by Jude Bridge
The greasedrops splodged on the window and oozed slowly down the pane, leaving filthy rainbows in their wake.
“It’s so beautiful,” said young Margaret breathlessly, tracing the descent of the drops with her finger.
“T’aint beautiful to me,” remarked Old Jem, “but them hens will be well oiled by nightfall. Fried chicken fer dinner tonight, I’m hopin”. Hasn’t been a greasestorm in months. Most of them livestocks are drier ‘n Granny’s whiskers.”
Margaret asked if she and Brad could go out and play in the greasepuddles. Old Jem sighed. The grandkiddies always wanted to go outside into the elements, never content to stay in the shack with their squirmidaddles and boxpods and intermaniacwebsters.
Suitably suited, the grandkiddies slipped out into the greasy slick, a-skidding and a-sliding, tepid grease running down their little faces, uptilted to the sky.
“Plastic torrent will blow through soon,” said Granny, standing at the window with Old Jem. “Usually follows a greasestorm.”
Old Jem wanted to get the grandkiddies inside before the onslaught.
Granny knew better. The plastic downpour was quick and effective, sealing the grandkiddies within seconds. Old Jem hauled them inside and Granny immediately slashed slits for their eyes, noses and mouths with a fishing knife.
Margaret and Brad felt warm and comfortable inside their shiny plastic wrappers, insulated by the thick coating of grease and ready to endure another freezing winter.
Old Jem fetched a basted, shrink-wrapped chicken from the yard and Granny fired up the pan. Fried chicken was a comin’.
3 comments:
A unique and strange world you've created! I was a little concerned about the kids when she whipped out with the knife, but then they said they were warm and comfortable, so is it okay?? I guess?
I'm glad I don't live there, either way. :)
Echoes of Roald Dahl. I mean that in a good way.
What a fascinating world. And you managed so much with so few words. Awesome job.
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