The three words this week are: Cease, Heat and Nasty. See what you can do with them, then let everyone know at Three Word Wednesday. I appreciate your time and hope you like my offering for this week.
The temperature says 94 degrees, but what you have to pay attention to is the Heat Index. That says its 101 degrees. That's what it really feels like out there. My UK friend asks, "What's that in Celsius?"
"Celsius? I don't know! I'm a rude American. You're supposed to figure out what I mean, not the other way around." (Its 38 in Celsius.) I could have told him it was 92 and he would have been as impressed. I could have told him they were frying newborn babies out on the pavement because of all the food rationing. He never listens. I don't know why I talk to him. Except he's like me. He's like us. We are all waiting. Waiting for the heat to break. Waiting for the lines to go away. Waiting for the days of plenty and a chicken in every pot...the days of wine and roses.
Roses. I remember roses. They used to grow on vines that were green and wound up through the fences. They had a nasty bite though. Funny how the same plantinite could grow such beautiful flowers that were also so poisonous. Billy Tom over at the grain store told about how one grabbed his brother from four feet away. Just took him. It was quick, he didn't hurt long. Rose flower poison, once it gets into the blood stream works fast. Even if you get to a doctor, the damage is already done. You don't stand a chance of surviving. So, sure, I mean they had to do something about that, didn't they? Eradicated every one of them. Gone. Well, so they say. I hear, some still grow them in pens in secret gardens out on the plains. I hear they have private fights between them in things called arenas where they bet on which rosebush will kill the other.
It's so hot. "Monthly Rain: 0.00" Why don't they just go ahead and change it to Annual Rain, nothing dot nothing. I used to tell my son stories about the rain. He's gotten older now. He's realized its like Santa Claus and all made up.
The DeBlaine family is sure having a hard time right now. Emma Kay, she used to lay out in her bikini so all the men could get a good look at what she'd not share with them. A few months back, she fell asleep, in her bikini. By the time she woke up, well, it ain't pretty. Well, she ain't pretty no more. The doctor says though the scars make a kind of attractive pattern. Then, right after that, the old man's hooch-maker blew sky high. Crap, we all thought it was them from over in PineFalls coming to try and steal our water again. It was them that got stupid with their own. Everyone's been told no more than a pint and a half every other day, and be real sure not to spill it. And I mean, don't spill it. The ground, you know, it just goes crazy if it gets even damp. My brother let just a few drops of sweat fall on the dirt out back last week and we were all night having to fight that mess off. Demons. Some say they are dirt, or dust, demons. I don't know what they are, but they are nasty. And they'll come right up out of any spot that's even just a little damp.
Anyway, old man DeBlaine's hooch cooker blew. So now, there ain't no shine-drink. That kept most of the trouble makers nice and numbed out. No limit on how much of that stink you can drink. Only the shine-drink well has gone dry, the flow of intoxicants has stopped, ceased now what with that blown maker. Those troublers, they are getting more noisy by the hour. I sure hope Kenny Bill gets back soon from over at Tinker Sam's with parts good enough to get the blanged thing up and working again. Otherwise, I'm afraid, in this heat, things are going to get nasty real soon.
If I have not worn you out or bored you to tears, or even if I have, I’ve put the next chapter in my Namless endeavor Here. I welcome comments. Thank you.