Prefx
Lord of the City-Within
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2005
- Messages
- 285
You wouldn't know from the opening, but this is actually fantasy.
* * * *
Grandfather thought about Mrs. Abridge more than he did himself. At least that's how I viewed his demented behavior whenever the old lady of fifty-something years left her house to water the daisies in her front yard. My grandfather had a knack for being nosey, and whenever Mrs. Abridge showed her face, he made no exceptions. I remember once walking in on him as he studied the weak figure from his office window, as if afraid she might do him some harm.
The truth was no one really knew much about Mrs. Abridge, except that she lived in the same house all her life and rarely made contact with the world around her. This seclusive lifestyle frightened my neighborhood; it was unheard of to pass down a block party, especially during Christmas; however, Mrs. Abridge never showed. In fact, it proved to be nearly impossible to even get a glance at her save for once a week. Every Saturday, at precisely noon, the scrawny woman appeared in a red gown and watered her garden. The routine never changed. Even if the season was winter and cold robbed the color from her flowers, Mrs. Abridge picked up the canteen resting by her door and busily went to work.
Surprisingly enough, her house wasn't much different than our own. Mrs. Abridge lived in a home built entirely of wood, the walls painted with thick coats of white. Vines grew from her small garden and clawed at every side of the house. When I turned six, the first thing I asked grandfather for my birthday was our own garden. He accused me of being crazy and since then refused to hear the idea even leave my lips.
So naturally when he approached me and said he was heading over to give Mrs. Abridge a basket full of fruit, I nearly choked on my hash.
"Say that again!" I hollered, struggling to keep my breakfast down.
Grandfather adjusted his tie. "You heard me, Ballard. Now shut your mouth. I don't want to see food kissing your tongue."
I obeyed, taking a desperate swallow. As soon as my mouth was clear, I questioned him further. "But why, Grandfather? I though you don't like her."
"I didn't," he corrected. "But that was before I got in touch with the Lord. Now I'm a new man, Ballard. You might start thinking about becoming one yourself."
* * * *
Grandfather thought about Mrs. Abridge more than he did himself. At least that's how I viewed his demented behavior whenever the old lady of fifty-something years left her house to water the daisies in her front yard. My grandfather had a knack for being nosey, and whenever Mrs. Abridge showed her face, he made no exceptions. I remember once walking in on him as he studied the weak figure from his office window, as if afraid she might do him some harm.
The truth was no one really knew much about Mrs. Abridge, except that she lived in the same house all her life and rarely made contact with the world around her. This seclusive lifestyle frightened my neighborhood; it was unheard of to pass down a block party, especially during Christmas; however, Mrs. Abridge never showed. In fact, it proved to be nearly impossible to even get a glance at her save for once a week. Every Saturday, at precisely noon, the scrawny woman appeared in a red gown and watered her garden. The routine never changed. Even if the season was winter and cold robbed the color from her flowers, Mrs. Abridge picked up the canteen resting by her door and busily went to work.
Surprisingly enough, her house wasn't much different than our own. Mrs. Abridge lived in a home built entirely of wood, the walls painted with thick coats of white. Vines grew from her small garden and clawed at every side of the house. When I turned six, the first thing I asked grandfather for my birthday was our own garden. He accused me of being crazy and since then refused to hear the idea even leave my lips.
So naturally when he approached me and said he was heading over to give Mrs. Abridge a basket full of fruit, I nearly choked on my hash.
"Say that again!" I hollered, struggling to keep my breakfast down.
Grandfather adjusted his tie. "You heard me, Ballard. Now shut your mouth. I don't want to see food kissing your tongue."
I obeyed, taking a desperate swallow. As soon as my mouth was clear, I questioned him further. "But why, Grandfather? I though you don't like her."
"I didn't," he corrected. "But that was before I got in touch with the Lord. Now I'm a new man, Ballard. You might start thinking about becoming one yourself."
