Mrs. Trout, with grey shot red hair tied up in a loose pony tail, resplendent in a white blouse, khaki calf leg trousers and Birkenstock slip on’s, took Maggie’s silence and general lack of movement as that of well deserved sleep. Quietly closing the book, she stood, leant over her daughter, and gave her a love filled peck on the cheek. Packing up her things, she stood, and silently left.
Waiting roughly two minutes, Maggie minutely opened her left eye, and then her right, confirming that her mother had indeed gone. The smile that spread across her face was one inspired by pure ecstasy. Its intensity bordering on the sensuous and the erotic. An electrical storm within the senses; Tesla coils firing beneath the skin.
She felt truly magnificent. Alive, vibrant, and utterly thrill filled. She had been there. She was the mother, she had seen the ghost. She had protected her children. She had made tea in the billy and camped beneath the stars. She had felt both love and anger when looking at her husband.
It was real.
She was real.
The story was fact, and she had lived it. Fury and fear had been met with joy and longing. Now, all she could think of was ‘more’.
Oddly, a smallish dog, a black and white Fox Terrier to those in the know, trotted off the ward, down a flight of steps, and out into the afternoon sunlight totally unnoticed. Taking its time to cross an overpriced privately owned car park, it approached a clapped out 1960 something beigish VW Beetle. The left hand side passenger door was held open for him, and Mr. D’Arcy jumped in without prompting.
In a cloud of smoke, the little car backfired twice, ground its teeth as it was shoved into first, and promptly disappeared from view.
Maggie smiled on blissfully unaware of Mr. D’Arcy, and the car that had collected him.
This is a continuation from ‘https://therebemonstershere.com/2017/03/31/waking-nightmare-5/‘. Click the picture, within is a song of nostalgia that still makes me weep to this day.
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