Ain't No Hiding Place

5:00 AM
I couldn't sleep in this morning. I woke up and felt...compressed. Like I'd been stuffed in a box and left in the attic. I've opened all the windows, even though it's freezing and damp outside, but my apartment still feels a little stuffy.

5:07 AM
Perhaps it is an omen of deep dark frightening things. The stuffiness, I mean. Yesterday my library was ravished by religious delinquents, today my apartment is stuffy when it's 35 degrees outside. I'm beginning to see a pattern. An ominous pattern.

5:10 AM
Never mind. It's just that my heater's decided to start working again, and of course I had it cranked up to the highest it could go when it was broken as though my turning it up would make a difference (what with it being broken and whatnot). And it has made a difference now, and it appears to keep wanting to make a difference because now it won't turn off.

5:12 AM
Perhaps this is God's way of getting back at me for laughing at the fact that he didn't strike my library with lightening. Bastard.

5:14 AM
Altan Yilmaz is on my black list. Why doesn't God punish heartless jilters as opposed to innocent librarians?

5:30 AM
Tea makes everything a little more bearable. Tea, tea, tea...Good heavens, my dentures fell in the kettle. I'll fish them out with my salad clompers.

6:00 AM
I will brace myself and go to the library in half an hour. I must view the destruction with a brave heart, like Bilbo in "The Hobbit." If ever I die--and I must assume that I will, it seems to happen to everyone else--I want to have that book with me. Perhaps I should start carrying it with me wherever I go, just in case I die suddenly and without warning. Perhaps I'll be hit by a bus on my bike on the way to the library. Or someone will poison my tea. Or Altan Yilmaz will murder me out of tortured guilt he feels every time he sees me because he realizes what a cruel person he was to leave me waiting and he can't stand it any longer and so he'll take a coffee mug to me and bludgeon me to death.

6: 05 AM
And then he'll die of shame. Because he'll have killed me. I wonder what it's like to be murdered. Uncomfortable, I expect.

6:35 AM
I cannot delay it anymore. I'm going to the library to assess the damage. Perhaps I can salvage some books from the pile that they burned. I'm heading out on my bike now.
With my copy of "The Hobbit" in my pocket. You never know, with buses.

6:50 AM
No chance of saving an entire book. There are a few pages scattered here and there, but they're a bit charred. It's all a big pile of gooey ashes that have sort of cemented from yesterday's rain. It's not raining right at the moment, but the sky looks like miso soup broth.

7:00 AM
I almost had a heart attack, coming in here to the library. The shelves are a mess--I think more than half the books were stolen. It makes me sick to look at it.
I need tea.

7:02 AM
Scratch that. The teapot's broken. Die, world.

7:06 AM
Good heavens, there's a dead man on the floor.

7:06 1/2 AM
No such luck. He's asleep, and it's the man who ordered the crazy religious whackjobs to burn my books. Perhaps I should spear him one last time with my umbrella. How dare he sleep in MY library?
"GET UP!"

7:07 AM
That perked him up. He looks affronted. Tough cookies.
"You," he's saying. Well, who else does he expect to find in this library? Besides a few regulars--and they're all weird, every last one of them, all obsessed with one thing or another--Macy and I are really the only ones who are ever here. Surprise, there's a librarian in the library!
"You have no right to be sleeping in here. Out." I'm pointing at the doors, but he doesn't seem to get the message. What is it with these people and their inability to understand simple body language?
He's drawing himself up, as though he's here for some sort of worthy cause. "Ma'am, I'm here to finish my task."
"And I'm here to foil it, you fiend!" I brandished my umbrella and I bared my dentures at him. I have no idea what sort of task he's going to finish, but judging by the disgusting pile of ashes outside, he isn't the sort of person who does any kind of acceptable tasks. Ooh, I should add that to my rules of requirement for entering my library:
#6-->Thou shalt not engage in suspicious activities that involve any kind of god and/or freakish religion.

7:15 AM
He's walloped me! In the stomach! Brute! Walloping an old woman like that! I can barely breath! No, really, I think he's dented something important, I'm heaving for air...
I've thrown up all over the floor, and of course these floors are carpeted, it'll take ages to clean it up...
"You cannot deny the word of God." The worst part is that he sounds nice. I don't like people who are not nice sounding nice. He's so calm. Like I'm not really a problem. I AM a problem, and he WILL deal with me if he thinks he's going to be doing any kind of task in here--
"I was waiting for you to return. You are an instrument of Satan, and you must be purified, along with this building of Sin."

7:19 AM
I'm trapped in here with a complete lunatic. This is why I hate religion. Look what it's DONE to him--"You think your religion justifies you being a psychopath?" I tried to scream that, but all I can do right now is squeak because I haven't quite got my breath back. But I squeaked in a very menacing way. What to do, what to do...Just because I was curious this morning about how it feels to be murdered doesn't mean I actually wanted to try it out--I think I'd best toss that out there in hope that whoever controls these sorts of events takes that into consideration. As depressing as this library looks right now, I'm not ready to die until I've fixed it up again.

7:20 AM
He's coming closer. Time to run away.

7:21 AM
Crawl.

7:21 and a bit AM
Help.

7:22 AM
He's singing again, like last night. Another hymn, I can dredge my memories of it from the church I used to attend so long ago. I'm crawling like mad, but he's got this rather ingenious advantage of being young and able to walk and still having proper use of his lungs.

And he's using them to sing what was a perfectly good Gospel song before he dirtied it with his creepy zeal.

There's no hiding place down here,
there's no hiding place down here;
Well I ran to the rocks to hide my face,
the rocks cried out "No hiding place,
there's no hiding place down here."

And he keeps coming, no matter how madly I crawl across this old carpet. I have to get to my feet, have to do something other than wriggle across the floor like a desperate fish.

7:26 AM
I've managed to get behind the front desk, moving like a soldier trying to avoid gunfire in a movie. And that twit keeps coming and singing, coming and singing...

I'll pitch my tent on cold ground,
I'll pitch my tent on cold ground,
Oh I'll pitch my tent on this cold ground,
and give old Satan one more round,
There's no hiding place down here.

He's going to have to worry about a damn sight more than Satan when I'm through with him.
Plan! Oh, I have a plan! Thank heavens for the inspiration pure panic and desperation spurs into existence! I'll pull the fire alarm bell, right here on the wall, it'll wake up the whole town and I'll be rescued! It's the most annoying fire alarm ever. People are bound to rush over out of sheer fury.

7:30 AM
I've pulled it! Ha! He's covered his ears and jumped back! TAKE THAT!

7:31 AM
He's attacking! Not fair! I pulled the alarm, he should just burst into tears and await his arrest--He's setting the library on fire. "RULE NUMBER SEVEN! DO! NOT! SET MY LIBRARY ON FIRE!"
I'll skewer him with my umbrella if it's the last thing I do!

7:32 AM
It's the last thing I think I'm going to do. He's thrown me into one of the shelves, and the books and cheap flimsy shelves are piled around me--I can't see anything but smoke and all I can hear is the crackling pop of the fire--all that dry paper and wood is going to go up fast, and I am stuck. Well it's a good thing I pulled the alarm, surely they've heard it--surely...

Oh, the devil wears a hypocrite's shoe,
Yeah the devil, he wears a hypocrite's shoe,
The deavil wears a hypocrite's shoe,
If you don't watch out he'll slip it on you,
there's no hiding place down here...

My first order of business will be to rip that man's lungs out when I'm out of here. Violently. I'm having trouble breathing through this smoke, now--what is it you're supposed to do? Stay low to the ground and crawl to safety? Good, because crawling is about all I can do.

7:34 AM
No, I tell a lie--my legs are trapped under a shelf. Crawling is not an option. They better hurry up with that rescue. They do know I'm in here, don't they? I mean, I get here every morning, early. It's what I do.

7:40 AM
It's what I did. Can't breath...the cats...did I feed the cats this morning? My feet are tingling, I think they've gone asleep under the shelves, and I can't move my legs...It's hot in here, is the heater broken?

Ain't no hiding place down here...

His voice was so far away, and it really wasn't the last thing I wanted to hear.

7:42 AM
The siren blared across the cold, damp streets and woke up everyone and his dog--especially the dogs. The canines howled at the sound and the growing stench of smoke that hung stiffly in the humid air. It took a while, but people crawled out of their beds, irate and ready to shoot whoever set off the alarm.
Some people gathered at the library, which had smoke billowing out of its crevices. A man was standing outside, singing. Not very well, but it was a catchy song, for a hymn.

Over My Dead Body

12:09 AM
I have waited up all night. Mr. Yilmaz did not come to fix my heater.

12:10 AM
I fed the dosa to the cats.

7:00 AM
I got to the library at 6:30 this morning. I felt a bit restless. If Mr. Yilmaz DARES show his face on these streets with his stupid coffee and his stupid accent, then I shall set him on fire. With a flamethrower.

7:02 AM
And throw his crispy remains under a bus.

7:06 AM
There is a group of people trying to get into the library. They seem rather excitable; how odd. No one around here gets this excited about books.
"The Library is closed." They aren't paying attention to me. I guess I'll have to go and order them off the property.
"The Library is CLOSED." They can see me now--at least, they're pointing at me and shouting--but they aren't leaving. I'll just open the door and--
They've broken through the glass of the door! I'm going to be murdered. This is the end. It wasn't enough that God sentence me to a jilted, broken heart. He had to have me sliced to death by an angry mob armed with broken glass. Death by the glass of my own library. The irony is astonishing.

7:10 AM
How dare they push an old woman like myself over like that! What if I was terribly frail? What if I had osteoporosis and they had snapped my brittle bones? Do they care? Who are these maniacs? I would ask, but they aren't very approachable.

7:12 AM
They're stealing books! MY books! The books that are supposed to be in the library! It's not a case of just a gap here and there--they're running off with whole shelves of books from the World Religions and Science sections. I will not stand for this!
So I'll just stay here under this study table until they've gone away and then call the police. With any luck the police will be the sort of neanderthals that are armed with cattle prods and are willing to use them against dangerous book thieves.

7:13 AM
They're singing...hymns? Yes... Hymns. Old ones.

"What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jeeee-sus./
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus./
Oh, precious is the flow
that makes me white as snoooow./
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jeeesus..."/

That brings back memories of the Southern Baptist Church. What are they doing out there?

What can wash away my sin?

They're piling books up behind the building. The chickens are nowhere to be seen; they've probably fluttered off in fear. Silly birds are smarter than I am.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

I've seen films that have scenes like this; historical documentaries that come on in the evening on P.B.S. Books piled in huge masses; "unacceptable" books. The Nazis did book burnings; so has every other ignorant group.
Well whoever these bastards are, they're about to burn my books while they sing about their God, like it's his will to destroy knowledge.
Over my dead body. God's gonna have to tear down the whole damn library before I give up. See if his pathetic little mob of supporters can march seven times around my library.

What can make me whole again?

I'll tear them apart.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

7:25 AM
I've got my umbrella. And an envelope opener. There's nothing else for it. CHARGE! I won't actually shout that, obviously, because I'm going to try and appeal to their better nature and howling and spearing their leader with an umbrella might make a bad impression.
"Excuse me? Excuse me, you can't burn those books. They're the property of the Public." I jabbed the man closest to me with my finger. It's taking a bit of effort not to prod him with the envelope opener.
The little prick is looking down at me like I'm sort of fungus growing on the ground. "Ma'am," he's saying, "We are the Public, and we're spreading the will of Gaw-ud. Please stay back. We're cleansing Satan from this town."
"Cleansing Satan? Are you an idiot?! They're books! Written by people!" I grabbed at one of the books off the pile--Buddha: A Journey of Haiku. "This is a bunch of poetry," I howled, but the man snatched the book back and threw it back into the pile.
"Light it!" He sounds and looks like a rabid vulture. If vultures could get rabies...
"Don't you DARE get a single candle near my--" but I was cut off as another man poured a gallon of gasoline on top and a young woman with a frighteningly benevolent smile on her face threw a lit match into the whole mess.
FWOOOM!!
More than anything else, I can feel the exothermic reaction of the hundreds, thousands, millions of pages, expelling light, heat, and sound--the skin on my face is stretched tight from the sudden influx of heat.

7:32 AM
"AIIIIIIIIIIGH!" I shall kill them all! Starting with this nitwit who ordered the burning! I swung my umbrella at him and conked him on the head.
A flash of light shot through the air, followed by a boom that rocked my arthritic bones. The mosque is on fire! It's been struck by lightening...
"HA!" I pointed up at the sky. "YOU MISSED, YOU MISSED!" God missed my library! He can have deluded minions try to burn my books, but he can't even hit the right building with his lightening! The Universe must be on my side! Perhaps this sudden pouring of rain will put out the fire!

7:35 AM
No such luck. There's too much gasoline for the fire to go out yet.
There's Macy! Macy! Oh, I'm so glad to see her--
"MACY! Macy, help! They're burning the books!" I abandoned my whalloping of the man to wave my arms at her and beckon. She's coming! And running at another of the men! I knew she cared about the library books. SHE'S TACKLED HIM! YESSS!
"Good, Macy, keep it up--" Oh dear. Her hair's on fire. "Macy, just put your head under one of the gutters--" She's not listening, the silly girl. Nevermind. Someone will sort her out. I need to finish teaching these ignoramouses that books are for being neatly lined on shelves, not burning.

7:37 AM
The prostitutes from the antique shop have gone insane. They're out here in bathrobes and little else--and by little I mean...nothing...--and they're flinging alchohol onto the flames! FEEDING THE FIRE! There are too many of them. Too many...

Oh, precious is the flow,
that makes me white as snooow.

And they won't stop singing--they've thrown a couple rocks at me, but no matter what, they won't stop... The homeless men have joined in, too. The lyrics aren't difficult. Perhaps that's why Christianity succeeded so well; easy lyrics, easy tune, something you can learn when you're drunk as a drowned pansy.

It's flashing again--lightening? No--it's camera flashes. What are those little Japanese people doing? Good heavens. They're from that tour bus by Jorri Rae's. What kind of person would come here as a tourist? I have half a mind to beat them with my umbrella for treating this like some kind of performance. Why aren't they helping?! All they can do is stand there and take flash picture after flash picture, capturing this crime forever in pouring rain. What a contrast. Roaring flames while it's raining cats and dogs.

No other fount I know...

I can't see Macy. I'm here by myself, swinging my broken umbrella for a pile of books that don't love me any more than my own daughter does. I'm soaking wet, my umbrella's spokes are all bent out of shape, and yet the fire is still burning and they're still singing.
One of the prostitutes is pouring a whole bottle of whiskey on the fire. What can I do but watch the flames dance higher, reflecting eerily off of individual raindrops, the crackle of the swiftly incinerating books blending into the violent hiss of rain smacking against the pavement? My shoulders can heave and I can sob and I can scream at them all I want, and they probably wouldn't even be able to tell in this downpour.

7:42 AM
My umbrella is useless now. It's too broken. I'll leave it in the dumpster behind the library. I'm going home.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

I've Been Plotting

5:33 AM
I still feel a little sick, but I must bravely forge through the day. It is my duty as a public servant of the library. People depend upon me. I must be a good example.

5:40 AM
I hate the world.

6:45 AM
I shall have to go by the grocery store today after work; all I have is crackers, cheese, apples, and some canned food. And milk and tea, of course. If Mr. Yilmaz sees the inside of my refrigerator whilst he's fixing the heater in the living room--you never know, with foreign men--then he might think I'm strange.

6:50 AM
On the other hand, he's foreign. Perhaps cheese and crackers and apples is a normal diet in Turkland.

6:55 AM
Turkey. Took a moment for my geography knowledge to kick in. Either way, I'd best just get some food. In case he's hungry. I ought to be hospitable. After all, he will be fixing my heater.

7:oo AM
Good lord, Zeppelin--one of the cats--is stuck in the lampshade and he hisses at me if I try to get near.
Ah. I see what's happened. There was a moth flitting about around the light bulb and Zeppelin...oh dear. He's much too fat. Hence his name, of course--perhaps "Blimp" would have been more appropriate, but somehow that sounded... insulting.

7:03 AM
He's broken my lamp! Furry bastard! I tried to help him out, but nooooooo, he had to go and break the dratted lamp! And he's still stuck in the lampshade.

7:12 AM
I have succeeded in wrestling Zeppelin from the lampshade. I just grabbed the lampshade itself and shook it like mad and he--eventually--popped out. Now I have to clean up the mess and get to work on time.

12:40 PM
Work has been boring. The only (relatively) high point was when a woman named Marie came in and returned Lord of the Flies. She was in here yesterday, when she checked out the book, but she doesn't strike me as the reading type. I tried to offer to help her find some book that might interest her, but she said no and left.

12:43 PM
I've been plotting dinner for tonight just in case Mr. Yilmaz stays for dinner.

12:45 PM
Which he damn well better, because I've spent all morning plotting and it's going to take all afternoon to cook it. I've written down some foreign-looking recipes from a cookbook I got in the World section, and I'm still looking. I hope he appreciates my cultural sensitiveness.

1:12 PM
Couscous? Idly? Dosa looks good. I'll make dosa. It's Indian food, but India is fairly close to Turkey. It's on the same continent, at least.

3:20 PM
I've left the library to Macy and I'm getting the ingredients for dosa. I hope it's foreign enough.

Be Still, My Beating Heart

9:00 AM
I woke up with a cold this morning. I've got puffy eyes, the sniffles, and I feel like a hedgehog is nesting in my throat. I entertained the idea of skipping work, but I have a lot of paperwork to get through. The last time I had a buildup of paperwork I put it through the shredder and told my boss that my cats got at it, but I don't think I can do that again. He might get a bit suspicious.

9:10 AM
Even tea isn't helping much. I bet having such a cold, damp apartment has made me ill. I would sue, but that would call attention to me. My daughter might find me.

Macy is being blessedly quiet today. She did sort of madly hop into the library in order to avoid the still-lingering chickens in the front yard, but I can overlook a few oddities.

10:30 AM
A young man just wandered in here. He looks vaguely familiar; a recurring library visitor, I expect.
"Have you got any books on two?" He doesn't look like he quite knows where he is. Not that I can complain--I regularly get lost in the grocery store. All those aisles. It could happen to anyone.
Er. Two? Two what? "Well, we've got One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. If you're interested in that kind of thing." I very much doubt he is. He looks a trifle old for such books.
"No, just the number two." Charming. A lunatic. Doesn't this town have any normal people in it? Besides myself, of course.
I feel quite huffy that he's so interested in the number two. "The number three is better, you know. There are plenty of books on the significance of the number three. It's a religious number--you know, Father Son Holy Ghost and whatnot--and it's traditional in fairy tales. You never hear the story about the Two Little Pigs, or Goldilocks and the Two Bears. Three is the perfect number." He's not listening to me. How can I tell? He's left, that's how. He's gone and wandered off into the shelves. Well!
Two indeed. I suppose I should have recommended A Tale of Two Cities.

10:45 AM
Except I hate Charles Dickens. I refuse to recommend him to anyone.

11:03 AM
I'm taking a break. The library's quiet today, so I doubt there will be any emergencies in my absence. I like it back here in the employee lounge; no one is allowed back here but Macy and I and my boss, and he never shows up unless he's angry. I can look out the window to the back of the library from here; usually it's just a view of the empty parking lot (a scene of depression), but it's got the carnival now (a scene that invokes suicidal tendencies). I can see a girl in a big, horrendously yellow raincoat getting onto the ferris wheel; normally I don't single out people to watch like this, but it's hard not to single her out. She's like a single ray of sunlight in a dungeon; the yellow against the stark grey sky is brighter than anything else outside. The gaudy lights and colors of the carnival have been dulled with splattered mud and grey light and fog; even the royal purple tent of the so-called medium looks less royal and more like an old bruise. Uffda, I'm making myself ill.

11:10 AM
And I'm sick to begin with. I think I'll go back to the library counter now.

5:30 PM
I ran into Mr. Yilmaz in the elevator and he agreed to fix my heater. Wonderful!

5:31 PM
He's coming at six tomorrow.

5:32 PM
Oh god. What will I wear?

5:33 PM
I shall not forget to put in my dentures. I shall not forget to put in my dentures. I shall not forget to put in...

5:50 PM
My dentures.

12:00 AM
I can't sleep. Be still, my beating heart.

12: 04 AM
Only not really still. As in, dead still. Dead being the operative adjective.

Definitely not a Pigeon

9:00 AM
Well, here I am at the library. For once, Macy arrived on time; she was here in time to help me ready the library for opening. I hope she makes a habit of it.

9:10 AM
No one in the library. Except, of course, Macy, but right now she's pacing at one of the windows and looking up at the densely clouded sky, as though hoping for Jesus to pop out of the clouds and say 'yes, Macy. It's all true. Repent and believe!'

9:23 AM
Except I don't believe Macy is talking to God. What's she saying? Something about friends forgetting her.

9:25 AM
I'm bored. I think I'll drink some tea.

12:25 PM
Macy left to go out on her lunch break, but she came back rather quickly, running like a madwoman. She kicked up her heels off the ground very high and slammed the library door after her. I would scold her, but my mouth is full of cheese and crackers. Ah well. She looks like something just tried to eat her.

12:28 PM
Checked out the window for suspicious, man-eating animals. So far, no Godzilla is visible. I think Macy just had a nervous breakdown, poor girl.

2:45 PM
Drank 2 liters of hot tea.

2:46 PM
More importantly, I've gone to the bathroom more often than I think must be healthy.

3:00 PM
There's a bird on the window sill outside the library.

3:01 PM
Quite a large bird, actually. I haven't got my glasses on at the moment, so I can't make it out very well.

3:02 PM
Perhaps it is a pigeon.

3:02 PM
I hate pigeons.

3:05 PM
I'm going to bang on the window pane and make it go away.

3:05 PM
That is definitely not a pigeon, now that I get closer to it.

3:06 PM
Good heavens, it's a chicken. And there are about five more in the ratty little scrap of grass in front of the library, pecking away like mad. I suppose all this wet weather really brings up the earthworms; a chicken's smorgasbord.
But that is not the point; the point is, there's a posse of chickens in front of my library. And the second point is... Why is there a group of chickens in front of my library?
"Macy, come here a moment." As weird as that girl is, she might know where the chickens came from. Or maybe because she's so weird she might know. "Look--there are chickens in the front yard."
Macy looks rather terrified. "They tried to get at me when I was outside before! Why are they there? "
Drat. My source of neighborhood information has failed me. She also appears to be hanging onto sanity by a thread. But I'd best respond. "I haven't the foggiest."
"Foggiest what?"
These young people. Don't even know a commonplace idiom. "I haven't the faintest idea," I translated out of the goodness of my heart.
"Well, should we do anything about them?" I can detect a note of worry in Macy's voice. Perhaps she thinks I will make her do something about them.
"No, just leave them. They're only chickens." And even mad birds like chickens have the right to roam free. Just as much right as an old woman, I should say.

3:10 PM
Macy's gone to hide in the Astronomy Section.

3:30 PM
Hahaha. Chickens move in a funny way, jerking their legs in time with their heads, like little wound-up clockwork toys. Bokbok. Bokbok. It's fun to make a chicken voice and strut about like one of the silly birds.

3:32 PM
I should stop doing this in public. One of the people in the Romance Section gave me a funny look.

Before the Earth Cooled

5:08 AM
The nice Mr. Altan fixed my ceiling last night. I'm very happy with the results. I don't know what he did, but my apartment is now rain-free.

5:10 AM
Perhaps he can fix my heater, too. I'm about to freeze to death in here. I've got three quilts here on the couch and I'm stuffed in the center of them like an apple stuffed in a roast-pig's mouth, on the verge of being swallowed by blanket fluff. At this rate, I'll suffocate before I freeze to death.

5:18 AM
Lalalalala, tea is ready!

Fat kettle, shrieking
Your high sweet torturous note
screams: Tea is ready.

5:20 AM
Cheese, crackers, and I've cut up an apple... A perfect breakfast. Actually, the tea is what makes it perfect.

6:00 AM
My umbrella has a broken spoke; Mr. Altan wasn't able to keep it from snapping when he pulled it from the vent last night. I shall fix it with string.

6:04 AM
The string is not working.

6:10 AM
Die, string. Die.

6:15 AM
Alright. I've glued the spoke with Elmer's glue, wrapped it as best I could with duct tape, and wrapped it with string that I've saved from teabags. I've always saved my teabag string--the string that holds the little paper tab to the fat pouch of tea material, I mean. It's useful. You never know when you'll need some string, I always say.

6:18 AM
Like now. I just used some of that string I saved. I am NOT mad as a spoon, Sara Goodeart! Ha. I haven't seen my daughter for two years now. She probably thinks I'm dead as a door nail. And wouldn't that serve her right? I wish I could see her now.

6:25 AM
I'd wave my umbrella in her face and show her my teabag string, put to use. Mad, indeed! Look here, Sara!

6:27 AM
If only children listened to their mothers. They'd lead happier lives, I'm sure. Unless all mothers were like my mother, in which case we would have to despair for the human race.

6:30 AM
But I am nothing like my mother, so Sara ought to have listened to me.

8:00 AM
The doorbell's just rung, and now someone is knocking on my door. I suppose I should go answer it. Lalala...I have lots of tea. Yum. Oooh, this door sticks in the damp. Good heavens. There are two young men at my door. Well, one young man and a little boy. The little boy waved a clipboard in my face and coughed and puffed out his chest like a pufferfish.

8:01 AM
Only, of course, he isn't covered in spines and he's not a fish. That would be unfortunate for a little boy. Think of all the teasing.

8:02 AM
"Hello, Miss."
"Mrs." Just because my husband is dead doesn't mean I've lost my title.
"Mrs," the boy corrected himself very graciously. "Have you seen a number two anywhere?"

8:05 AM
I refuse to believe that I am going deaf. Therefore, I must have a build up of earwax.
"A number two, small boy-child?" I was never any good with children. Not even my own. What am I saying? ESPECIALLY my own.
"Er, yes. A number two. Like, you put it on your door." The boy pointed at my door where my apartment number is.
"Oh. No. I can't say that I have."
"Ok. Please tell me if you catch sight of it."
Catch sight of it? What is it, a fugitive? I can see it all now. The police have been trying to catch Number Two for a while now. Oh no! There it goes, harring down the street! Catch it! Catch it!
The little boy has walked off and he's pounding on the neighbor's door. The man--who could easily be my son, at his age--nodded politely to me and wandered on after the boy.
Perhaps they are father and son. I've never much paid attention to the people in this town. They'll all die soon anyways.

8:10 AM
Actually, it's more likely that I'll die first. I'm very old. I've been around her since before the Earth cooled.

The Monstrosity In My Back Yard

1:02 PM
Well. I've had a look out the back of the library and I've caught sight of that horrible carnival. Despicable. All those tents and rides and things. Will I go? I shall NOT!

4:00 PM
I have left the library to Macy. She'll close it up at 5.

4:02 PM
I think I'll take the long way home. A nice long walk will be good for me. I'll leave the bike here at the library.

4:05 PM
So my long walk home, unfortunately, goes through the carnival. I shall just have to put up with it.

4:10 PM
There's a big purple tent with embroidery all over it in the middle of the carnival. A long line of people are snaked out behind it; I wonder what's inside the tent?
"Excuse me, but what's inside that tent?" I asked, tapping a young man in line. He looked over and whispered,
"The medium is in there." I could barely hear him, he spoke so softly. He gave me a frighteningly intense look and turned back to face the person in front of him in line. The medium? What's the medium?

4:12 PM
Does the tent have the large and small, too?

4:13 PM
I think I'll wait and find out. It can't do any harm. I have a while before it gets too dark, anyways. I'm getting in line.

4:15 PM
I'm in line now. There's a scary young lady in front of me. She looks a bit...chilly.

4:17 PM
Really chilly, actually. I'm not sure if those things constitute as clothes. More like...bits of black handkerchief...held together with lace...

4:20 PM
I asked her if she was cold. She told me I was a creepy old woman. The nerve! I have half a mind to leave this line right now and never mess with this 'medium' of theirs. Ha! There are lots of medium things. I won't be missing anything.

4:40 PM
It's my turn! I can go in the tent! I'm going to find out what a medium is!! Wait until I tell my cats.

4:41 PM
It's a batty little woman in a black cape and with frizzy hair. I'm going to write a letter of complaint. Who runs these horrid little sideshow festivals, anyways? I waited half an hour in line for this?! She's telling me to sit down.

4:45 PM
So it turns out she's a fortune teller. She's even got a crystal ball. It's kind of a smoky-looking crystal. I can see her batty reflection in it.
I used to have a crystal ball like this in my garden in Texas. It was a bauble that caught the sunlight and reflected it into a thousand different spears of color. I had a large garden, before I lived in Sunnydene Retirement home. It had irises and morning glory and moonflower vines. And lots of violets. I do love violets. I also kept a sign in the yard that said, "R.I.P. : Here lie all the people that ever stepped foot in my lawn."
I never had any trouble with those pesky little neighborhood children, either. I did when I was in the home, though; they called it 'charity work,' but I don't see what's so charitable about some school forcing a bus load of elementary school children into an old person's home and telling them to be 'kind' and 'helpful.' If I ever have to listen to another chorus of little children sing happy songs like "This Little Light of Mine," I shall shoot them with my dart gun.

4:50 PM
But I digress. This medium woman--and that's actually quite a good description, she's neither short nor tall--says she's seen something in the crystal ball. Impressive. All I see is more rock.
"You will meet a dark stranger!" She sounds like a frog with a throat infection. "I foresee love!" I expect her to ribbet any time now. "Deep, passionate love!" Does she realize how old I am? Passionate love, indeed.

5:30 PM
Home at last. I told all the cats what happened to me. The medium lady asked me for money afterwards. The gall! All she did was spout garbage. If I weren't a lady, I'd say she spouted absolute shi--but I'm a lady, and I shan't say it. I shall tell Macy to not bother to go to the carnival. It will be a waste of her money.
Funnily enough, I saw something odd on my way home. It was raining--surprise, surprise; I don't believe the sky has taken a break from dripping like my plumbing for a solid month--and I saw a man fall down to the ground and start vomiting.

5:35 PM
You know what I think? I think he ate meat from that butcher shop. I felt a bit peaky from just smelling the place. I didn't say anything to the man; no telling where he'd been. Other than the butcher shop, of course.

5:38 PM
MY CEILING IS LEAKING! No. I refuse to be damp. The ceiling cannot be leaking. I'm not even on the top floor. How can a ceiling leak if the rain can't get to it?
The water is getting all over my sofa. This is unacceptable. Perhaps if I put my umbrella--

5:45 PM
Wonderful. My umbrella is stuck in the ceiling. The spokes are jammed up in the vent.

5:46 PM
And the ceiling is still leaking. I'm calling maintenance.

5:50 PM
OF COURSE NO ONE ANSWERED. I will die old and alone of pneumonia. My body will rot away and my cats will be forced to eat me because no one will be here to look after them. Then one day, someone will axe down the door because I haven't payed my rent. And they'll find my skeleton, floating in a puddle of dripped rainwater. THEN they'll be sorry. And my cats will be so starved that they'll eat them. Good. They deserve it.

5: 59 PM
That's it. I'm going to go down to the first floor and FINDING someone to fix my ceiling. I've got my extra set of dentures to clack at people who get in my way. For some reason, they tend to disturb people.

6:10 PM
I waited for the elevator to come, and when it did, it clattered and the doors opened, but the elevator box hadn't come level with the floor--it's below where it was supposed to be, about three-quarters over the rim of the floor. The little coffee man, Altan whatsit--I don't think I can pronounce his last name--is in it. And his coffee cart.
"Hallo." I greeted him, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to reply. Perhaps he doesn't understand English all that well; I've never had an actual conversation with him.
"HAL-LO!" When in doubt, speak louder and slower. Foreign people understand better that way. And indeed, he nodded and greeted me, by name, no less. He appears to know everyone's name. Now that I think of it, I'd seen him at the entrance of the carnival, selling coffee--he hadn't seemed to be making much money.
"WOULD YOU LIKE OUT? OUT EL-E-VA-TOR?!" I nodded and smiled, and he started nodding and smiling, too. I wonder if he's a simpleton.

6:15 PM
Good heavens, his cart is heavy. I'm pulling and he's pushing and lifting, but it certainly weighs more than I do. Uffda! There it is. All safe and sound. Perhaps I should help him up, too? He looks elderly.
Good heavens. He's heavy, too. What is it with all these heavy things? He's nearly pulled me in the elevator with him.
Ok, here we go.
"Thank-you Ms. Evans," he said. A gentlemanly simpleton. "Can I do anything for you? Would you like some coffee?" He looks so hopeful. "On the house." And now he looks depressed. What an odd little man.
OH! I have an idea.

6:20 PM
"Mr. Altan... I don't suppose you know anything about ceilings?" Well, it's a better bet than asking the idiots at the front desk. With any luck, he'll know more about ceilings than 'they go above our heads,' and 'they're not supposed to leak.'