| 1 2 3 4 |
"Penelope's Poisonous Plan" (the eighty-eighth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
5 6 7 8 |
Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Penelope's Poisonous Plan" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EST), Dec 15, 2008 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan By Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org (Entry #6) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| "You're taking it all very well.
Trust me I know you'll soon get over it. By the way, this is a nice herbal
tea." Penny spoke with all the sincerity she could project but she was thinking
- what a doormat this girl is. I steal her best boyfriend ever and she invites
me round for tea for two and tells me everything will turnout alright. "I know, shit sometimes happens but let's move on from that," said Penelope. "It's really called a tisane not herbal tea. It's my new hobby. I used to buy the stuff in fancy stores then I realized I was just paying for the packaging and the profits. The Internet is a great equalizer. A couple of hours online and I knew where to get the seeds and how to grow the plants and dry the leaves. There are even forums for sharing stories. I like this one. Have another cup and relax. I thought it would be just the thing for the day of your big speech. Oh, and I guess you'll be making a big splash on TV." "Yes it will all be live on TV and it will go on for hours too," said Penny looking at her watch. "But it's only local cable, narrow casting they call it, not broadcasting. I'm so sorry but I will have to watch my time. One more cup and I'll really have to go." Penelope watched and waved from the window as Penny went off to the TV studio. Then she lifted Teddy up from behind a chair. This was her loyal old friend with buttons for eyes, a friend who never lied to her and who would never even think of stealing her best boyfriend. As they settled down to watch cable TV with a nice box of chocolates Penelope carefully explained to Teddy what they could expect from a really strong herbal laxative. |
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan By glenlee10@sky.com (Entry #2) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| It wasn’t a good start to the
day. It had rained heavily overnight. The top end of the garden was underwater
and the petunias were floating. Pennie loaded the dishwasher, depressed by the
greyness of the day. “Bloody weather!” Tom Hardy, her husband, threw the morning paper on the floor. “Bloody paper!” He stormed from the kitchen, leaving Pennie to pick up the pieces of his bad temper, as usual. “I’m off,” he shouted down the hall. “I’ll get some sandwiches in town later. Don’t bother making me any.” The front door slammed. “Well goodbye to you too, dear,” Pennie grumbled. She dried her hands and put the box of sandwiches next to her handbag. She’d have to have his sandwiches for her own lunch, even though she didn’t much like cheese and onion. At lunchtime, Pennie nipped out from work to buy a few bits and pieces. When she joined the queue at the chemist’s, she saw that Tom was just in front of her. Funny, she thought, he hadn’t mentioned he needed any shopping. She was on the point of saying, “Hello,” when the assistant beckoned him forward. Pennie pretended to read the advertisement to the left of the till for a do-it-yourself blood pressure monitor but she was actually peeping to see what Tom was buying. She heard him ask the assistant for nicotine patches, “Strong ones, please.” So he’s trying to quit again, is he, Pennie mused? And not before time, either. She was heartily sick of his bad temper. He’d been trying to stop smoking for ages and hated himself, and anyone else in range, because he couldn’t do it. He’d tried lozenges but had complained that he had to have at least fifteen a day for them to have any effect and all he got were nausea, heart palpitations and dizziness. So he’d stopped taking them. And been in a bad temper ever since. “Is this the first time you’ve used patches?” Pennie heard the assistant ask. Tom nodded. “Do you have any underlying health problems which might preclude your using a nicotine replacement or are you on medication for any medical condition?” The girl reached for a packet. “No,” Tom mumbled. “As it’s your first time,” the girl continued with her well-rehearsed spiel, “you must read the instructions for use and the possible side effects very carefully. You’ll find a leaflet inside the packet.” She took Tom’s money. Behind her in the queue, a young mother was attempting to control a troublesome toddler. The child pulled away from its mother and fell against Pennie. She turned. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the mother said. “Don’t worry,” Pennie smiled. “They can all get a bit boisterous at times.” Trying to assure the child’s mother that she wasn’t cross, she missed the rest of the conversation between Tom and the shop assistant. “And,” the girl finished emphatically, “do not smoke or take any other type of nicotine substitute while you are on the patches.” Tom snatched the small, plastic bag from the girl’s hand. “Have a pleasant day,” she smiled, without making eye contact. “Next?” Tom grunted and turned, bumping into Pennie and stepping on her toes. She gasped. “Ouch!” “What are you gawping at?” he growled. “And how can you expect me to avoid you when you’re standing so close? Oh, it’s you, Penelope! Are you spying on me?” He sidestepped his wife and the rest of the queue, which by now filled the small shop, and departed, pushing past an untidily dressed young man in the doorway. The man pushed his thick mop of hair back off his face. “Excuse me!” he exclaimed angrily to Tom’s departing back. Pennie had had enough but she thought she might have a solution to the problem so did a bit more shopping than she had intended. It was midnight. Most people were asleep but in the Hardy household, the kitchen light was on. Pennie reached up and pulled down the blind, not cutting out the light that poured onto the garden but muting it to a pale glow. She pulled open a drawer, quietly, and removed two knives. The packets she’d bought earlier were ready and waiting. She opened them and tipped the contents out onto a chopping board. She pressed each of the thirty lozenges from the plastic wrappings. The small, sharp knife made easy work of the lozenges’ outer casings. The other knife, the one with a blunt end, was perfect for scraping out the contents. A clean, unlabelled jar that had once held Marmite was waiting for the paste. The job took an hour and then she tidied up. She sealed the jar tightly. It was small enough to be concealed in her pocket. She washed the knives and the chopping board, dried them and put them away. She dropped the packets, waste plastic and unwanted lozenge cases into the kitchen bin. The bin already contained three broken eggs, potato peelings and the remains of a half-tin of chopped tomatoes that had been left too long in the fridge. No one would rummage through such a mixture, least of all Tom. In the morning, she’d put the kitchen rubbish outside in the wheelie bin, underneath the week’s accumulation of newspapers. It was bin day tomorrow and all traces of the night’s work would disappear. She checked that the back door was locked, opened the blind, switched off the kitchen light and went to bed. This time, she would make sure that her husband would have sufficient nicotine substitute to finally give up smoking. She didn’t disturb Tom. He’d had a couple of whiskeys before bed and was out for the count. Sleep was not long in coming to her and it was deep and restful. The following morning, Pennie made Tom’s sandwiches as usual. She’d bought some of the thinly sliced pepper steak that he liked so much. She buttered two thick slices of bread and put three layers of the meat on top of one slice. Then she smeared the paste she’d prepared the previous night on top of the filling. She got some of the paste on a finger and licked it off. Peppery. Excellent! She finished making the sandwiches, washed out the empty jar and took it out to the dustbin, which she then wheeled into the street for emptying later that morning. “A man’s just collapsed on The Green!” Pennie heard the commotion over the clatter of keyboards in the busy estate agents’ office where she worked. The voice of Gloria, the receptionist, rose up the scale to an irritating screech. “I’ve just seen it. He’s over on the far side and there’s quite a crowd gathering already.” Everyone ran from the main office into reception and clustered round the window. Gloria pointed. “See? I think I’d better go and find out if I can help.” The door bell jangled frantically behind her. Mavis, the office cleaner, who worked from 9am to 2pm, had left for the day but came scurrying in before the bell had stopped jiggling. She beckoned to Pennie. “Has Gloria told you?” “About the man?” Pennie asked. “Yes. She said someone was in trouble.” “It’s Tom!” Mavis burst out. “It’s your husband, Pennie. They think he’s dead!” “What happened?” Pennie ran towards the door. She could hear a shrill ambulance siren coming down the High Street. Gloria met Pennie in the street. “It’s Tom,” she squealed. “Quick, Pennie. They seem to think he’s had a heart attack!” Pennie ran past her, towards the crowd on the other side of The Green. Mavis and Gloria followed her. As they ran, Mavis told Gloria, “I saw it all. I was sitting on the bench next to the Millennium Oak. Tom had just started to cross the road onto The Green when a car came round the corner and drove straight through a puddle, splashing him. Well, you know how fastidious Tom is and he started shouting and shaking his fist in the air. I thought he was going to run after the car but then he just said, ‘Oh!’ and sat down in the gutter.” “Oh!” Gloria said. “Then he fell over onto his side. Of course, I ran over to see what was the matter…” Mavis slowed and took a deep breath before she could continue. “I don’t have a mobile phone, so I couldn’t have called an ambulance, could I? Though since British Telecom took the kiosk away from The Green I’ve been thinking about getting one. So I had to attract the attention of someone who had one. Then, when that Lizzie from Barton Road was making the call, I tried to turn Tom over but he was too heavy for me to move. But I think it was too late. I think he’d gone already.” “But he wasn’t an old man,” Gloria was breathing heavily too. “Only 60 he was. Poor Pennie. It’ll be a terrible shock for her.” Pennie had forced a way through the crowd just in time to see Tom being loaded into the ambulance. Its siren hiccoughed, then blared a path through the crowd and was gone. Pennie shook her head slowly. “He can’t have died,” she said. “He shouldn’t have died. He was only meant to be a little bit poorly.” She turned to Gloria who’d caught up with her. “It’s all my fault,” she moaned. “I was only helping him to give up smoking. But he must have had too much nicotine.” Her face was white. “It was the heart palpitations, you see. I’d forgotten all about his heart palpitations.” |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #6 Second place: #2 Third place (tie): #3, #5 Fifth place: #8 Others receiving votes: #1, #7 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan sj.swain@bigpond.com |
#1 of 8 |
| 2435 words | |
| Craig Mossman and Cassandra Cortez gazed down at the
emaciated body of Penelope Mossman at their feet. Her twig like legs had
crumpled beneath her when she had fallen from the first shotgun blast that had
taken a lump out of her chest. She didn’t die from that but she did from
the second blast, into her face, that had pushed her back into the couch where
her straw like arms were splayed like she had been crucified. The blood from
her splattered chest and head now patterned its fashionably white cushions.
“Aw Jesus!“ Craig gulped a breath as he sat on one of the two facing chairs. Cassandra, sobbing, sat on the other. Shaking uncontrollably, bile rising in his throat, Craig listened to the police sirens that still sounded so far away as he allowed the gun to slip from his hands to the floor. It had been a year, almost to the day, when, on an unseasonably warm December afternoon he had told Penelope that their marriage was over. He had known that it was going to be a shock to her that she would not have seen it coming but, at the time, he had thought it better to be a man about it and tell her straight. Their marriage of twenty years had been okay, not sensational by any stretch of the imagination but comfortable enough and, if Cassandra had not happened along, Craig had no doubt that he and Penelope would have grown old together. But, Cassandra had happened along. Penelope had sat back against the kitchen table with her head down as he gave his awkward apologies for screwing up her life. “I’m so sorry Pen, I can’t tell you. . . I. . . We. . . Cass and I just have something together that, well, you and I just never had and it’s something I need. . . I mean. . . Look. . . Anyway. . . You’re still young, Pen, you’ll find someone else too, I know you will.” She had taken it better than he had expected her to. Her head had remained down for the duration of his bumbling straight talk but there had been no tears, none that he had seen anyway, no questions why and no pleading. In fact she hadn’t said a word and that had made it both easier and more difficult for him. “You okay?” he asked, after they had stood uncomfortably silent for a long moment. Without looking up she had lightly nodded her head. Craig leant forward, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered again that he was sorry then spun around to step out of the open back door and her life. Just as he was about to pass through it, he glanced around his shoulder. Penelope’s head was back up and she was smiling. But it was a smile that he had not seen on her before. Her eyes, smouldering small blocks of steaming dry ice, seemed to be looking more through him than at him. As he stepped into the warm sun, his shoulders shivered. Christmas, New Year and another three months passed and Craig and Cassandra had moved into a small, two floor apartment just off campus. They were both University lecturers. Craig had consulted his lawyer and had had the divorce papers drawn up and served. Penelope was to receive all of their property and half of their cashed up investments. The papers had not been returned yet but he was in no hurry for them, his new life was blissful, whenever his wife was ready was fine by him. On Monday mornings he and Cassandra would always arrive early to work where they would separate, Cassandra going her way and he to his office to prepare for the week in front of him. As was his routine, he would switch on his computer, remove his coat, hang it on a tall ornate timber clothes rack, make himself a mug of instant coffee, then check his email. There were always several, especially on a Monday and on this Monday there was one from his wife. It was their first communication since that afternoon four months earlier. He opened it, expecting it to be about the divorce papers, but it had read, ‘You will always belong to me, Craig. Always.’ Craig lightly swayed his head and sighed. The following Monday there was another email with the same message. Then again on Wednesday, then Thursday and Friday. On Saturday he called her. “Pen, I got your emails but I don’t understand. . . I mean, what is it you want? What is it you need me to do?” “Silly. “ She laughed a laugh that was more like a cackle. “I want you back here, with me.” “That’s not going to happen, Pen. You know that.” He waited for her to respond, listening to her breathing, “Pen?” The line went dead. A few more weeks passed, then, on a Tuesday, Craig was called to the Chancellors office. Some lecturers and several of the students had also received emails from his wife. ‘Craig belongs to me,’ they had read. ‘No matter what he may say.’ Attached to them was a photo of their wedding. Craig was speechless, he hadn’t received a copy himself and he hadn’t heard from her since he had called her that Saturday. Angry and embarrassed he hurried back to his office to call her again. But, all she would say to his appeals for an explanation was, “Come home.” More weeks passed without incident, then more emails to the University. This time the attachments were of Craig and Cassandra together, candid shots of them at the mall and at the university. One, shot from a car window, was of them out walking one evening. ‘He is not hers,’ the emails had read. ‘He is mine.’ Craig called her again, this time prepared to tell her he will not hesitate to involve the police if she did not desist from this, what he was sure was, harassment. But there was no answer and her cell phone account had been terminated. For a little over two more months there were no more emails and Craig had not been able to locate her. He had visited the house on several occasions but, as best he could tell, there had been no-one there. The locks to the doors had been changed and the garden, that she had kept immaculate for years, had a shabby look with weeds taking over the flower beds and grass, not cut since he had left, was in places knee high. The divorce papers had still not been returned so Craig’s lawyer had also made several unsuccessful attempts to find her. Craig was becoming worried and finally he reported his estranged wife as missing. Then, from out of the blue, more emails, but from a different email account. This time the attachments were videos. One in particular was disturbing. It was of him and Cassandra and was taken from inside their apartment; an innocuous vision of them eating take-away Chinese while watching TV. Craig’s concern altered to a searing anger. One night, a few weeks later, with the video still fresh on his mind, Craig looked out of the bedroom window that looked down onto the street to see her parked in the curb, two houses down. In a rage he ran from the house to see her speed past him. The lights from an oncoming cab that had prevented him from running into the street had enabled him to get a good look at her. Her hair was longer than he had ever seen it, her face thinner and the smile, as she passed, was the same smile that had chilled him months before. Cassandra had insisted they move. So, breaking the lease, they shifted across town to a house with a solid brick fence, extensive open garden and a security system with external lights. It was upmarket and more than they could afford but Craig was sure it would only be for awhile. He thought about getting a dog but decided against it. This would be only until Penelope came to her senses. A month later, while shopping for a weeks groceries at the local Mall, Craig spied Penelope’s car in the car park a few down from his. He ran to it but she had seen him and had attempted to drive out of the slot only to have another vehicle that was passing across the front of her, to cause her to brake hard. That had given Craig enough time to reach her, open the passenger door and jump in. Panting, he twisted his body to her, ready to give her a piece of his mind, to sort things out once and for all but instead he just stared open mouthed at the woman that he had just spent almost half of his life with. She had once been a beauty. “My God!” he gasped. “Pen, what in hell have you done to yourself?” She didn’t look at him but glared through her windscreen at another car that tooted at them to reverse back into the slot that she had just tried to exit. She did and reefed on the handbrake. “Get out, Craig. Please.” she whispered. “We have to talk, we’ve got to get this thing straightened out, Pen.” Craig couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and felt more than just a little guilty. She had lost so much weight that she looked anorexic, her skin was white and dry and stretched tight across her cheek bones, her hair hung matted in oily clumps down the side of her face. “Get out!” Penelope repeated. She was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, her eyes glaring through the windscreen. “I am so sorry Pen. There must be something I can do?” “You can come back home.” She replied, quietly, without looking at him. “I can’t, so please don’t do this to us. . . There are people that can help you through it.” Slowly her head turned and instinctively he backed away from her and reached for the door handle. The face was of a woman he didn’t know. Her eyes seemed to be looking right through him. “This is not going to work for you Craig or for her. . .” Penelope smiled that cold lifeless smile. “And you will not, I guarantee it, remain with her. . .” The smile grew wider but not warmer. “You see. . . I have a plan for you both.” “But this is illegal.” Craig gasped. “You can’t do this and I‘m. . .” “You’re going to do what? You got into my car.” Her smile just disappeared. “And now you can get out of it.” Craig opened the door, climbed out and looked back in. “I want those papers back Pen. Or I’ll go ahead without them and that might not be good for you. . . Okay?” Penelope reached across the car and reefed the door from his hands. It made a soft clunk as it locked. Then she smiled up at him as she drove out of the slot and Craig shivered. There were more emails over the following weeks at the university. Somehow Penelope had managed to learn the addresses of all of the lecturers and was flooding their inboxes with a hundred repeats of the same message daily. Each one of them had attachments, photographs of the house that Craig and Penelope were now in and more candid shots of them walking together on the university grounds. Craig was asked to resign. It was another unusually warm December day and still Craig had not been able to find another position, thanks largely to the emails that every university in the country was receiving daily. He was almost broke, living on his credit card and, although he had seen her drive by twice, he had been unable to contact Penelope. His relationship with Cassandra was stretched but she was standing by him, it has to end soon, she had said. Craig had always been an early to bed early to rise type and most nights he and Cassandra were in bed and asleep by ten. “CRAIG.” At eleven that night they were both again awake. At first Craig had thought he had dreamed it, but Cassandra was awake too. They were both sitting up, glaring at the open bedroom door, framing Penelope holding a shotgun on them. She was in the same clothes that she had been wearing when Craig had last seen her months earlier in the Mall car park, only now they looked a hundred times too big. She was so painfully thin, her stomach was bulging in a way that reminded him of the pictures he had seen of starving refugees in Africa or the holocaust survivors of world war two. Craig slowly slipped out of bed and approached her. She stepped back, he followed glaring into her eyes. Craig reached for the shotgun then withdrew his hand when Penelope jerked it up. He heard Cassandra talking to the police on her phone as they proceeded down the hallway, Penelope walking backwards him following. They arrived at the front room, the lounge, Penelope backed into it, he followed. Penelope tried to say something but was having difficulty moving her mouth. Then her eyelids dropped over her sunken eyes and Craig reached for and easily snatched the shotgun from her hands. Cassandra came to the door. “The police are on their way,” she said. “They’ll be here in a minute.” Already they could hear the sirens still far away. Penelope reached an arm behind her back and when she brought it back it held a knife. Craig had never seen one for real, but thought it looked like a flick knife. She lunged at him, he stepped back and she fell to her knees. She climbed back up, still no words had been spoken. She lunged for him again and Craig shot her in the chest. She staggered back and fell in front of the couch. Still alive, she smiled as she picked the knife off the carpet and tried to drag herself to her feet to lunge again. Craig shot her in the face blowing her back again, against the couch that was already splattered with her blood. “Aw Jesus.” Cassandra came to his side and they sat in the two facing chairs. Craig recognised the symptoms and knew he was going into shock. At least, he thought, that poisonous plan of hers hadn’t worked. . . Suddenly they were hit with a light so painfully bright that both he and Cassandra closed their eyes, the police had spot lit the rooms window. Then Cassandra’s phone rang. . . Or maybe it had. |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan glenlee10@sky.com |
#2 of
8 Runner-up |
| 1858 words | |
| It wasn’t a good start to the day. It had rained
heavily overnight. The top end of the garden was underwater and the petunias
were floating. Pennie loaded the dishwasher, depressed by the greyness of the
day. “Bloody weather!” Tom Hardy, her husband, threw the morning paper on the floor. “Bloody paper!” He stormed from the kitchen, leaving Pennie to pick up the pieces of his bad temper, as usual. “I’m off,” he shouted down the hall. “I’ll get some sandwiches in town later. Don’t bother making me any.” The front door slammed. “Well goodbye to you too, dear,” Pennie grumbled. She dried her hands and put the box of sandwiches next to her handbag. She’d have to have his sandwiches for her own lunch, even though she didn’t much like cheese and onion. At lunchtime, Pennie nipped out from work to buy a few bits and pieces. When she joined the queue at the chemist’s, she saw that Tom was just in front of her. Funny, she thought, he hadn’t mentioned he needed any shopping. She was on the point of saying, “Hello,” when the assistant beckoned him forward. Pennie pretended to read the advertisement to the left of the till for a do-it-yourself blood pressure monitor but she was actually peeping to see what Tom was buying. She heard him ask the assistant for nicotine patches, “Strong ones, please.” So he’s trying to quit again, is he, Pennie mused? And not before time, either. She was heartily sick of his bad temper. He’d been trying to stop smoking for ages and hated himself, and anyone else in range, because he couldn’t do it. He’d tried lozenges but had complained that he had to have at least fifteen a day for them to have any effect and all he got were nausea, heart palpitations and dizziness. So he’d stopped taking them. And been in a bad temper ever since. “Is this the first time you’ve used patches?” Pennie heard the assistant ask. Tom nodded. “Do you have any underlying health problems which might preclude your using a nicotine replacement or are you on medication for any medical condition?” The girl reached for a packet. “No,” Tom mumbled. “As it’s your first time,” the girl continued with her well-rehearsed spiel, “you must read the instructions for use and the possible side effects very carefully. You’ll find a leaflet inside the packet.” She took Tom’s money. Behind her in the queue, a young mother was attempting to control a troublesome toddler. The child pulled away from its mother and fell against Pennie. She turned. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the mother said. “Don’t worry,” Pennie smiled. “They can all get a bit boisterous at times.” Trying to assure the child’s mother that she wasn’t cross, she missed the rest of the conversation between Tom and the shop assistant. “And,” the girl finished emphatically, “do not smoke or take any other type of nicotine substitute while you are on the patches.” Tom snatched the small, plastic bag from the girl’s hand. “Have a pleasant day,” she smiled, without making eye contact. “Next?” Tom grunted and turned, bumping into Pennie and stepping on her toes. She gasped. “Ouch!” “What are you gawping at?” he growled. “And how can you expect me to avoid you when you’re standing so close? Oh, it’s you, Penelope! Are you spying on me?” He sidestepped his wife and the rest of the queue, which by now filled the small shop, and departed, pushing past an untidily dressed young man in the doorway. The man pushed his thick mop of hair back off his face. “Excuse me!” he exclaimed angrily to Tom’s departing back. Pennie had had enough but she thought she might have a solution to the problem so did a bit more shopping than she had intended. It was midnight. Most people were asleep but in the Hardy household, the kitchen light was on. Pennie reached up and pulled down the blind, not cutting out the light that poured onto the garden but muting it to a pale glow. She pulled open a drawer, quietly, and removed two knives. The packets she’d bought earlier were ready and waiting. She opened them and tipped the contents out onto a chopping board. She pressed each of the thirty lozenges from the plastic wrappings. The small, sharp knife made easy work of the lozenges’ outer casings. The other knife, the one with a blunt end, was perfect for scraping out the contents. A clean, unlabelled jar that had once held Marmite was waiting for the paste. The job took an hour and then she tidied up. She sealed the jar tightly. It was small enough to be concealed in her pocket. She washed the knives and the chopping board, dried them and put them away. She dropped the packets, waste plastic and unwanted lozenge cases into the kitchen bin. The bin already contained three broken eggs, potato peelings and the remains of a half-tin of chopped tomatoes that had been left too long in the fridge. No one would rummage through such a mixture, least of all Tom. In the morning, she’d put the kitchen rubbish outside in the wheelie bin, underneath the week’s accumulation of newspapers. It was bin day tomorrow and all traces of the night’s work would disappear. She checked that the back door was locked, opened the blind, switched off the kitchen light and went to bed. This time, she would make sure that her husband would have sufficient nicotine substitute to finally give up smoking. She didn’t disturb Tom. He’d had a couple of whiskeys before bed and was out for the count. Sleep was not long in coming to her and it was deep and restful. The following morning, Pennie made Tom’s sandwiches as usual. She’d bought some of the thinly sliced pepper steak that he liked so much. She buttered two thick slices of bread and put three layers of the meat on top of one slice. Then she smeared the paste she’d prepared the previous night on top of the filling. She got some of the paste on a finger and licked it off. Peppery. Excellent! She finished making the sandwiches, washed out the empty jar and took it out to the dustbin, which she then wheeled into the street for emptying later that morning. “A man’s just collapsed on The Green!” Pennie heard the commotion over the clatter of keyboards in the busy estate agents’ office where she worked. The voice of Gloria, the receptionist, rose up the scale to an irritating screech. “I’ve just seen it. He’s over on the far side and there’s quite a crowd gathering already.” Everyone ran from the main office into reception and clustered round the window. Gloria pointed. “See? I think I’d better go and find out if I can help.” The door bell jangled frantically behind her. Mavis, the office cleaner, who worked from 9am to 2pm, had left for the day but came scurrying in before the bell had stopped jiggling. She beckoned to Pennie. “Has Gloria told you?” “About the man?” Pennie asked. “Yes. She said someone was in trouble.” “It’s Tom!” Mavis burst out. “It’s your husband, Pennie. They think he’s dead!” “What happened?” Pennie ran towards the door. She could hear a shrill ambulance siren coming down the High Street. Gloria met Pennie in the street. “It’s Tom,” she squealed. “Quick, Pennie. They seem to think he’s had a heart attack!” Pennie ran past her, towards the crowd on the other side of The Green. Mavis and Gloria followed her. As they ran, Mavis told Gloria, “I saw it all. I was sitting on the bench next to the Millennium Oak. Tom had just started to cross the road onto The Green when a car came round the corner and drove straight through a puddle, splashing him. Well, you know how fastidious Tom is and he started shouting and shaking his fist in the air. I thought he was going to run after the car but then he just said, ‘Oh!’ and sat down in the gutter.” “Oh!” Gloria said. “Then he fell over onto his side. Of course, I ran over to see what was the matter…” Mavis slowed and took a deep breath before she could continue. “I don’t have a mobile phone, so I couldn’t have called an ambulance, could I? Though since British Telecom took the kiosk away from The Green I’ve been thinking about getting one. So I had to attract the attention of someone who had one. Then, when that Lizzie from Barton Road was making the call, I tried to turn Tom over but he was too heavy for me to move. But I think it was too late. I think he’d gone already.” “But he wasn’t an old man,” Gloria was breathing heavily too. “Only 60 he was. Poor Pennie. It’ll be a terrible shock for her.” Pennie had forced a way through the crowd just in time to see Tom being loaded into the ambulance. Its siren hiccoughed, then blared a path through the crowd and was gone. Pennie shook her head slowly. “He can’t have died,” she said. “He shouldn’t have died. He was only meant to be a little bit poorly.” She turned to Gloria who’d caught up with her. “It’s all my fault,” she moaned. “I was only helping him to give up smoking. But he must have had too much nicotine.” Her face was white. “It was the heart palpitations, you see. I’d forgotten all about his heart palpitations.” |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan Mallie1025@aol.com |
#3 of 8 |
| 1571 words | |
| While not the intended effect, the outcome was
surprisingly satisfying. Of course, Wanda had no way of knowing this as she
awoke to another day of drudgery. Her bedroom, lit by the bright autumn sun,
spotlighted thousands of dust bunnies dancing in the light. Maybe, just maybe,
she could slip out of the room and leisurely sip a hot cup of sweet tea before
Rudy woke up. The room reeked of so much whiskey that she was afraid to light
up her morning cigarette. “Wanda! Get your fat ass back in bed, Rudy snarled. “I ain’t done with ya yet.” “Be right there,” she called back, walking faster. “I hear someone at the front door.” Wanda hoped he’d fall back into a stupor again and God willin’, sleep till closer to noon. Wanda hadn’t been that lucky the night before, when Rudy ’d stumbled through the bedroom door, rip-roaring drunk. She closed her eyes against the memory of the beatings, the forced sex. It did no good. In the two years since Rudy's Momma died, he'd become a different man—nasty, mean and brutal. The images flashed across her mind, even as the welts and bruises throbbed. There was no forgetting. At least this time, there were no blackened eyes and no more teeth knocked out. The gods were with Wanda Campbell that cool, sunny morning. Her husband, turned monster, slept on, snoring so loud that she could hear him as she swung on her porch glider, sipping her sweet tea. It was a short respite in her miserable life. “Wanda,” her friend Penelope called out softly as she crossed the short yard from her bungalow next door. Penelope was a bit older than Wanda and acted as both friend and older sister. “Happy to see you gettin’ some peace, darlin’. I could hear yelling and then snoring clear through my windows. “ “Sorry about that. You want some sweet tea? I just brewed up a fresh batch.” “No, sweetie, don’t take no chances on waking that bastard. When you gonna put a stop to this, Wanda? I don’t care to be attending your funeral.” A bee buzzed around the cup of tea then flew off as Wanda’s tomcat swatted at it. Birdsong rang out, with flocks preparing for the trip south, as winter loomed ahead. “Penelope, I done what I could. Every time I call the police, they cart him off to jail for the night and when he gets back, he beats me somethin’ fierce. Sometimes, God forgive me, I want to kill him.” “I'd have done that by now, were it me, “Penelope added, putting her arm around Wanda to comfort her, maddened when she felt Wanda’s sore body wince at her light touch. “Yeah, but I keep thinking to myself, what changed him? He was never like this till his Momma died.” “Well now, folks talk in a small town. Rumors are, his Momma did some pretty awful things to her son as he was growing up. Don’t know what, but she held some kind of a spell over him, some say.” Penelope slowly paced the long front porch as she spoke. “I heard that. And I know his momma turned to reading cards and fortune telling after Rudy’s dad passed on. Some called her a witch.” Could be, could be. Bitch be more to my opinion, since she raised her boy unnatural and messed with his head.” ‘Wanda!’ “I gotta go, Penelope. Don’t want to be settin’ off his temper. It’s his birthday today. Maybe I'll whip up a cake and that might make him happy. Lord, I wish he was the man I married.” “Never really know a man till you marry him,” Penelope added. “That’s the shame of it. You take care, now. Hear?” Wanda nodded and hurried to see what Rudy wanted. She knew her friend had some lonely moments in her life since she lost her Bob to cancer. Yet, Wanda envied her. “Happy birthday, Rudy. I was just fixin’ to bake you a cake.” “Get over here! I got some other plans for you.” It seemed like hours before Rudy was done with Wanda, falling on his back in a booze-induced sleep. She had been careful not to fight him, but that just made him madder and now she did sport two black eyes and a loose tooth. “Rudy’s last words before he passed out were, “Get on down and bake me my cake. But I want breakfast first.” Wanda cleaned herself up and wearily headed for the kitchen. She brewed more tea and tried to force down a slice of toast. She hadn't hurt this bad since the night Rudy kicked her in the stomach and she lost the baby. That was the night she'd stopped loving him. Penelope had heard the screams from Wanda and the sounds of the beating Rudy inflicted upon her. Her anger grew like a thing alive and she knew she had to put a stop to this. She rushed out the door as Wanda stepped out on the porch. After one look at Wanda, she was mad enough to kill Rudy on sight. “Sit on down, honey. I’ll be right back. I think I might have forgot to turn off the stove. When I get back I’ll make that bastard’s breakfast while you keep ice on those eyes. The man’s so loud; he might as well be in my house.” Wanda lay down on the couch, nauseous and woozy. The ice bag blunted the pain in her eyes and eased her headache. She drifted off into a light doze, peppered by nightmares. Penelope returned, saw her friend napping and set off to making Rudy’s breakfast. She slipped the can of rat poison from her apron pocket, and proceeded to make him a typical breakfast—sunny-side-up eggs, bacon, pancakes and biscuits with gravy. The syrup and gravy would mask any trace of the poison, she hoped, having no regret over her actions. Her work done, she shook Wanda gently to wake her up. “Time to take his breakfast up, sweetie.” “Wanda!” Right on cue, Penelope thought as she headed home. Wanda carried the tray to the bedroom, careful not to spill the orange juice or coffee. Rudy gulped the food like a ravenous dog, as Wanda quietly left the room. Better bake his cake, she thought. Maybe his mood will improve. She considered her options and realized she had none. It was 1950 and there was little protection for women like her with abusive husbands. No court orders keeping him away, few or no half-way houses for women and in Wanda’s case, no family to offer sanctuary. She had accepted her fate, too beaten down physically, emotionally and mentally to fight back. The cake went into the oven for forty-five minutes. It was chocolate, Rudy’s favorite and she planned on an icing of peanut butter cream with a touch of cocoa—her own recipe. As the cake baked, she pulled out the winter boots she’d ordered from the Sears Catalogue and wrapped it. Wanda hummed softly to herself, as she finished the cake, soothing her wounded soul. Hours later, Rudy walked into the kitchen, in clean jeans and a plaid shirt. When he saw his favorite meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and corn, plus his beautiful cake, he smiled. “Thank ya, Wanda. This was right nice of you. I'll be sure to repay ya later.” Rudy attacked his meal with gusto, finished it off with three slices of cake, burped loudly and went off to lie on the couch. The radio played country western songs. Wanda hoped he'd sleep a bit. She'd come to a decision as she cooked his meal. Realizing that she could take not one more day of this abuse, she planned to sneak out the back door and walk into town and take the first bus to nowhere. The smell of whiskey coming from the sitting room strengthened her resolve. It was leave or kill herself. She slipped into the bedroom and took all the money from the metal strong box Rudy kept under the bed. He never bothered to lock it–that sure that she’d never have the nerve to leave. By the time Wanda had cleaned up the kitchen, Rudy had downed a fifth of gin, and was snoring again. Dear God, Wanda prayed. Just let me get away without him waking. As she tip-toed past the living room, she glanced back at Rudy. He was covered in something red—all over his clothes, the couch and spilling onto the hand-braided rug. It was blood. Wanda screamed. Penelope came running over and called the police. “What happened here, Ma'am?” asked Judd, Deputy Sheriff for the town of Wheeling. “I don't know. I found him like this.” Judd noted Wanda’s blackened eyes and bruises and cursed under his breath. “Most likely the liquor killed him, Ma'am. Seen it before. Liver fails and folks bleed out. No sense calling out the coroner. I think we'll just go with this as liver failure. Ok with you?” Wanda nodded, too shocked to speak. After the police removed the body, Penelope scrubbed and cleaned the couch and rug, in case someone got suspicious. Wanda, still in a daze, walked out with a cup of hot tea and sat on the porch glider. She contemplated all that had transpired during this long, torturous day, realizing that at last she was finally free. She swung back and forth, comforting herself. And she smiled. The day, initially full of pain and suffering, had turned out to be surprisingly satisfying. |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan ericajanedavis@comcast.net |
#4 of 8 |
| 249 words | |
| Wait up Ashley I said as we were walking to the store
she was ignoring me again why are u mad at me I asked she didn’t say a
word so I kept walking. When we got to the store she got what she needed and
left. And there I was sitting there wondering what I did maybe its because I
said she was a jerk yup that’s it I said to myself then I started walking
home. When I got home my mom was on the phone with Ashley’s mom when she
got off the phone she asked if I knew where Ashley was I said no my mother
replied by saying Ashley didn’t come back from the store my heart stopped
and I told my mom every thing then my mom told Ashley mom what happened then
her mom called the police. The police found evidence that there was a
kidnapping. They traced the evidence to young women that went by the mane penny
short for Penelope sadly there was no trace of Ashley. I cried and cried that
night thinking that it was all my fault but it wasn’t I didn’t make
her walk home by herself she did it by choice. The next day the police found evidence leading to a storage shed they found Ashley there but not alive her cause of death was that she was poisend there was a not on her body it said THIS IS PENELOPE’S POISONOUS PLAN. |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan mrslancaster143@yahoo.com |
#5 of 8 |
| 790 words | |
| The cold winter air blew in as the door swung open. My
father staggered in. My mother could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.
In his alcohol rage he started beating her while I cringed in the corner, hands
covered over my head as the sound of fist meeting face rang loudly in my ears.
I heard my mother's whimpers and pleas for him to stop. It only made his rage
worse. Shaking my head, the tears flung wildly about landing on the tile floor. "Daddy stop! Stop it!" I screamed, still cowering in the corner. Silence. His footsteps thundered as he approached me. "No! Please not her!" My mother begged. A hard back hand sent her meek body flying towards the cupboards. He hoovered over me and grabbed me by the arm. "Got a smart mouth do ya little ungrateful bitch?!" His hand meeting my face sent my neck almost 180 degrees at his hard force. The next thing I knew, we were standing outside the door as the snow poured down. My mother banged on the door, begging and pleading for him to let us in. The loud sounds of the TV drowned out her voice. Shivering in the cold winter weather, we trucked ourselves up the snow covered dirt road to find shelter for the night. An abandon warehouse was were we spent the freezing night. The next day, as my mother held my hand to walk us back 'home' again I noticed a little plant. I saw the pretty red berries and picked it. I clasp it in the palm of my hand all the way home. Keep breathing...I told myself. It had been a while after the night in the snow and my berries had grown into a small plant. I called it Penelope. I had Penelope on the window sill when my father's blood splattered over the leaves, soaking into the dirt I'd planted it in. My mother had shot him with his own shot gun. She had had enough. I was five. Keep on breathing...I reminded myself. It was a fall evening when the door to my bedroom creaked. The smell of alcohol on his breath. The rustling of my blanket as he climbed into bed next to me. "Daddy needs to be warmed up." my step-father cooed. He invaded my virgin path and I felt the trickling of the red blood soaking into my sheets as he had his way with my young prepubesant body. Mute, I stared at Penelope sitting on my window sill. The tears trickled it's way down my face. It was not the last. Keep breathing...I said again. I was ten. Our house a shamble when I came home from school. My mother's lifeless body lying on the floor. Her throat slit and her blood oozed into the bottom of the pot that held Penelope. The roots soaked her blood. The police said someone had broken in and my mother had surprised the culprit, leading to her death. Keep on breathing...I said to myself as they lowered her casket down into the dirt. I was fourteen. I never trusted anyone in foster care. Whenever someone was hurt they'd take it out on me. As long as they didn't touch Penelope. I kept breathing. My blood dripped off her leaves and soaked through her dirt. They came, they used, they abused, they left. I kept breathing as I left. I was eighteen. Thanksgiving came around the corner quickly. I came home with groceries and prepared the meal. There was no cranberry sauce. I braved the winter chills and ran out to get cranberry sauce while my husband entertained our family and guests. I returned and went looking for him. The house was loud and boisterous with laughter and cheers. The muffled sounds of moans made me chuckled. I kept breathing when I saw through the crack of the door that my husband was pounding into my good friend from work. I carved the turkey. I grabbed Penelope and picked her precious little berries. I crumbled it, mixed it with the cranberry sauce. My special ingredient. I chuckled. We sat around the table. My husband, my good friend, my step-father, and unbeknownst to me, the man that killed my mother as well. The noise and laughter died down as I closed my eyes, intertwine my fingers to say grace. I bowed my head down. I breathed. "Consider it all joy, my brethren (fellow believers), when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing James 1:2-4" They all tried the cranberry sauce first. I watched and smiled as I slipped my own spoon full of Penelope's poison into my mouth. My trick was I kept on breathing. |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan Colin Campbell www.colincampbell.org |
#6 of
8 Winner |
| 316 words | |
| "You're taking it all very well. Trust me I know you'll
soon get over it. By the way, this is a nice herbal tea." Penny spoke with all
the sincerity she could project but she was thinking - what a doormat this girl
is. I steal her best boyfriend ever and she invites me round for tea for two
and tells me everything will turnout alright. "I know, shit sometimes happens but let's move on from that," said Penelope. "It's really called a tisane not herbal tea. It's my new hobby. I used to buy the stuff in fancy stores then I realized I was just paying for the packaging and the profits. The Internet is a great equalizer. A couple of hours online and I knew where to get the seeds and how to grow the plants and dry the leaves. There are even forums for sharing stories. I like this one. Have another cup and relax. I thought it would be just the thing for the day of your big speech. Oh, and I guess you'll be making a big splash on TV." "Yes it will all be live on TV and it will go on for hours too," said Penny looking at her watch. "But it's only local cable, narrow casting they call it, not broadcasting. I'm so sorry but I will have to watch my time. One more cup and I'll really have to go." Penelope watched and waved from the window as Penny went off to the TV studio. Then she lifted Teddy up from behind a chair. This was her loyal old friend with buttons for eyes, a friend who never lied to her and who would never even think of stealing her best boyfriend. As they settled down to watch cable TV with a nice box of chocolates Penelope carefully explained to Teddy what they could expect from a really strong herbal laxative. |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan barberse@yahoo.com |
#7 of 8 |
| 122 words | |
| You left as a soldier, ready for battle To fight another man’s war in a foreign land Leaving behind your wife, your child, Forgetting all that is yours You wandered as a traveler, lost and homesick To explore mysteries on land and water Sampling unknown fruits, people, bedding foreign women Offending the gods While I, faithful Penelope, Save your kingdom and reputation Tend to your heartsick mother, rear your fatherless son, Fending off suitors who so desire me Weaving the cloth for you, my lord, Until my fingers are bloody and cracked Funeral shroud or wedding veil Threads hold the secret that time will tell Victorious, you return, my husband, Come up to marriage bed, cold and unused Wrap in this blanket, steeped in a special brew Made by one who will never be betrayed again |
|
| Penelope's Poisonous Plan Linda.L.Rucker: Author@Large www.lindalrucker.com |
#8 of 8 |
| 1327 words | |
| “If at first you don’t succeed.”
Penelope’s mantra. “Why try again?” Penelope’s own
twist. Why try again, indeed. “Penelope? Did you hear me?” Harold Witherspoon, Penelope’s boss stood over her right shoulder, his arms crossed over his extremely ample belly. Penelope stifled a giggle, most folks crossed their arms over their chests, but Mr. W didn’t have a chest, just a concave extension of his belly. “Yes sir,” replied Penelope, “I hear you.” “Well, get it right this time and for Pete’s sake get it done!” She felt the kiss of air against the back of her neck as he turned. Spinning around in her chair, she watched as Harold Witherspoon waddled away, his fat butt twisting almost femininely and had to choke back a giggle. God, she thought, what an ugly woman he’d make. As he disappeared into his office, Penelope sighed deeply and turned back to her desk. The PC monitor glared at her, void of any input, mocking her. To the right of her a stack of invoices stretched toward the sky; dozens of them, hundreds. She would never get all of those entered before five o’clock. “Have fun, Penny.” The voice belonged Mandy Maccom, and Penny cringed. This was the reason she was called on the carpet, this was the reason she’d likely be here till the wee hours this evening inputting hundreds of invoices. “Why do you always pull this crap, Mandy?” Penny asked. She was angry and the tone of her voice echoed her anger. “Every Friday, you have some pretend emergency, some phantom illness that requires you to be excused early and I have to take up your slack. What gives?” “What gives, Penelope, is me.” Mandy giggled. “What do you mean?” “Come on, you can’t be that dense,” Mandy replied, rolling her eyes. “Apparently, I am,” Penelope said. “Enlighten me.” Mandy looked down at her watch, then grinned, deciding that she had the time and the inclination, so why not. “Every Thursday afternoon, I give Mr. Witherspoon exactly what a man like him needs, and every Friday he shows his gratitude for my gift by letting me take off early. I don’t have to make up lies.” Penelope sat quietly for a minute letting that little tidbit sink in. “So, you have a good time this afternoon and have a nice weekend, Penelope.” Mandy blew her a kiss, then with a giggle she turned and sash-shayed toward the elevators. Penelope sighed. This is really getting to be a huge pain in the ass, she thought, snatching up an invoice. As she angrily hit the pc keys, a plan began to form in her mind. The more she typed, the firmer the plan became until at last she knew exactly what she was going to do. Next Thursday she’d be the one to give Mr. Witherspoon what he wanted, and she’d be the one leaving early next Friday. All weekend Penelope defined her plan, getting every detail perfect. There would be no margin for error. She had to get to Mr. Witherspoon before Mandy did, and she’d worked out exactly how she would pull that one off, as well. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday came and went and Penelope grew ever more nervous, more anxious. Her plan was foolproof. Mandy wasn’t the only one who knew what men like Harold Witherspoon wanted. She just hoped that Mandy would fall into her trap. The end results depended on it. Finally, twelve o’clock arrived. Swallowing nervously, Penelope stood up from her desk and clenched her hands. Mandy was making her way toward Mr. Witherspoon’s office. “Mandy!” Penelope’s voice squeaked and she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Mandy turned toward her, “What do you want, Penny?” Penelope scowled, she hated being called Penny. “Mandy, can you come with me to the break room for a minute, please?” She tried to smile, but her face felt stiff. “Why?” asked Mandy. “I have something I want to show you,” Penelope said. Mandy sighed, a huge exaggerated sigh like she was so put upon. “What is it?” she asked. “Something very exciting,” replied Penelope. “Well, can’t it wait? I have to go see Mr. Witherspoon. It is Thursday, you know.” “No, it can’t wait, and yes, I know very well its Thursday. This will only take a minute.” “Whatever.” Mandy grumbled something under her breath, but she turned and followed Penelope to the break room. “Now, what is it?” “It’s in the store room over there.” Penelope gestured toward the store room and Mandy shook her head. “What is it, Penelope?” Grabbing her by the arm, Penelope began half guiding, half dragging Mandy toward the store room. Although she didn’t resist, Mandy didn’t go without grumbling.“Okay, so what is it?” “Look.” Penelope held the door open wide and Mandy peered around her into the darkened room. “What? I don’t see anything.” “It’s on the shelf there in the back,” Penelope said. Shoving the other girl through the open doorway, she quickly slammed the door shut. Grabbing a nearby chair Penelope wedged it underneath the door handle, then stepped back, a huge grin on her face. She knew someone would hear Mandy’s cries for help, but by the time they released her, Penelope will have already given Mr. Witherspoon what Mandy gave him to him every Thursday to earn her early Friday release. Turning on her heel, Penelope rushed to Mr. Witherspoon’s office and knocked once, sharply. “Come on in, Mandy.” Opening the door, Penelope quickly slipped inside, shut the door and stood against it, smiling. “Oh, it’s you.” Mr. Witherspoon didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “What can I do for you, Penelope?” “It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.” Penelope smiled what she hoped was a sultry, sexy smile. “What do you mean?” “I’ve come to give you what Mandy always does; only she couldn’t make it today. Besides, I can do it much better, trust me.” She walked over to his desk and around it. Leaning over, she placed a hand on each arm of the chair and spun him toward her. “Here, what are you doing?” Mr. Witherspoon’s face was beet red, his eyes wide. “Just relax and let me take care of you, okay?” Kneeling down she reached out and began tugging on the zipper of his trousers. He gasped and she suppressed a grin. If Mandy can get the afternoon off for a blowjob, so could she. Besides, what man doesn’t enjoy a little afternoon delight? Suddenly the office door burst open and Mandy stood there, a box in her hands, her face tear streaked, her eyes flashing angrily. “What the hell is going on in here?” she asked. “I’m here to give Mr. Witherspoon what you’ve been giving him. Except, I think I can do it a bit better than you do,” said Penelope with a wicked grin. “What are you talking about?” asked Mandy. “Young lady, I’ll thank you to take your hands off of me this instant.” Mr. Witherspoon angrily brushed Penelope’s hand off his crotch and got to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared. “I want Friday afternoons off like Mandy gets. If she can come in here every Thursday afternoon and give you …” ”Young lady, you’re fired!” Mr. Witherspoon actually roared. Veins throbbed on his forehead, his eyes bulged. “Fired? But why? I was only going to give you what Mandy gives you every week. Why can she do it, and not me? I’m much better looking, much better at it than she could ever be.” Behind her Mandy snickered, then she giggled, then she chuckled, then she laughed, laughed until tears coursed down her cheeks and her body shook. “You idiot!” she choked, “You moron.” Penelope glared at her. “What is so damned funny?’ she demanded. “You are,” Mandy said between hiccoughs. Mr. Witherspoon interrupted. “Mandy?” “It’s all right. I’ve got this one,” said Mandy. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself long enough to blurt, “You idiot, I don’t give Mr. Witherspoon that for God’s sake.” “You don’t?” Penelope asked bewildered. “But, what else could you give a man that would force him to let you take off every Friday at noon?” “Doughnuts, you idiot. I bring him doughnuts!” |
|
"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club