Re: Help needed




"a l l y" <ally@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote in message
news:8vgah4F48nU1@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I'd like to read it. But without the vomit, please.

ally
ok intro :-


It was a bright cold day. I looked forward to it. Shops were closing and the
town was quieting down, falling asleep, you might say. We made our way
across the empty market place. The flower stalls and the fruit stalls had
packed up and the wagons had been drawn up the main street toward the
outskirts of town again. I had my new pink jumper on, the one with the green
border around the neck and cuffs. I had finished knitting it the night
before. I felt good. Our groceries were in the plastic bags we carried along
with us and we headed for the second floor of the "Christopherson Bakery,"
buying a loaf on the way through to the café above where we had agreed to
meet the gang .This was the café visited by lands people, peasants and
farmers who had come into town every weekend since the 1800s to sell their
cattle, their horses, sheep, vegetables and flowers. The place would be
bustling with animals and farmers in those days. They too would meet
upstairs in the same café has we were about to do and sit at the same tables
sipping their coffee.

Today there were only a few cars parked outside, one of them a big light
blue 57 Chevy, shining there, our pride and joy, a V8 with the extra kick
down gear added to that beauty by D.I.Y in the back garden. Otherwise, only
our friends' cars were parked beside her and I looked forward to meeting
them over a cream cake and a cup of black coffee. The old oak topped iron
tables had been pulled together and we sat gathered around them chatting and
joking in a friendly atmosphere. This day I was a part of a group of people.
I talked and smiled and everything was cosy. Being British among Norwegian
youths, our friends found me to be a novelty and threw in a few English
words now and then which I responded to and I basked in the fun of being
different. My highlight of the day. Saturday afternoons, a day when I could
meet other people and enjoy their company.

After a while I noticed my husband became quieter and quieter, smiling only
and in the end was completely silent but the smile was still there. Cold
eyes, warm smile, I'd seen that smile before. The mouth smiles but the
intense cold blue eyes warn danger. That smile fooled everyone. I suddenly
felt sick. I fell into silence, trying to fathom what was wrong. Everything
I had said was filtering in my brain. No. Nothing there. My breast began to
tighten. A girl down at the end of one of the tables on the opposite side
called to me.

"Nice jumper, Edith," in the complete unknown of what was happening. How
could she. It's a, behind closed doors thing. It's a black art. It's a
frightening fact like a boot slammed down on a beetle, squashing the life
out of it.

"Thanks," I replied. I knitted it myself." That seemed to be the icing on
the cake. We had to leave. It was slightly sudden. I pulled my duffle on and
called "Bye" and we left the café, crossed the cobbled street to the Chevy
and drove off without a word between us. My heart felt stiff in my breast.
It hurt. I wanted to remove it. Don't drive that way. Don't take me home old
Chevy. Drive anywhere but home. Please, take another course. But the Chevy
cruised out of town and into our street and my happy world grossly
disturbed, was crumbling on an incoming storm. It was difficult to breath. I
dared not speak. We entered the hall and I heard the key being turned in the
door behind me. Then it dawned on me. I had had too nice a time, I had
enjoyed others company, I had been the light of the party, the main person,
the most interesting, the novelty. I dropped my bags and raised my arms. I
was too late. Thrown to the floor I was kicked in the stomach and while I
gasped for air, I was commanded to stand up. "Stand up!" he shouted. "Stand
up!" I tried. I could not breathe. The breath had been kicked out of me. I
was to suffocate. He grabbed my duffle, drew on it and shouted, "Stand up!"
Drained for oxygen I obeyed orders. I stood up.



and so the book goes over to past\future, him\her, they\those, others and
fabled names. I have loads of work to do on it yet. Not a childs book.



Edith





.



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