We got back home late last night.

This morning, we found out a neighbor on the next street's house burnt down last night. They have a sixth-grade boy and a fifth-grade girl. They do not have relatives in the area.

Their dog, a beautiful springer spaniel only 2 years old, died from smoke inhalation. The boy was beside himself with grief, blaming himself, because it was his boy scout wreath that had caught fire from the fireplace. The dad was badly burnt on his hands -- he instinctively grabbed the wreath to get it off the wall so he could extinguish it. He's supposed to start a new job tomorrow.

All of this is very tragic, but it could've been worse. It could've happened in a different neighborhood.

I walked over to where the family was staying, another neighbor's house. (I was a little nervous; I'm a sympathetic crier and I had a feeling there would be tears. Even when I'm not feeling it, like when some stupid sappy movie is deliberately manipulating me and I DON'T WANT to CRY, if the person onscreen is crying, I will cry. I HATE THAT!) I was coming to offer to replace the Christmas gifts lost (I have to do all of my shopping in the next couple of days anyway.) I was also coming to tell them ANOTHER neighbor who was in Michigan for Christmas had offered their house to them.

Seated at the table was the highly organized and very capable Vice President of the PTA, who had already sprung into action and mobilized the neighborhood. Clothes, transportation, food, help with paperwork, advice about dealing with insurance companies, even taking over the mother's volunteer obligations -- all taken care of ALREADY. New rental housing within the neighborhood was being found by another neighbor who was a real estate agent, so the family would be disrupted as little as possible.

To give you an idea of this neighborhood's attention to detail, when the mother was out in nothing but her nightgown as the sirens wailed and her house was up in flames, someone threw a Chicago Bears sweatshirt on her. Another neighbor ran in his house and threw another on top to cover it up.

See, she's a Packers fan. The situation called for a PACKERS sweatshirt. And he just happened to have one for her.

Dear invading armies: I wouldn't suggest trying to take us over. We have our shit TOGETHER.

If I was an invading army, I would think twice about trying to take us over.

I am busy in a tizzy. Please read Doc's Christmas tale in lieu of my usual crap.

SOCIAL ZYMURGY: THE CULTURE OF BEER: We Three Kings

My Friday Flash Fiction is a bit abbreviated due to the fact I am moving on Friday and better have my ass in gear. Which it is most definitely not. In gear, that is. So, I just re-used an idea and slapped something together. The picture has very little to do with the story; I just liked it.

Starter sentence in blue, as usual.

"As the rumble receded westward, a fine layer of dust settled on the tall stack of vintage condom boxes." The people inside the decrepit 7-11 scrambled for the exits. They streamed out of the doors, if 2 customers and one store clerk can be considered a stream, at record speed.

It turns out they escaped just in time, as the Ghost of Christmas Disappointed reconsidered and decided that a 7-11 was, in fact, worthy of destruction. They screamed as the giant velvet foot crushed the building in which they had been standing moments before. Their relief and gratitude to be left alive caused the Ghost to shrink slightly, but then he expanded again when the skater punk mourned the loss of his beloved Slurpee machine.

Despite regaining his momentary loss in stature, the Ghost vowed not to be so sloppy in the future. Gratitude was one of the few things that could destroy him.

Just because it makes me happy.

Splotchy started it. Cormac continued it and tagged me. Here's my contribution.

Splotchy's initial paragraph is first, Cormac's comes next separated by three asterisks, and mine comes after his, separated by the second set of asterisks.

The story:

The mall was crowded. There were happy people, angry people, people in a hurry, even a few people sleeping on benches. To the security guard, they were a blur of coats, hats and scarves. He was just beginning his second eight hour shift. He yawned, leaning against a pillar in the food court, the aftertaste of terrible mall cookies lingering on his tongue. His eyes abruptly snapped open with the loud sound of glass shattering behind him.

***

The glass landed on the main concourse floor and the strung Christmas lights around the mall made the floor glitter like a field of glittering gems. Out of Hot Topic came a huge tasseled-shod foot and the glass cracked like ice under the foot's immense weight. Above that antiquated shoe was a massive muscular leg, clad in green tights.

The elder Mrs. Hajba knows what this creature is and she screams out its name, yet no one understands her. Mostly because everyone else is too busy screaming, but also because the only person would understand, her daughter Anastasia, is across the mall at T.G. McFunster's...trying to find husband number four, lest her, and her mother be deported.

This being that apparently is unknown to America, stands some sixteen feet tall in bright green and red clothing that would be more suitable to the Renaissance. The brute is muscular and misshapen, with veins that bulge and throb at a preternaturally speed. Its skin is bright white, and its teeth silver and black like tinsel. The eyes of the beast have no pupils or irises to speak of. They could best be described as giant red, opaque Christmas ball ornaments.

Mrs. Hajba summons every brain cell that American TV soaps haven't manged to destroy yet and she yells at the security guard, "It's Ghost of Kreestmass Disappoint-ted!"

***

The towering figure grew larger and more robust whenever a fresh wail of despair rose from the crowd. With their purchasing power diminished as each mighty footstep destroyed yet another retail outlet, the people were beside themselves in grief and misery. The creature fed on it and grew larger and more resplendent as he crushed the materialistic hopes and dreams of everyone present.

After every last boutique, kiosk and anchor store had been reduced to rubble, the monster turned his attention to the town outside the mall. By now deafening strains of Andy Williams singing "It's the hap-piest feeling of aaaaalllll" and Lena Horne's bastardized version of "Jingle Bells" and countless vapid holiday screechings by Celine Dion and Mariah Carey were being broadcast through the curled-up toes of the monster's immense velvet slippers.

His glittering grin expanded as he smashed the BMW dealership. He became incandescent when he demolished the upscale cigar lounge. When he took out a strip mall containing both a Whole Foods and a Costco, he grew at such an exponential rate that his red stocking capped-head was no longer visible from ground level. Still, he moved on.

Until he came to the town's hospital.

He shrank a little when he heard the Girl Scout troop singing to the senior citizens at the assisted-living facility located on the grounds of the hospital. His grin disappeared when a woman handed a plate of homemade cookies and brownies to the emergency crew who had shown up to help her when her car spun out on the ice and crashed into a pillar.

But he knew he was doomed when he felt a woman getting wheeled into an elevator on the fourth floor, her newborn infant in her arms. She was heading to the sixth floor, where her grandmother lay in recovery from colon cancer surgery.

He plummeted down when the women laid eyes on one another and wept, each grateful for the gift of life. As the new mother gently laid her infant in her grandmother's arms, the tiniest wail of defeat could be heard from the crack in the sidewalk outside, if you were close enough to hear it. But he was not dead yet. Oh, no.





I tag Todd, Nick, Darth Roker, CTK and Dr. Zaius. And anyone else who read this.

I am trying to get my grandma's pierogi recipe back. I vow to make them for Christmas.

I have officially blogged today.

As usual, found here, starter sentence in blue:

"She was always threatening to punch someone in the face, but this time she meant it." If she could only lift her hand, ball it up into a fist, and apply the punitive force necessary to convey just how enraged she was... but she couldn't.

She lay there, trapped in unspeakable torment, unable to give voice to the soul wracked in agony that lay inside her broken, useless body. How long had she been here, she wondered. She assumed she was in the hospital, from the medicinal, chemical smells and cold, clinical light that filtered through her bandages. She could see... oh, yes, she could see... but that was more curse than blessing at this point...

Her head was held upright, facing forward, in a locked position. Her limbs, which were outside of her limited line of vision, were immovable. But she could wiggle her fingers and toes... she was not paralyzed. Her physical pain was felt in temporary bursts, then eradicated by a soothing drip into her veins. No, her misery was not physical in nature. Her very mind and spirit were being excoriated...

How did she wind up in such a state? The last thing she remembered was ... the dentist. She was going to the dentist! It was icy... she must've had an accident. Why the karmic punishment? Did she kill someone? Is that why she was being punished by all the imps and demons of hell? Wait... she could hear them talking... no, her car skidded and smashed into the guardrail... no one else injured...

Why, Lord, why? Why then am I made to suffer so? Please, make it stop. I'll do anything, anything if you take away the terror, the horror...

She emitted a low moan through her wired-shut jaw. The people in the room snapped to attention. "She's awake!" one unknown voice triumphantly announced.

"I think she wants something," added a concerned, tender onlooker. Could this be my savior, I thought? The one who brings an end to my suffering?

"She's looking at the TV," noted a familiar voice. Joe! My husband! He was there, in the room? I was at once relieved and outraged, that he would have allowed this situation. Perhaps he was too dismayed at my condition to realize... "I think she wants us to turn it up," he concluded.

Of all the times for him to be clueless, unaware of my deepest held convictions. Joe, Joe, how could you do this to me? I tried to scream, but all that came out was the thinnest of squeaks. "Yeah," he said, proud of himself. "She wants us to be quiet so she can watch the movie!"

Someday, I will be well again. I will go through painful yet effective sessions of physical therapy. I will come back stronger than ever, with one goal in mind: I will strangle my husband WITH MY BARE HANDS.

All voices in the room fell silent as the most dreaded words known to mankind came floating out of the television, carried upon the breath of Satan himself: "We now return to the 36-hour FaLaLaLa Lifetime movie marathon!"