Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Discrepancy
Half-Blind & Three-Legged
3 reviewsThe title of this chapter is a reference to... I'm not telling! Just read, rate and review!
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I was deeply annoyed.
Painting my front door green was a lot harder than I expected. Due to my sister's fear of ruining the polished wooden floor I had been forced to buy a plastic mat to stop the paint from dripping onto the floor, costing me an extra two dollars that were totally unnecessary. And then because Courtney didn't want me to ruin my clothes either she forced me to get a whole new outfit and though it was free it meant a visit to Missus Moffat who lives across the road. That visit was totally unnecessary because now I looked like Missus Moffat (who should've died a long time ago) and I smelt like her house and her twenty-something cats and I had a red mark on my face from where she pinched me and commented on my 'cuteness'.
Courtney had not asked why I was painting the inside of the front door green and not the outside. She probably already knew that she would have to listen to one of my 'theories' again. She thought that I was crazier every time I forced her to listen to one my theories, especially the pencil and pen one. She also refused to listen to me talk about stationery.
And anyway, the reason I was deeply annoyed was not because painting my front door green was harder than expected. Believe it or not, the irritation of having to spend an extra two dollars and visit Missus Moffat had worn off. I was irritated for another reason.
Unlike the other front doors on the street, my front door had no stained glass window. Instead, its window was double-glazed and it was so easy to look through out onto the tidy street (tidy if you avoided looking at my front garden).
On most days my street was empty, save for the cars parked tidily in the driveways, the elderly inhabitants did not venture from their houses for fear of the (non-existent) teenage gangs that were (not) standing outside their houses (not) waiting for them to leave their houses. The middle-aged persons living on my street had left for work and would not get back from their boring jobs until six pm. The youngsters on my street were working too or at school or, if they were really young, were sleeping all day.
But today I had noticed the elderly inhabitants of my street walking up and down the road. And when I say road, I do not mean pavement, I mean /road/. Why did they feel the need to walk up and down the road? It wasn't legal, I was sure, and it wasn't safe either. I watched as Mister Griffiths, a man who lived several doors down on the opposite side of the road to me, walked up the road with his cane.
Whenever he met obstacles, alive or not, Mister Griffiths hit them out of the way. I flinched when he whacked one of Missus Moffat's cats repeatedly until it let out a shriek of terror and scurried away. I hoped that he was unaware of the fact that the cat he had just hit had three legs and was blind in one eye, if he had known that would make him a cruel person.
"Dang cat, why can't Patricia keep her bloody cats out of the road, damnation... a sign of the devil... those cats are going to be her downfall..."
Needless to say, Mister Griffiths was extremely religious and everything he didn't like was a sign of the devil. Mister Griffiths had an allergy to cats.
A knock at my front door startled me and I dropped my paintbrush onto the plastic mat. Perhaps said mat hadn't been such a waste of two dollars as I had first suspected.
Opening the door and hopping backwards so it wouldn't hit me as it swung open, I greeted whoever had knocked, "Hello, how may I help?"
"Can I... come in?"
I looked up and it was Peter, standing in my doorway, asking if he could come in. My initial reaction was to decline him entry to my humble abode.
Yet two hours later I found myself sitting in my living room, listening to Erin talk about how she and Peter had met each other. I was sure that it was a truly touching story but I wasn't completely sure because I didn't listen to a word she said.
I had tried to make it clear to Erin, who was Peter's girlfriend, that I didn't really want to listen to what she had to say but she continued to talk as if she hadn't noticed. I'd been to the bathroom several times, been out to the garden to shoo away Missus Moffat's cats and I'd even been to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of Oatso Simple porridge. I hadn't been in need of the toilet and Missus Moffat's cats never ventured into my garden, front or back, because it was so dangerous and I didn't like Oatso Simple porridge or any porridge for that matter.
Apparently Peter had been talking about me since October and today Erin had begged him to take her to meet me.
And whilst Erin talked non-stop, Peter sat next to her, watching me with an expression that proclaimed his utter superiority. I felt the urge to smack that smirk off of his face but decided not to because it might raise eyebrows.
I snapped out of my dream world when I realised that there was silence in the room. I looked up at Erin who was looking at Peter.
"So... Petey darling, is she one of your whores?" The sugary sweetness in her voice that I had been forced to listen to for two entire hours was gone and the anger was evident but subtle like a thing layer of white icing.
"What?" Even Peter was startled.
I dropped my spoon, which was immediately swallowed by the unruly mass of porridge that sat in my bowl, when what Erin had said finally sank in.
"Don't 'what?' me!" Erin exploded, standing up. Suddenly she seemed not so nice, not so beautiful, not so friendly and not so in love with Peter. "I've been hearing about her non-stop for two and a half months now! Charley this... Charley that... I'd say, 'Pete, do you like my hair?' and you'd reply, 'yeah, it looks great but maybe you should have it done like Charley's'. I am so done with this."
She left, slamming the door behind her.
Too stunned to think or say anything sensible I said, "I hope she didn't leave fingerprints on my newly-painted front door."
It was dark. The wall-mounted clock said that it was five in the morning, meaning that I'd just had a thirteen hour lapse. This thought didn't bother me though. Perhaps if the circumstances had been different I would have minded a great deal, having just had my longest lapse to date. But tonight I was in a state of total bliss. I took notice of nothing except for the arm draped over my waist.
Author's Note: That is the second last chapter until I get back from Portugal. I feel like this chapter makes up for the last chapter's mushiness. Bleh.
R & R
Charley xxx
Painting my front door green was a lot harder than I expected. Due to my sister's fear of ruining the polished wooden floor I had been forced to buy a plastic mat to stop the paint from dripping onto the floor, costing me an extra two dollars that were totally unnecessary. And then because Courtney didn't want me to ruin my clothes either she forced me to get a whole new outfit and though it was free it meant a visit to Missus Moffat who lives across the road. That visit was totally unnecessary because now I looked like Missus Moffat (who should've died a long time ago) and I smelt like her house and her twenty-something cats and I had a red mark on my face from where she pinched me and commented on my 'cuteness'.
Courtney had not asked why I was painting the inside of the front door green and not the outside. She probably already knew that she would have to listen to one of my 'theories' again. She thought that I was crazier every time I forced her to listen to one my theories, especially the pencil and pen one. She also refused to listen to me talk about stationery.
And anyway, the reason I was deeply annoyed was not because painting my front door green was harder than expected. Believe it or not, the irritation of having to spend an extra two dollars and visit Missus Moffat had worn off. I was irritated for another reason.
Unlike the other front doors on the street, my front door had no stained glass window. Instead, its window was double-glazed and it was so easy to look through out onto the tidy street (tidy if you avoided looking at my front garden).
On most days my street was empty, save for the cars parked tidily in the driveways, the elderly inhabitants did not venture from their houses for fear of the (non-existent) teenage gangs that were (not) standing outside their houses (not) waiting for them to leave their houses. The middle-aged persons living on my street had left for work and would not get back from their boring jobs until six pm. The youngsters on my street were working too or at school or, if they were really young, were sleeping all day.
But today I had noticed the elderly inhabitants of my street walking up and down the road. And when I say road, I do not mean pavement, I mean /road/. Why did they feel the need to walk up and down the road? It wasn't legal, I was sure, and it wasn't safe either. I watched as Mister Griffiths, a man who lived several doors down on the opposite side of the road to me, walked up the road with his cane.
Whenever he met obstacles, alive or not, Mister Griffiths hit them out of the way. I flinched when he whacked one of Missus Moffat's cats repeatedly until it let out a shriek of terror and scurried away. I hoped that he was unaware of the fact that the cat he had just hit had three legs and was blind in one eye, if he had known that would make him a cruel person.
"Dang cat, why can't Patricia keep her bloody cats out of the road, damnation... a sign of the devil... those cats are going to be her downfall..."
Needless to say, Mister Griffiths was extremely religious and everything he didn't like was a sign of the devil. Mister Griffiths had an allergy to cats.
A knock at my front door startled me and I dropped my paintbrush onto the plastic mat. Perhaps said mat hadn't been such a waste of two dollars as I had first suspected.
Opening the door and hopping backwards so it wouldn't hit me as it swung open, I greeted whoever had knocked, "Hello, how may I help?"
"Can I... come in?"
I looked up and it was Peter, standing in my doorway, asking if he could come in. My initial reaction was to decline him entry to my humble abode.
Yet two hours later I found myself sitting in my living room, listening to Erin talk about how she and Peter had met each other. I was sure that it was a truly touching story but I wasn't completely sure because I didn't listen to a word she said.
I had tried to make it clear to Erin, who was Peter's girlfriend, that I didn't really want to listen to what she had to say but she continued to talk as if she hadn't noticed. I'd been to the bathroom several times, been out to the garden to shoo away Missus Moffat's cats and I'd even been to the kitchen to make myself a bowl of Oatso Simple porridge. I hadn't been in need of the toilet and Missus Moffat's cats never ventured into my garden, front or back, because it was so dangerous and I didn't like Oatso Simple porridge or any porridge for that matter.
Apparently Peter had been talking about me since October and today Erin had begged him to take her to meet me.
And whilst Erin talked non-stop, Peter sat next to her, watching me with an expression that proclaimed his utter superiority. I felt the urge to smack that smirk off of his face but decided not to because it might raise eyebrows.
I snapped out of my dream world when I realised that there was silence in the room. I looked up at Erin who was looking at Peter.
"So... Petey darling, is she one of your whores?" The sugary sweetness in her voice that I had been forced to listen to for two entire hours was gone and the anger was evident but subtle like a thing layer of white icing.
"What?" Even Peter was startled.
I dropped my spoon, which was immediately swallowed by the unruly mass of porridge that sat in my bowl, when what Erin had said finally sank in.
"Don't 'what?' me!" Erin exploded, standing up. Suddenly she seemed not so nice, not so beautiful, not so friendly and not so in love with Peter. "I've been hearing about her non-stop for two and a half months now! Charley this... Charley that... I'd say, 'Pete, do you like my hair?' and you'd reply, 'yeah, it looks great but maybe you should have it done like Charley's'. I am so done with this."
She left, slamming the door behind her.
Too stunned to think or say anything sensible I said, "I hope she didn't leave fingerprints on my newly-painted front door."
It was dark. The wall-mounted clock said that it was five in the morning, meaning that I'd just had a thirteen hour lapse. This thought didn't bother me though. Perhaps if the circumstances had been different I would have minded a great deal, having just had my longest lapse to date. But tonight I was in a state of total bliss. I took notice of nothing except for the arm draped over my waist.
Author's Note: That is the second last chapter until I get back from Portugal. I feel like this chapter makes up for the last chapter's mushiness. Bleh.
R & R
Charley xxx
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