” shouted Juliette.
Urg sniffed at the fettucini and threw it at the wall. “URG!” he stated, emphatically.
Juliette stared.
“URRRGG!” he yelled at her, and knocked her across the room again. But this time, he knocked her glasses off, and they smashed on the floor. Juliette shook her head muzzily, and stared at him again.
“Why, you're nothing but a stupid violent ogre!” she yelled, and hit Urg over the head with a baseball bat. Urg wasn't hurt, but he was a little surprised. Then she hit him in the groin, and all the matted fur in the world didn't stop that one hurting.
“URGGGGG!” he screamed, and lumbered out of the house, never to be seen again.
Juliette cried, and looked around without her glasses. The world looked so dreary without them. Everything was so grey, and ugly, and scary-looking. The glasses had made it all so pretty... and this was what it was really like?
Marge walked up the path and, seeing the door in splinters from Urg's escape, advanced carefully up the hall. “Juliette?” she called tentatively.
Juliette hunched and hesitated to turn, wondering what her best friend would look like without the glasses. Eventually she turned around. Lo and behold – her friend looked exactly the same. In a world of blah and grey, Marge stood out like a rose. “Marge, I broke my glasses!” she cried.
“Awwww, don't worry about those stupid things!” said Marge. “There's a new elf bar opened downtown... let's go perve!”
And Juliette laughed, and put on her coat, and figured that life wasn't so bad with a few good friends and a new pair of shoes now and then.
Her name was Juliette. She was blue-eyed, with an oval face and light brown hair. Her nose was straight, symmetrical and just the right size. Her bachelor's degree hung demurely on her bedroom wall. The rose-coloured glasses she'd had since she was young and innocent sat on the bridge of her nose, making everything seem even better than it was.
His name was Urg, because that was the sound he mostly made. His fur was long, coarse and matted somewhat around his nether regions. When he farted, children fainted. When he smiled at Juliette in the pub, she swooned. Unfortunately, she assumed that this meant love, rather than intoxication and airborne poisons from chronic bad breath.
So Juliette loved Urg. She loved him with a devotion that the stars and planets themselves could envy. He moved into her flat. She cooked him dinners. She picked up his dirt-and-other-stuff-besmeared-undies from the kitchen table, the TV, and any other place it pleased him to throw them. She did his laundry and paid his credit card bill and bought him a mobile phone, and considered herself the luckiest woman in the world.
Urg, on the other hand, wasn't particularly happy. Juliette didn't have sex with him nearly often enough. She circled job ads in the newspaper for him. She encouraged him to bathe. He growled. He sulked. He started to throw completely understandable tantrums whenever she made an unreasonable demand. And Juliette smiled, and thought that all ogres were the same, you had to take the good with the bad. After all, he loved her – deeply, madly, truly.
“You don't have to date an ogre, you know,” said Juliette's friend Marge. “I mean, you could date a human being.”
“Oh goodness, what an idea!” dreamed Juliette, “But you know all the good ones are chasing after fairies and elves. No, Urg loves me, he's just a bit troubled. Growing up as an ogre, you know.”
Marge sighed, shook her head, and shut the hell up.
Three years of not-quite-bliss (nothing like it, in fact) later, Juliette asked Urg to marry her.
“Urg...” said Urg, as he watched the football.
Juliette started shopping for the dress.
Urg played World of Warcraft, and wondered vaguely where his dinner was.
“Ummm...” said Marge, “does Urg know he's getting married?”
“Of course!” scoffed Juliette. “He's an ogre, not an idiot!”
Juliette poked Urg to distract him from WoW for a second. Without a sideways glance, Urg backhanded her across the room.
“Urg” said Juliette (grunting, not talking to her fiance). “I shouldn't ave poked him.”
Marge was horrified. “I told you not to date a stupid ogre! He's beating you!”
“Yes, but only when I need it,” said Juliette, reasonably. “And he's an ogre, it's affectionate. Don't be silly, Marge, I'm going to be a bride! Can't you be happy for me?” And she skipped away happily, only a little lopsided where her ankle was a tiny bit sprained.
Juliette was euphorically happy. So was Urg, who'd just killed an elf and gotten all of his treasure (on WoW this time).
“FOOOOOOOOD!!!!” yelled Urg.
“Coming!” shouted Juliette.
Urg sniffed at the fettucini and threw it at the wall. “URG!” he stated, emphatically.
Juliette stared.
“URRRGG!” he yelled at her, and knocked her across the room again. But this time, he knocked her glasses off, and they smashed on the floor. Juliette shook her head muzzily, and stared at him again.
“Why, you're nothing but a stupid violent ogre!” she yelled, and hit Urg over the head with a baseball bat. Urg wasn't hurt, but he was a little surprised. Then she hit him in the groin, and all the matted fur in the world didn't stop that one hurting.
“URGGGGG!” he screamed, and lumbered out of the house, never to be seen again.
Juliette cried, and looked around without her glasses. The world looked so dreary without them. Everything was so grey, and ugly, and scary-looking. The glasses had made it all so pretty... and this was what it was really like?
Marge walked up the path and, seeing the door in splinters from Urg's escape, advanced carefully up the hall. “Juliette?” she called tentatively.
Juliette hunched and hesitated to turn, wondering what her best friend would look like without the glasses. Eventually she turned around. Lo and behold – her friend looked exactly the same. In a world of blah and grey, Marge stood out like a rose. “Marge, I broke my glasses!” she cried.
“Awwww, don't worry about those stupid things!” said Marge. “There's a new elf bar opened downtown... let's go perve!”
And Juliette laughed, and put on her coat, and figured that life wasn't so bad with a few good friends and a new pair of shoes now and then.
07 September 2007
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 4)
FRIDAY
Sally came into work early and relaxed. She headed straight for the kitchenette to make herself a coffee.
In front of the coffee machine, hulking and huge, stood an ogre. No mistaking it, even for a normal girl like Sally – his skin was pale green and scaly, he had two horns, and he smelt like week-old trash marinated in sewerage. The only unogre-ish thing about him was the pale pink silk hankerchief draping out of the pocket of his (huge) Armani suit.
She drew a breath to scream, and choked on the smell, coughing and spluttering.
“Don't bother screaming” said the ogre. “I'm Dan, your new boss.”
Sally stared.
The ogre stuck a hand out to be shaken. “I hear your old boss was an incredible softie.”
Moral of the Story?
There's always another manager.
Sally came into work early and relaxed. She headed straight for the kitchenette to make herself a coffee.
In front of the coffee machine, hulking and huge, stood an ogre. No mistaking it, even for a normal girl like Sally – his skin was pale green and scaly, he had two horns, and he smelt like week-old trash marinated in sewerage. The only unogre-ish thing about him was the pale pink silk hankerchief draping out of the pocket of his (huge) Armani suit.
She drew a breath to scream, and choked on the smell, coughing and spluttering.
“Don't bother screaming” said the ogre. “I'm Dan, your new boss.”
Sally stared.
The ogre stuck a hand out to be shaken. “I hear your old boss was an incredible softie.”
Moral of the Story?
There's always another manager.
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 3)
THURSDAY
Sally and her coworkers sat at their boring cubicles, doing their boring work, and felt as though they were the luckiest people in the world. The tyrant was gone – they were free! They were still bored and dull, but life was good.
Sally and her coworkers sat at their boring cubicles, doing their boring work, and felt as though they were the luckiest people in the world. The tyrant was gone – they were free! They were still bored and dull, but life was good.
06 September 2007
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 2)
WEDNESDAY
Sally entered the office with a hint of trepidation. Everything looked perfectly normal. She peered into her boss's office on the way to her cubicle – empty as normal (he typically got in late and left early – regular hours and overtime were for the plebs). Nothing was out of place. Probably, she thought with rising hopefulness, the cleaner had forgotten his bizarre promise 5 seconds after he'd wandered away.
Wednesday was meeting day. You'd expect a break from dull routine to be welcomed, but somehow work meetings managed to be duller and feel more routine than even the work managed to be. Maybe it was because lots of people, all radiating dullness and hopelessness, were stuck in a small space together instead of dispersing their misery over the office.
The boss walked in late (standard) with a scowl on his face (mostly standard – the only time he smiled in a meeting was when someone was about to be publicly humiliated or fired). He sat down, farted loudly (not standard) and blushed (extremely non-standard). He picked up a pen, which exploded. Not a minute into the meeting, and he looked ready to cry or explode himself. Sally wiped a drop of ink from her cheek and boggled, while trying to pretend she was noticing nothing. All around her, she heard the sound of desperately-muffled chuckles giving way to fits of fake coughing.
Brownies?
The manager thumped the desk, and said, “Right, let's start this meeting! Stuart – what's the status of -”
He coughed. He spluttered. He hacked... and out of his mouth came something looking suspiciously like a furball to Sally's practiced (cat-owning) eye.
Stuart – a bit weak-stomached at the best of times – gagged and ran out of the room. Everyone else kept to their seats, too shocked to do anything useful.
Sally smirked internally (never externally – that would be career suicide in this place). Whatever was happening, she was determined to enjoy every minute. The boss slumped, head in hands, silent.
After a number of very quiet, very boring minutes in which everyone glanced covertly around the room while trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone, the boss thumped the desk again. “Meeting adjourned!” he choked out, then strode out of the room, head held high and arms clasped over his abdomen.
Sally returned to her boring cubicle and looked at her work, thinking hard. Brownies? Mischievous ones? Coincidence? Or had the cleaner poisoned her boss's coffee cup or something? Crud, how would she explain herself to a murder investigation? “Well, Your Honour, the cleaner said he was a fairy and would grant me a wish...” She gave in and banged her head on her desk for relief.
“Sleeping again, eh? That performance review is getting worse and worse, girlie!” boomed a familiar, nasally voice. Well, he wasn't THAT sick, she mused angrily. The boss moved on to his next victim – at least, started to, before tripping over nothing and hitting his head on the ceramic ornamental fern pot. Sally choked back the giggle as he bounced to his feet and looked around wildly for whatever had tripped him. Looking just a little red, he gathered his dignity and strode off into the bookshelf. Someone broke, and a coworker was wracked with laughter. The boss, bright red now and with two lumps competing for dominance on his forhead, swore inventively and fired the nearest employee.
“Someone didn't have his morning coffee,” whispered Stuart from the other side of her cubicle. “Cripes... have you ever seen him so mad?”
“Only that time when his wife walked in, told the entire office that she hadn't had a decent shag in the ten years they'd been married, then dumped him!” whispered Sally.
Stuart boggled, “I missed THAT?”
“Nah, I made it up. She should, though, I reckon it's true!” whispered Sally, then ducked down to avoid the enraged glare of the wounded boss.
The day passed, with miscellaneous mishaps causing regular bellows of fury from the direction of the boss's office. The employees kept a low profile, attempting to reign in their sniggers and keep their whispers from reaching the (bright red) ears of the boss.
Just before 4:30, the fire alarm went off. As the employees dutifully traipsed toward the fire stairs to complete the drill, they were met with firemen – armed with fire extinguishers – heading into their office. What the heck was going on? Not a drill after all?
They met and waited downstairs for more than the usual ten minutes. Just as people started to look impatiently at their watches and mutter about going home and overtime, the firemen re-emerged. Between two large, burly firemen was dragged a small, weedy man covered in foam, with curls of smoke still rising from his head.
He was delivered to a waiting ambulance. Frank, edging as close as he could get unobtrusively, returned wide-eyed with the news.
“They reckon he set himself alight... just his hair! Some weird psychosis! I'd say they're taking him to the mental health hospital down the road.”
Stuart grinned, “He's not going to be back in a hurry – halle-bloody-lujah!” he crowed. “That man's been driving me batty since I started here... thank God he's gotten some of his own back, the great psycho!”
Sally collected her belongings and headed home, deep in thought. The 'fairy' had certainly delivered. Coincidence?
Sally entered the office with a hint of trepidation. Everything looked perfectly normal. She peered into her boss's office on the way to her cubicle – empty as normal (he typically got in late and left early – regular hours and overtime were for the plebs). Nothing was out of place. Probably, she thought with rising hopefulness, the cleaner had forgotten his bizarre promise 5 seconds after he'd wandered away.
Wednesday was meeting day. You'd expect a break from dull routine to be welcomed, but somehow work meetings managed to be duller and feel more routine than even the work managed to be. Maybe it was because lots of people, all radiating dullness and hopelessness, were stuck in a small space together instead of dispersing their misery over the office.
The boss walked in late (standard) with a scowl on his face (mostly standard – the only time he smiled in a meeting was when someone was about to be publicly humiliated or fired). He sat down, farted loudly (not standard) and blushed (extremely non-standard). He picked up a pen, which exploded. Not a minute into the meeting, and he looked ready to cry or explode himself. Sally wiped a drop of ink from her cheek and boggled, while trying to pretend she was noticing nothing. All around her, she heard the sound of desperately-muffled chuckles giving way to fits of fake coughing.
Brownies?
The manager thumped the desk, and said, “Right, let's start this meeting! Stuart – what's the status of -”
He coughed. He spluttered. He hacked... and out of his mouth came something looking suspiciously like a furball to Sally's practiced (cat-owning) eye.
Stuart – a bit weak-stomached at the best of times – gagged and ran out of the room. Everyone else kept to their seats, too shocked to do anything useful.
Sally smirked internally (never externally – that would be career suicide in this place). Whatever was happening, she was determined to enjoy every minute. The boss slumped, head in hands, silent.
After a number of very quiet, very boring minutes in which everyone glanced covertly around the room while trying to avoid eye-contact with anyone, the boss thumped the desk again. “Meeting adjourned!” he choked out, then strode out of the room, head held high and arms clasped over his abdomen.
Sally returned to her boring cubicle and looked at her work, thinking hard. Brownies? Mischievous ones? Coincidence? Or had the cleaner poisoned her boss's coffee cup or something? Crud, how would she explain herself to a murder investigation? “Well, Your Honour, the cleaner said he was a fairy and would grant me a wish...” She gave in and banged her head on her desk for relief.
“Sleeping again, eh? That performance review is getting worse and worse, girlie!” boomed a familiar, nasally voice. Well, he wasn't THAT sick, she mused angrily. The boss moved on to his next victim – at least, started to, before tripping over nothing and hitting his head on the ceramic ornamental fern pot. Sally choked back the giggle as he bounced to his feet and looked around wildly for whatever had tripped him. Looking just a little red, he gathered his dignity and strode off into the bookshelf. Someone broke, and a coworker was wracked with laughter. The boss, bright red now and with two lumps competing for dominance on his forhead, swore inventively and fired the nearest employee.
“Someone didn't have his morning coffee,” whispered Stuart from the other side of her cubicle. “Cripes... have you ever seen him so mad?”
“Only that time when his wife walked in, told the entire office that she hadn't had a decent shag in the ten years they'd been married, then dumped him!” whispered Sally.
Stuart boggled, “I missed THAT?”
“Nah, I made it up. She should, though, I reckon it's true!” whispered Sally, then ducked down to avoid the enraged glare of the wounded boss.
The day passed, with miscellaneous mishaps causing regular bellows of fury from the direction of the boss's office. The employees kept a low profile, attempting to reign in their sniggers and keep their whispers from reaching the (bright red) ears of the boss.
Just before 4:30, the fire alarm went off. As the employees dutifully traipsed toward the fire stairs to complete the drill, they were met with firemen – armed with fire extinguishers – heading into their office. What the heck was going on? Not a drill after all?
They met and waited downstairs for more than the usual ten minutes. Just as people started to look impatiently at their watches and mutter about going home and overtime, the firemen re-emerged. Between two large, burly firemen was dragged a small, weedy man covered in foam, with curls of smoke still rising from his head.
He was delivered to a waiting ambulance. Frank, edging as close as he could get unobtrusively, returned wide-eyed with the news.
“They reckon he set himself alight... just his hair! Some weird psychosis! I'd say they're taking him to the mental health hospital down the road.”
Stuart grinned, “He's not going to be back in a hurry – halle-bloody-lujah!” he crowed. “That man's been driving me batty since I started here... thank God he's gotten some of his own back, the great psycho!”
Sally collected her belongings and headed home, deep in thought. The 'fairy' had certainly delivered. Coincidence?
05 September 2007
The Fairy and the Ogre (Part 1)
Once upon a time, a young woman sat at a boring desk doing boring work – typing till her fingers bled and reading till her eyeballs fell out.
One Tuesday, as she sat in front of her computer beating her head against her desk in frustration, her boss stopped by for an unwelcome visit.
“Sleeping on the job again, eh?” he boomed nasally, “Better lift that job performance, or you'll lose your bonuses!”
As Sally contemplated the loss of a measly $3.56 annual bonus, her bile rose and she got angry. VERY angry. But what could a mere worker like herself do against the might of management?
That evening, as she labored at her ever-increasing workload, she spied a night-dweller of the office – the cleaner. Hump-backed and quiet, only venturing to speak if spoken to, he shuffled around emptying bins.
“Evening!” she said, attempting a bright smile and succeeding only partially.
“Evening, dear” smiled the cleaner, “you're working late, aren't you?”
Sally looked at her acquaintance, and briefly pondered the office hierarchy which made managers so far above her... and the office of cleaner such a huge distance to fall.
“Do you enjoy your job?” she enquired.
“Well, dear – it's about all I can get, looking the way I do!” the cleaner twinkled cheerfully.
“May I ask... your back...?”
“Oh, that!” he harrumphed. He leant down, “Can you keep a secret, dear?”
“Ummm... I- I- guess so..” stammered Sally, a little bewildered but very, very curious.
The cleaner whipped off his coat (causing Sally a few moments of deep anxiety – an office was no place to be stuck alone, late at night, with a demented sexual predator). On his back was...
... a pair of wings?
Fairy wings.
Translucent, glittery, the works.
What's more, they were firmly attached to his bare back.
“Errrrrr... you're a cleaner dressed as a fairy?” uttered Sally, near lost for words.
“I AM a fairy!” declaimed the cleaner/fairy.
“Oh”
“You don't believe me, do you, dear?” enquired the cleaner/fairy, with a glint in his eye.
“Welllll...” said Sally diplomatically, “It's a bit hard to take in, isn't it? I mean, fairies are kids' stories!”
The cleaner giggled, and Sally started to worry a bit again. Then again, she HAD learnt self-defense. And the cleaner was pretty weedy – she could probably hold him off long enough to call security.
“Tell you what,” suggested the cleaner/fairy, “I'll grant you a wish. Something localised, mind you, and fairly small. No lotto winnings or fancy cars in your driveway, let alone castles built overnight. I'm a fairy, not a genie!”
Sally pondered. She couldn't take this seriously, but she didn't want to seem to NOT take it seriously either...
“Get rid of my boss” she said, “Don't kill him, don't even harm him, just make life a bit hard, make him want to leave. He makes MY life pretty damn hard, I'd like to see him suffer for once.”
The cleaner's eyes brightened. “Perfect!” he announced, rubbing his hands together, “I know the perfect trio of brownies to make his life hell... they love personalised mischief. They'll embarrass him, plague him and make it all look like unlucky coincidence!”
The cleaner wandered off, giggling and muttering under his breath.
Sally, shaken, slumped down in her chair and wondered what on earth she'd just done. Surely at the worst her boss would be in for a couple of slashed tyres or a loosened chair back... something annoying and maybe expensive to fix, but not majorly criminal. She'd hate to have incited a mentally-ill member of the community to cause real damage to someone.
One Tuesday, as she sat in front of her computer beating her head against her desk in frustration, her boss stopped by for an unwelcome visit.
“Sleeping on the job again, eh?” he boomed nasally, “Better lift that job performance, or you'll lose your bonuses!”
As Sally contemplated the loss of a measly $3.56 annual bonus, her bile rose and she got angry. VERY angry. But what could a mere worker like herself do against the might of management?
That evening, as she labored at her ever-increasing workload, she spied a night-dweller of the office – the cleaner. Hump-backed and quiet, only venturing to speak if spoken to, he shuffled around emptying bins.
“Evening!” she said, attempting a bright smile and succeeding only partially.
“Evening, dear” smiled the cleaner, “you're working late, aren't you?”
Sally looked at her acquaintance, and briefly pondered the office hierarchy which made managers so far above her... and the office of cleaner such a huge distance to fall.
“Do you enjoy your job?” she enquired.
“Well, dear – it's about all I can get, looking the way I do!” the cleaner twinkled cheerfully.
“May I ask... your back...?”
“Oh, that!” he harrumphed. He leant down, “Can you keep a secret, dear?”
“Ummm... I- I- guess so..” stammered Sally, a little bewildered but very, very curious.
The cleaner whipped off his coat (causing Sally a few moments of deep anxiety – an office was no place to be stuck alone, late at night, with a demented sexual predator). On his back was...
... a pair of wings?
Fairy wings.
Translucent, glittery, the works.
What's more, they were firmly attached to his bare back.
“Errrrrr... you're a cleaner dressed as a fairy?” uttered Sally, near lost for words.
“I AM a fairy!” declaimed the cleaner/fairy.
“Oh”
“You don't believe me, do you, dear?” enquired the cleaner/fairy, with a glint in his eye.
“Welllll...” said Sally diplomatically, “It's a bit hard to take in, isn't it? I mean, fairies are kids' stories!”
The cleaner giggled, and Sally started to worry a bit again. Then again, she HAD learnt self-defense. And the cleaner was pretty weedy – she could probably hold him off long enough to call security.
“Tell you what,” suggested the cleaner/fairy, “I'll grant you a wish. Something localised, mind you, and fairly small. No lotto winnings or fancy cars in your driveway, let alone castles built overnight. I'm a fairy, not a genie!”
Sally pondered. She couldn't take this seriously, but she didn't want to seem to NOT take it seriously either...
“Get rid of my boss” she said, “Don't kill him, don't even harm him, just make life a bit hard, make him want to leave. He makes MY life pretty damn hard, I'd like to see him suffer for once.”
The cleaner's eyes brightened. “Perfect!” he announced, rubbing his hands together, “I know the perfect trio of brownies to make his life hell... they love personalised mischief. They'll embarrass him, plague him and make it all look like unlucky coincidence!”
The cleaner wandered off, giggling and muttering under his breath.
Sally, shaken, slumped down in her chair and wondered what on earth she'd just done. Surely at the worst her boss would be in for a couple of slashed tyres or a loosened chair back... something annoying and maybe expensive to fix, but not majorly criminal. She'd hate to have incited a mentally-ill member of the community to cause real damage to someone.
01 January 2007
I Would Walk... (part 2)
Monday morning, and George faced an extremely confused, angry boss.
“You're leaving the state and hiking a thousand miles because a woman told you to? Bloody hell, George, we need you here! What are you doing to us?” Mike shook his head and slumped onto the desk. “You're on our top advertising campaign for the entire year! You can't just wander off on some idiotic adventure... there are easier ways of getting laid! Hell, I'll give you some phone numbers!”
“Just wait,” George, inspired, interrupted the monologue, “that campaign's for Powerade – maybe we can spin this into something...”
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