Hi hi hi there! i would like to say ive just read A Clockwork Orange and it is officially my favorite book! if you havent read it i really press that you must! On a different note, this is the story i wrote to enter into the annual F. Scott Fitzgerald Short story contest. Im not sure what i think of it so im interested to know what you do think of it. And keep checking, o my brothers, becasue i have some good stuff to post soon! So sayonara, enjoy, and i will viddy you all later :)
Something in the Food By GEB
Timmy Braden (He was only Timothy when his grades were poor or his chores undone), was a small boy who, being the street sweeper in a very large family, was easily content to be by himself. Sunday afternoon, Timmy would often read in a poorly lit corner of his living room, secure in a tattered sky blue and pink armchair that contrasted the living room drapes, disturbingly enough, to his mother. Timmy’s mother, portly woman that she was, always filled out a sleeveless, all-cotton summer dress, no matter what the occasion. On these warm Sunday afternoons, she bustled back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room; swiftly gliding through the living room in white, almost visibly worn, 4-inch wedge sandals (she feared her heels might scuff the floors). They didn’t acknowledge each other as she passed by. After all, she was busy and he was preoccupied. Tempus, the housecat, trailed behind her expectantly until she disappeared into the kitchen, the poor cat eventually grasping the weak possibility of any affection coming its way. Ultimately, the cat’s eyes seeked out Timmy, to placate its hunger for a friendly hand, as it climbed into his lap. Its back automatically convulsed as if it were ingrained the precise place where Timmy’s hand should meet the cat’s fur. After ages of fur-stroking, Tempus finally settled in Timmy’s lap like a warm ball of dough where it stayed as Timmy continued to read. For the next few peaceful moments, Tempus napped tranquil and still lay oblivious as the kitchen door was hurled open accompanied by a shrill scream and Mrs. Braden, hopping through the doorway, each step a hurdle. Only until Timmy’s reflexes were initiated and he leapt from the chair did Tempus spring off of Timmy’s lap, onto the floor and into the shellshock of the moment.
“Oooh! Oooh! Mice! Ughhh!” she squealed, clutching her faux pearl necklace with one hand, her other hand flailing wildly as she tensed her upper body over and over in disgust. “Timmy,” she said, breathing deeply through her mouth, “Tim, honey, the Hendersons will be here in two hours”. She rested her right hand on Timmy’s shoulder, ruffling his hair in an affectionate-sort-of-way, with her left hand, and then letting it fall to his other shoulder. “And I need you to kill that…thing in the kitchen so I can finish cooking. Can you do that for me honey?” A clattering sound in the kitchen startled her as she jumped up and made for the stairs. Before disappearing behind the stairwell, she reminded Timmy not to leave the body in the kitchen when he was finished.
In the living room, all that remained was a frazzled and cranky cat, a kitchen door shut in haste, and Timmy, stranded with a most unlikely, not to mention, unattractive, responsibility.
Timmy pushed open the kitchen door with extreme care so as not to make a sound. As he scanned the room, a tiny rapid motion caught his peripheral and moving closer, he saw a small gray mouse on the kitchen counter, nibbling on a crumb. Its tail was three pale pink inches long, its fur the color of a storm ridden sky. The little ears moved slightly as the mouse gobbled its prize. Timmy couldn’t see its face, for the mouse was faced the opposite way, so he snuck his way closer to the oblivious mouse, and discreetly curling his hand around the handle of the nearest broom. He kept his eyes pinned on the mouse’s back where he would strike. As he advanced, Timmy heard a small ‘meowww’, and turned around to find Tempus squeezing through the kitchen door behind him. As soon as the door closed behind Tempus, the cat leaped up onto the counter, snipping at the mouse with its teeth, making the mouse spring up unexpectedly and scurry along the counter, closely followed by Tempus and a trail of small red specks on the counter, making it evident that Tempus had almost gotten the best of the little mouse. The mouse made his escape by jumping off of the counter and onto the floor underneath the kitchen table. Tempus reached the edge of the kitchen counter and looked over the edge, eager to make his jump and catch his prey, but the floor was too far down. Pacing reluctantly along the counter, Tempus eyed the mouse on the floor, scheming how to complete his mission, when he slipped into the sink and into Mrs. Braden’s soaking vegetables. Water splashed all over the counter as Timmy sighed heavily lifting the thrashing cat out of the water and putting him down outside of the kitchen, not wanting to deal with two trouble causing vermin. Reentering the kitchen, Timmy knelt down, peeping underneath the table. The mouse was squeaking incessantly, and Timmy noticed that the mouse’s leg was bloody and the poor thing was clearly unable to move. So Timmy reached out his hand towards the mouse only to be met by the mouse with a small attempt at biting the end of Timmy’s finger. His hand quickly retreating, Timmy crawled to the other side of the table and this time grabbed the mouse’s tail quickly and stood up, holding it an arm’s length away. He noticed small crumbs stuck to the mouse’s whiskers and he smiled to himself about this, almost giggling. He heard fingernails drumming on the doorframe behind him and turning his head, his own eyes met his mother’s, who raised one recently plucked raw eyebrow and simply said, “Finish it up.”
Not that he was extremely fond of mice, but instead not so fond of ending the poor things life for the sake of pork chops and boiled vegetables. As soon as his mother disappeared to set the table, Timmy dropped the mouse in his mothers money jar for safekeeping. Once everyone had retired to their rooms for the night, he would remove the mouse and set it loose outside and nobody would be any the wiser. His mother wouldn’t have any reason to dip into the money jar between then and after dinner as far as Timmy could see, so it was a perfect plan. As Timmy exited the kitchen, Mrs. Braden finished her cooking and was wise enough to close the door in the kitchen that lead to the Braden’s backyard.
About fifteen minutes later, the Hendersons did in fact arrive at the Braden household equipped with empty stomachs and neighborhood gossip for all. A little earlier than that came the rest of Timmy’s family, including his father, home from a day’s work, his three older sisters, only sisters in blood, and his three older brothers, who all were the quintessential sons and could always play up their charisma anytime they felt. Before dinner, they all munched on small crackers with bits of cheese on them as they made polite conversation that would hopefully lead to intense discussion among the men or chitchat, jam-packed with anecdotes, among the ladies. During the small talk that transpired in the living room, Mrs. Braden emerged from the kitchen, greeting everyone once or twice on her way to the chair where Timmy had quietly set himself. She leaned forward and whispered that there was not enough pork chops for everyone to have one to themselves. Timmy was admittedly confused as to why she was telling him this, but then she began to design her real motive. She asked if Timmy wouldn’t mind having spaghetti instead of a pork chop like the rest of the people that would be joining them at dinner. Timmy didn’t mind at all and he told her so, leaving her with a seemingly resolved look on her face. Before turning away to put food on the dining room table, she told Timmy she would place the bowl full of spaghetti on the table for him under the guise that he had chosen to banish his hunger with the noodles rather than a pork chop. He smiled, safe in the knowledge that although he was the one who had all but benefitted from her poor counting, he was a little more in her eyes than an exterminator.
Without a bit of hassle or chaos, both families, consisting of fourteen people altogether, seated themselves at the dinner table. They all helped their plates to the arrangement of food on the table, hands and arms becoming entwined in a blur of bowls and silverware lifting food onto plates. As expected, the conversation turned from inquiries involving school and work to more devastating, yet admittedly entertaining, topics of conversation. Timmy was only faintly listening to the intense banter until he caught a snippet of the lighthearted exchange of words occurring between his mother and Mr. Henderson.
“Well, that was a long time ago. You should have let me pay you back,” she playfully chided, then thoughtfully added, “As a matter of fact….”, she rose from her seat and headed towards the kitchen, calling back to Mr. Henderson asking him to remind her how much it was he had let her borrow, despite his polite objections. Timmy’s body tensed slightly as he prepared for his mother to meet the money jar with quite a shock, or worse, for her to reach inside the jar to find more than just bills. He didn’t face the kitchen in fear that she would scream and once again run from the room, but to the surprise of Timmy’s nerves, there was no scream at all. She simply came from the kitchen back into the dining room, waving a 5 dollar bill. There was nothing but smiles all around except for Timmy, who ate thoughtfully, wondering what had happened to the mouse. Maybe she simply hadn’t noticed it. Or the mouse had escaped from the jar. There were so many possibilities, Timmy began to convince himself that whatever the reality, he needn’t worry himself about it, for his mother was unbothered and that was the goal. Finally content, Timmy felt a warm sensation at the bottom of his leg, and looking down; saw Tempus rubbing up against him. Then, as Tempus slipped away, Timmy noticed a piece of pink spaghetti hanging out of its mouth, and couldn’t help but wonder how he’d managed to swipe it.