[PROSE] Morty Comes to Visit

Hiya lovelies!

I know, I know! I'm a horrible blogger-friend. It's been forever! I apologize profusely! =) Forgive me?

Anyway, I have a bunch of prose pieces to share with you guys. I got a ton of writing done in the past few months; not due to a sudden bout of inspiration, but because I took a creative writing course this Fall semester. I had a blast! I could finally get some writing done because i was forced to. Lol There may be a bit of the masochist in me.

Anyway, without further ado, below is one of my final stories submitted for the class. I earned an A on it. *shrugs* But I want you guys to tell me what you think of it. Okay? Thankyoubye! =)

Click below for my short story, "Morty Comes to Visit."

Morty Comes to Visit

The shrill of the doorbell broke through the cacophony of “Annnnnd touchdown! Lions lead 14 to 6,” that blared from the surround sound 60” plasma TV, the raucous laughter of three middle aged men with slightly bald patches and beer bellies, “Yea, baby, that’s what I’m talking about! In yo’ face, Ronald”, the whining grumbles, “Aw, C’mon Devils, get ya shit together!” of the fourth equally aged man, Ronald, who belonged to you, the woosh woosh of simultaneous rinse cycles from both the dishwasher and washing machine. The doorbell shrilled again. “Honey, the door!”

You looked up from folding the girls’ clothes from the first of four loads of laundry, rolled your eyes. Sitting just 10 damn feet away from the door, but you can’t get off your Heineken, Budweiser, or whatever soaked ass to get it because you’re watching football. You stomped down the stairs, pink little girl coveralls still in hand, towards the door.

You winced at another sudden shout, “Oh yea, who’s your daddy?” from the living room. Accompanied by more sounds of “male bonding”, you gripped the door knob with your right hand. You hesitated, tilted your head slightly to the side. A slight shiver traveled up from your tailbone to your shoulders, rattled your spine. Were you expecting anyone? You pulled the door open. “Hel-”

Leaned against the door frame with one biker boot crossed in front of the other is a 5 feet, 11 inch—goddess? You swept your eyes from her angelic face to her deep violet corset covered torso, that stretched to barely cover her ample—is that glitter?—chest. Strapped to each muscular upper arm are twin 6 inch knives with symbols engraved in white. Your eyes quickly slid past her crossbone studded belly button to soft black leather jeans that hugged her like a second skin. Finally you fixed your gaze just over her right shoulder and onto your silver Camry in the driveway and shivered again.

In your peripheral, she smiled. No, smirked. Only one side of her mouth actually lifted.

“Why hello, Honeycake. Tis a pleasure for sure,” she grabbed your hand and placed a dry-ice kiss on the middle knuckle. You gasped, as tingling, burning needles shot through your hand and up your arm, like it had suddenly fallen asleep. You snatched your hand away, and cradled it to you chest as it heaved and you stumbled backwards.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you”. Yea, fucking right. The “much” is clearly implied. Your spine shook like a quivering puppy in a winter rain, but you straightened up and pursed your lips. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I think it’s time for you to go”. She lifted a black nail-polished hand and smiled as she checked for chipped nails. Fine. You grabbed the door and pushed at it to close it. It didn’t budge. You dropped Katie’s coveralls onto the floor and pushed with both hands. What the fuck? With furtive glances at the woman, who now checked her other hand, you planted your feet and pushed again. You looked up at the woman’s face.

Last summer, Katie, then two, had insisted that she could carry the large watering can to the garden to water the flowers. You had let her try, starring down at her with fond affection while watching her futile attempts. The woman now looked at you the same way.

"Are you ready to listen to what I have to say now? I even have this whole spiel planned out," the woman said absentmindedly as she continued to glance down at her nails.

You took a deep breath. "What do you want?"

"It's not what I want. I'm simply a minion, a grunt, fairly low on the totem pole."

"Get to the fucking point already," you hissed, frightened with every irksome word that left the woman's mouth.

The woman sighed exaggeratedly, as if the whole world was ending. "The big guy is calling you home, sweetums." She gestured upwards.

"I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, or who the hell you think you are."

"Haven't I introduced myself? Oh, silly me. I'm Liliane Lamort, but my friends call me Morty."

"I don't give a shit; I just want you to leave."

"Sorry, no can do. What the big guy wants, the big guy gets. And I'm afriad it's too late. It's already beginning, take a look around."

"What the hell are you talking." You glanced to the living room on the left and there's nothing, but silence. The football game is paused--football stuck in mid air. The four men, too, are paused: fists clenched and frozen in the air, mouths open in mid-cheer and glasses tilted back and beers frozen mid-stream just before flowing into waiting mouths. You blinked. Once, twice. You lifted your glasses and rubbed at your eyes. You turned to the kitchen on the right, but paused to glance at the woman's amused smirk still in place. You looked to the kitchen and strained your ears for the familiar woosh of the machines. You blinked again. The cottoncandy blue paint on the entryway walls are a pale gray. The mahogany staircase that you had came down earlier was now a dark gray. The cherry wood front door that you still clenched was also a dark gray. You turned back to the living room. Ronald's University of Detroit Mercy sweatshirt, once red and blue was now gray. So was the deep red recliner he perched on.When? When did all of the color slip away?

You turned back to Morty in the doorway and snarl, "What. the. FUCK. do. you. want?"

"My, my. Is that any way to speak to a guest? Plus, I'm just the innocent messenger."

"Who sent you then?"

Morty sighed. "You're not too smart are you? I already told you that the Big Guy is upset with you?"

Big Guy? You glanced nervously towards the sky. "Why?"

"Cause you're an ungrateful little shit," Morty paused and grinned. "My words, not his," she laughed.

You tried to shut the door again, but it still wouldn't budge. You thought about running, but realized that your feet were just as frozen as the door.

Your throat and chest tightened painfully and your breathe whistled through your nose. "I don't understand," you whispered shakingly.

"I don't understand," Morty mocked. "You damn mortals never do." She grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled you towards her. She stared deeply into your eyes and you're sucked into the vacuum of her inky black pupils.

It had been your 16^th birthday. You stood in front of a large pink frosted cake thatheld 16 candles and one extra for good luck, you clasped your tiny hands together in desperation. Please, please. Let me grow a few more inches before I turn 18 and stop growing. Please. I want to be gorgeously tall like Nicole Kidman. 5’11” isn’t too much to ask for is it? Just 6 more inches. Deep breath, lungs at maximum capacity, you let out a forceful blow, killing all 17 candles.

You grabbed onto the cold hands that were twisted in your shirt and pulled, but it wasn't any use. Morty pulled you in closer and her eyes...

It had been the summer after your first year of college. Sitting tensely in the hairdresser’s chair, your hair freshly washed, hands clenched around a torn magazine ad.

“What would you like done, honey?” the hair dresser said, teeth smacking gum violently.

Taking a deep breath, you turn slightly and thrust the sweat dampened ad at her. “This”. And hope you don’t regret it.

Morty still had a hold on your blouse. “Let go!” you yelled hoarsely as you kicked out weakly. She simply laughed.

“Not yet. There’s more.” One hand let go of your shirt and grabbed your chin holding it still for eye contact.

You had been walking home from a long day at work. You passed by it every day to and from work. Today, however, you slowed down your stride as you approached Dr. Wagner’s Cosmetic Surgery office. Paused in front of the advertisements in the window, you casted guilty looks to the right and left before you stepped closer. WANT A NEW YOU? GET A NEW NOSE! SIMPLY BRING IN A PICTURE OF YOUR FAVORITE NOSE AND THEN LEAVE THE REST TO US. JUST $5,500. You cringed and continued your trek home briskly.

You hung limply in Morty’s hold as she held you off the floor. "So," you trembled. "What does this all mean? So what, if there were times in my life that I wanted to change?"

"Unfortunately for you, the Big Guy gets his feelings hurt when his creations don't appreciate his work." Morty chuckled gleefully. "Fortunately for me, it's people like you that keep people like me in business."

“Now what?” you asked resignedly.

“Just one more show, then it’s time to meet your maker.” Morty laughed hysterically as she slapped your thigh instead of her own. “Man, I always wanted to say that.”

She finally becomes serious and forces you to look into her eyes again. This time that inky darkness is swirling. Your head spins: “Oh, honey. You’re never going to be 5’ 11”. Both your father and I were leprechauns in a past life,” your mother chuckled. “Baby. What the fuck did you do to your hair,” Rodney had shouted horrified and then you hadn’t slept with him for two weeks. “Mommy, how come I have daddy’s nose? Daddy has an ugly nose. I want your nose, mommy. Yours is like a little piggy. I like piggies,” your youngest, Katie, rambled as she ate a snack after school. 

“Goodbye,” Morty whispered before you felt cold lips against yours.

Your vision blurred, faded. She let go. You fell to your knees, gasped, sucked in large gulps of air that your lungs were suddenly incapable of holding. Your world darkened around the edges. Lungs burning, you hit the death-cold tile of the entryway. As you succumbed to the darkness, you heard a tinkling sound, like wind chimes on a Spring day. Finally, your eyes closed.