Gwen's Turn

Sally has been quiet.

Usually, this would be a cause for concern all on its own.

But she’s on a shoot somewhere in Texas, with fairly normal people (or at least people who can ACT normal) and with on-duty guards militarily (is that a word?) trained to tackle/shoot if the need arises.

And I’m quite sure her movie-making employers have noticed, as have Mom and I, that when you keep her busy, there is infinitely less breakage/scream-age/disaster-age/goodlordharry-age.

So Mom’s and my (and Mort’s) worries have been . . . lessened.

With Sally, they never really go away. (Remember the kidnappers?)

Anyways, Mom and I have been living a more-or-less quiet existence. We have almost daily correspondence from our famous family member, but Sally-at-a-distance is diluted enough for even the most pallid palate.

Sooo . . . quiet.

I work at a local printers. Aksel’s: The Place for Print.

Aksel’s is run by a family. The Pedersen’s. Whose grandfather was named (wait for it) Aksel.

I know. Big leap there.

They are a fun-loving bunch. Supportive of their employees. Cheerful.

I mean, they don’t encourage truancy or other minor infractions, but they aren’t about to fire you for the occasional gaffe. Though they won’t tolerate deliberately sloppy procedures on the line or any form of malicious gossip around the water-cooler.

If they had a water-cooler.

It is doubly attractive for me because it is also well within commuting distance for me and Hairy Barry, my trusty bicycle.

Enough background . . .

I was working with the main printer, “Big Ed”, in his royal residence (aka the back room).

Big Ed was busily coughing out copies of the newest edition of ReMARKETable. A small run magazine for collectors.

He was just completing the print when, quite suddenly, he just . . . stopped.

A small red light blinked into existence. A light I’d never noticed before.

I hopped off my stool.

You have to know that, to date, Big Ed and I had enjoyed a fairly comfortable relationship. No real conflicts or name-calling. And we’ve certainly never come to blows.

All of that was about to change.

I approached the humming, shivering behemoth.

Just as I reached out toward the red button, a ding on my phone indicated a text.

I pulled the phone from my pocket, then moved away from Big Ed to look at it.

Sally.

I’d answer her later.

Shoving my phone back into my jeans, I started to turn.

Just as the entire machine disintegrated in a blast of smoke and hot air.

Rather like a politician.

Ahem . . .

Aksel the Third appeared almost immediately in the doorway.

I was still standing there.

My mind frantically cataloguing and checking off important parts of my anatomy.

When all seemed to be accounted for, I turned to him. “Erm. There seems to be something wrong with Big Ed, Aksel.”

He stared at the mound of smoking rubble where the mammoth machine had stood, largely intact, only moments before. “What did you do?!” He looked at me as he approached slowly. “Tell me exactly!”

“I was sitting. Big Ed stopped. There was a red button. I moved toward it. Got a text. Decided to answer it later and shoved my phone back in my pocket. Started forward again . . .”

“Text? Red button?”

I frowned. “The text I'm pretty sure of. The red button, less so. Should I have done something?”

“How should I know? I didn’t even realize there was a red button!”

He began to poke around, then pulled out his phone and dialed. “Dad? I think Big Ed is toast.”

He listened for a moment, then pocketed his phone and looked at me. “You should probably go home, Gwen. Maybe get checked out by the doctor.”

I nodded and turned (a little shakily) toward the door.

“By the way, who was the text from?”

“Sally.”

“Figures.”

I spun around and looked at him, but he was already back poking at the debris.

I frowned and headed for my bicycle. The (fortunately few) people I saw on my homeward commute seemed to have a special look for me as I rode past.

But I really didn’t think about it. My mind was churning over the fact that Sally had messaged me just before a major malfunction in my company’s equipment.

Could she jinx things from a distance? And more importantly had she, in point of fact, saved me?

This was something that should (or maybe not) be checked into.

I noticed Mom’s car in the drive as I rode across the lawn.

Parking Hairy Barry in his usual home next to the hedge, I hurried to the front door.

Mom was in her favourite recliner, her eyes on the peaceful scene just outside the window.

“Hey, Mom,” I said.

She looked at me, her smile of welcome evaporating. “Gwen, honey?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are your eyebrows?”

Each month, our little band of intrepid, unstoppable scribblers contributes a series of words. Which our gracious leader, Karen shuffles and re-distributes.

Those words then form the basis of everything from recipes to flash fiction.

My words this month--hopped ~ hairy ~ bicycle ~ truancy ~ sloppy ~ gossip--came to me, via Karen, from Jenniy at Climaxed.

Thank you so much, Jenniy! This was the best fun!

Want to keep the fun going?
Head out and see what the others have created!

Baking In A Tornado

Spatulas on Parade 

Wandering Web Designer

Follow Me Home 

Part-time Working Hockey Mom   

Climaxed 

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo