Things appear here as we get them. Some come in through the ether. You might say 'telepathically.' I type them up and that's that. Often, I'm not even aware what I'm typing when I type it. This was like that. I'd planned to cover Jonathon and the vampires. But then a breeze ran through the room. (all the windows were shut) The TV screen frizzled for an instant, leaving a ghost image of what appeared to be a young woman with long wavy hair and bare shoulders. The screen went dark, save for a small, bright, white dot in the middle. Flat screens don't do that. Still, it happened. Next came a freeze frame.. a beautiful girl, maybe twenty to twenty five, smiling down from the large, rectangular 'frame' above the fireplace. A quiet song began to filter through. You can hear it up above. And I fell asleep.. right there, with the computer on my lap. The little blue, porcelain, crackle finish Chinese dog on the cocktail table saw. He saw the young woman walk through the (I suppose it's plastic) TV screen, the mantle and the painted white bricks. He saw her step down onto the tiled hearth, walk over to me on the sofa and kiss the top of my head. Then she 'evaporated' and I woke up. That's when I started to type.
There was a washerwoman in a little cabin deep in the woods. Her hands were rubbed raw from scrubbing clothes all day. She did laundry for folks 'round about. You know business wasn't good, 'cause her nearest neighbors were a family of transplanted, semi-professional sheep dippers from Bessarabia . Sure, they got dirty and all, but what with the language differences and the fact that the sheep were bleating all the time and I DREAM OF JEANIE playin' all day on the old nineteen inch, black and white portable television kind a hampered any commercial arrangements. ('cept for the folks gettin' their sheeps dipped and they was all customers from way back.
Washerwoman had to trudge clear into town for her trade and tote it all home in a big, old wicker basket she kept balanced on her head. All year, every day she did it, wearin' naught but her pink, terry-cloth, arch-strap slippers.. Well, not every day, just in the summertime 'cause it was hotter then.
She'd yell - Salome! You watch the house, girl. Ya hear?... And Salome would put down her jelly glass full a Spaghetti-O's, scratch her belly and go - Uh huh.
But there's another real pretty daughter who runs with the wolves and sleeps with the fishes... not in her bed though. She talks to the moon and the bees give her honey, whether she wants it or not. If you want a jar she could probably get you one. Can't figure out how the bees get the lids on so tight, or what she gets out a sleeping with the fishes, 'cause these ain't beautiful, graceful cartoon fish like from that movie where Will Smith was a fish. These are catfish and mud-suckers. Guess she feels sorry for them, but they don't know the difference, so it's a total waste of time. if you ask me.
This daughter's name is Anabella. Nobody gave it to her. She just got it herself. She gets everything herself, 'cause Anabella can do magic.... Like the honey-pit under their out-house never gotta be mucked out 'cause she don't like it. And the tater chip bag is never empty 'cause it just isn't. Also when 'stories' she likes go off the air, they don't for her. Their old black and white TV still gets episodes of YOUNG OLD AGE ATTENDANTS IN LOVE. I do not know where they come from but they show up every day and the uniforms on the people look mostly clean.
But things changed one night, when a traveling, custom, tampon salesman took her to town for pizza and deodorant, when the road got washed away and somebody's crazy monkey got loose...
<more next time>
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