Stories, and things of that nature.

[misses obrien]

Hi all.


I recently started writing some stuff again and, seeing how others are sharing their works, thought I might just do the same.


Anyways, some are on the long side, but if you read it all, you are my hero. And, you will be rewarded by cookies in the form of air. Pretending is fun!.


PS - I love suggestions, comments, critique ( In a respectful tone, s'il vous plait.) So feel free to say whatever you're lovely heart desires.


Carry on, you beautiful peoplesmileys/smiley14.gif

[pfawnk]

where are your stories.


p.s.


conan is the best.

[Monica*]

I was wondering where the stories were too. smileys/smiley1.gif

[ramble on rose]

share, I would love to read them.smileys/smiley17.gif

[kelli420]

i love to read...hooray a story!

[misses obrien]

where are your stories.


p.s.


conan is the best.





Hah, I was contemplated posting none and letting you all use your imagination. Luckily, I decided against it.


ps - Conan is the best. And you're just effing awesome for saything that.

[misses obrien]

Good thing you enjoy readin, this one is a tad of a long one.


Enjoy..
<B style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">My Mother the Maid[/B]
Work in progress…


“We’ll be sharing a bathroom this week,� she informed me, “first ours, and then yours when the tiles are finished.� My mother carried on still, “Just until the renovations are finished.�

Apparently, we’re renovating. Our house has stayed a virgin to change and décor for years, but my parents suddenly decided it was not up to their high standard of living. Of course, nothing could ever match their lavish lifestyle of squeezing pennies and arguing with employers over missing cheques. Sill, something had fueled the decorated bug in the pair of them. Perhaps my father fell victim to his choice of makeover shows. Flipping from paternity tests to painting was all he could do as he sat home alone, day after day. Unemployed and taking on the world at full speed. Or perhaps, it was my parent’s need to impress relatives when they came to visit. And oh, how they visit!

Both the aunt and uncle are scheduled to come, and then followed my mother’s mom. She’s been widowed much longer, and logically, much more fit for travel. They’ll all be staying at our ever evolving mansion. As if we had enough room to house a small infant, we’ve offered our wooden panels to three dependent adults. But that’s okay, the renovations will fix that! After all, we have a whole other room ready to house the entire world. The walls are confining and there isn’t a closet, but those are all mere luxuries. My parents never realized that we don’t have land to buy and expand on. Never the less, the hallways are always around and selling for cheap.

And for what? Our house is turning into a hospital. The sickeningly white bathroom for the guests is nothing more than an eyesore. No one ever bothers to ask my opinion though. I loved our guest bathroom before. Covered with the most reflective wallpaper known to humans, with the delicate faces of showgirls with beauty marks splattered all over, it was unique to say the least. When I was little, I would try for minutes – as I sat on the pink toilet – to match up my contorted face with their perfect porcelain shapes. When anybody would question what I was doing, I’d simply reply with “Imagining.� I suppose I’m biased towards the wallpaper because it had sentimental value to me, but the exchange rate is dirt now.

My mother cleaned our bathroom for hours that dragged into the night. I informed her that I’d be happy to do it, because I always liked cleaning bath tubs more than dishes. She shot me her classic look of superiority and said, with and unfamiliar cold smile, “This bathroom is disgusting, you kids never clean. If I’m going to be using it, I don’t want to be showering in <I style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">that[/I].� All I had ever noticed was that hair covered the floor, but that was not my fault. I shed hairs like my father, and my sister as though her body was repelling it. Blame it on the stress, the doctor had told us. Apart from that, I never believed that we were just vile creatures, but alas – we are the bad guys.

It’s not even as if my mother cleans often. The house is never vacuumed, her clothing seldom laundered, and dust gathers on the most commonly used things. We live in filth because we’re much too lazy, and then call ourselves tidy. We eat fat for dinner and call ourselves healthy. Simply because, by the hand of some fluke, we’re all happy and that’s all that is important.

Or so we’d like to believe. Looking at my mom’s magazines, I pretended not to notice that all the covers were to do with babies and single moms. She’s either planning on having a little sister for me, or raising her near adulthood daughters on her own. And since I begged, once at ever meal, for the former to occur, I can’t help but wonder what the destiny she has imagined for our little family may be.

She always made up for any of her suspected discrepancies. All I had to do was call, and soon enough she would arrive home with Oreo cookies and ice cream. We’d sit on the cough, together, and watch TV in complete silence, both of us praying that she could have a single drink. Our talks are always much more active, and much less imaginary when she’s had something to drink. That’s how I find out most things from my family, by accident. Accounted for by the alcohol, of course. I suppose they’ll always pretend I’m 9 years old and much too young to fathom what “depression� could be.

Young as I may forever be, I could understand what my mom was really trying to do with her innocent cleaning. Subtly as she could, she vigorously washed off her husband’s germs in the shower, as if to say he never happened. And with time, she was even able to make our fingers vanish off all the surfaces. This could help her pretend that we never happened, that her precious little mistakes never created such a mess especially for her. Years went by and she still cleaned, but not matter how hard she scrubbed, the bathroom never sparkled perfectly enough for my mother.

[kelli420]

thats really good. im interested enough to read more and thats what an author goes for so ..... its a success! i'll read more if ya post

[sauce.baby]

that was awesomesmileys/smiley20.gif