I’m sure over the last month those who read my little online-web-blog-thing have noticed my talking about being busy, tired, stressed out, dead, etc. etc. So it’ll come as no shock when I announce that I’m moving.
And this isn’t just ‘moving to an affordable place six miles from where I already live.’ No, I mean, like a lot, like, 1,870 miles worth of it. Which I am pretty sure equals about one metric fuckton when converting to in units of stress.
My week consists of responsibilities I already had mixed with moving an apartments worth of junk into boxes in a week long span. So of course Sunday arrives and I haven’t touched a computer in weeks.
So what am I going to talk about today? Tekko and my Deadpool costume? Night in the Woods? (which I haven’t finished yet but already have thoughts on?) What it’s like to make it as an adult when you can’t legally drink yet? Nope, nope, and nope.
Because I am feeling both generous, and lazy, but mostly the latter. I’m going to share with you all…a peek into the first chapter of my unfinished book, “Half-Sight”.
Now, if you do decide to read past this point, I do warn you: this is my first work of writing in fictional form since I was ten and I bought a typewriter from a yard-sale, and, while the stories of Princess Pickle and her adventures with her father, King Bob, were truly epic, they did not provide me with the years of practice needed to make me the next Shakespeare.
I’m open to pointers and help, but please have a gentle heart and understand I am still learning.
Meg stood, dumbfoundedly staring at the short woman in front of her, whose winged eyeliner looked as though it was about to take off from her very face and whose fur coat dragged dust along the tile floor of the convenience store. “Answer me!” the woman demanded, once again.
Meg thought for a moment on how to respond to the woman’s question without sounding too horribly condescending before finally bubbling her clenched teeth into the most sincere smile she could muster. “Well…six plus six is twelve…” she pointed out, showing the smaller woman her own receipt. In an attempt to explain the primary school math required to realize that purchasing two six dollar lipsticks would indeed add up to a total of twelve.
“I just don’t understand why it would be so high” The woman fumed, which would have made her thickly drawn on eyebrows look even more amusing if Meg had the energy left to be amused.
The short witch-like woman had come into the small corner store almost an hour ago, demanding to return a half drunk water bottle, a unopened pack of colored pencils, and a lipstick that had been clearly used at least a dozen times, and so as not to be rude, Meg had complied.
Once the return had been finished though, the woman insisted on buying something with her newly acquired cash from the return and so went around the store, shouting every few moments “Is this on sale?” which was almost always replied to with a slightly confused “No?”
Eventually she had settled on two very unique lipstick colors and continued to insist that six plus six should only add up to ten.
“Just see if I shop here again” The woman huffed, before taking her receipt, and her bag from the counter, and storming out of the store.
Meg was used to this woman by now, and as much as she wished that the strange little woman, and her eyebrows, were being honest when they said they wouldn’t be coming back, she knew that that was the fourth time she promised to never return for her makeup fix, and yet she, and her musty smelling fur coat, always made their way back again.
Meg had seen many customers like that come and go over the last five months. She liked to make up names for the regulars. ‘Fur Coat Lady’s’ name was Tammy. Meg had a theory that she used the makeup in satanic rituals to bring back her dead cat Margaret.
And really who was to say she didn’t?