I draw near the #hungry whirlpool and think back to the witch’s words: “Just #scull around #Charybdis #eleven times and your skin will clear right up!” I still have time to turn back. I touch the enormous blemish on my chin. Worth it.
“Close the #gate!” I #yell as he runs for the front steps. “Don’t look behind you!” His eyes are wide and his breath ragged as he darts past me through the door. I slam it shut, throw the bolt, and brace my #shoulder against it, waiting for impact.
“It’s #beautiful,” she says. “It’s very…#orange,” I reply. “I know it’s more than we talked about spending, but just look at it!” “Yes, just look at it.” “It’s the kind of thing we’ll have forever.” “Yes, forever,” I echo as I reach for my debit card.
“Heads we tackle the lake monster first, tails the #basilisk in your yard.” I watched the coin flash in the air, unsure which to hope for. “Tails. Okay, we save the #sculling for later. I’ll drive; you google ‘how to kill a basilisk.'”
“Come on, Steve, it’s your #destiny to #catch the giant pike! You can’t give up now, not since he got away last time!” “I feel like I’ve read this book before. It didn’t end well, Bill.” Steve sighed. “You’d better get me another beer. Fate makes me thirsty.”
I looked nervously from Lucy to my cat. “You’re not…hungry, are you?” Lucy was affronted. “I wouldn’t eat your cat! I’m a #lycanthrope, not some #soulless creature with no manners!” “I’m so sorry. I’m new. Would you like to work on a jigsaw #puzzle and have some tea?”
“This weekend? Sorry, I harvested peaches and I have loads of #jam to #can.” “Is that like ‘I have to wash my hair?'” “No. I’m actually making jam. I sell it. It’s my job.” He laughed. “Okay, Grandma. How about the next weekend?” “Then I have to wash my hair.”
I heard a crash, but the storeroom was empty #except for a pile of mannequin parts on the floor. One of the hands began to #creep toward me of its own #volition. I’d always laughed at disembodied hands in horror films–I’d never have the chance again.
She felt tired, beaten-down, bored with the day-to-day drudgery. Roused by the call of “Mom, the toilet’s clogged!” she trudged to the bathroom. After the final flush, she cried in triumph, “I am the #queen! May all lesser uncloggers bow before me!” “Mom’s being weird.”
“But Sara, #love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.” “Frank, either the mustache goes or I do, Shakespeare be damned.”