Post 7 - The Power Outage

I'm resting in my armchair, reading an interest piece in the New York Times, when all of a sudden, the lamp beside me begins to flicker.
"Magna, get some candles ready!" I yell down the hallway. "The power is getting ready to go out, I can just feel it!"
The flickering of the lamp is ominous. I set my paper aside and head to the window. The first place to lose its power is Al's Used Cars. The lights disappear in a domino effect, building to building, quickly approaching our apartments. I hear Magna rushing down the hallway, but before she can find any candles to light, darkness washes over the room.
"Crap," Magna mutters under her breath.
"It's okay, we'll just wait it out," I assure her.
I roll closer to the window and hoist it open. I stick my head out for a better view. The traffic lights have gone out now. The only place that seems to have electricity is the doughnut shop. The sign on the front of the building shines like a beacon of light, and I notice many people approaching the shop, trying to be a part of its warmth. Someone leaves the door open in an attempt to welcome people inside. I catch the scent of dough in the air. I close the window quickly; I never cared much for doughnuts.

Post 6 - Crabapples

As Magna wheels me into our apartment, an intoxicating cinnamon scent enters my nose.
"Magna, are those my grandmother's cookies?" I squeal in delight.
"I found your cookbook underneath the sink. I thought the smell of home might cheer you up..." Magna trails off.
I grin more widely than I have grinned in years. All my best memories of my family involve my grandmother's cinnamon cookies. I feel like a little girl again. I'm climbing the crab apple tree in the back yard with my little sister, Emily. She falls down and scrapes her elbow, but I carry her inside the house, and our mother dresses the wound while our grandmother bakes cinnamon cookies to make Emily feel better. My grandmother says what a good girl I have become, and my mother tells me how proud she is of me.
I start to tear up.
"What's wrong?" Magna asks in surprise.
"Thank you," is all I can manage to say. "Just, thank you."

Post 5 - Old Fart

On the car ride home, the rain begins to dissipate, and the sun starts to glare.  Magna hums along to the melody of the song on the radio and drums her fingers against the steering wheel.  She seems relieved to have me home again. As we drive past the tattoo parlor, a girl outside catches my eye. She is well-groomed, dressed nicely, and she seems to be very well put together. She opens the door of the tattoo parlor and hurries inside. Why would a woman like that want to ruin her natural beauty with an ugly tattoo? I wonder in disgust. I hope she doesn’t get tattooed in any place visible. Maybe I’m just being judgmental. I am far too old to be living in this neighborhood.

Post 4 - Jailhouse Rock

Several days pass, and my doctor is finally ready to discharge me from the hospital and send me back to Finch Pointe where I belong. Before I can leave, I have to watch the morning news. The news tells me of showers until 10am. I look out of the window, and sure enough, it is pouring. Great, that'll affect traffic on the way home, I grumble to myself. The news also predicts a change in weather towards the late afternoon: It's going to get hot out there.
"BREAKING NEWS," the screen says to me. "Limousine spotted outside of Queen's Palace. For privacy reasons, the identity of the person in the limo will only be revealed to paying customers of Queen's." This announcement doesn't hold my attention; I don't have much appreciation for the celebrities of this generation. I take the remote in hand, turn off the television, and think back to the days when Elvis made all the girls swoon.

Post 3 - Hospital

"Pearlie, time for your sponge bath!" a voice I don't recognize sing-songs through the darkness. I try to open my eyes, but they seem to be glued shut. Oh God, I've gone blind. Panic spreads through my frail body and my breathing quickens to the point where I’m gasping for air.
"It's alright, Mrs. Saunders, your sedative is just wearing off," the unfamiliar voice assures me. "You'll be able to function in no time at all!" This doesn't calm me down, it agitates me, but at least I know where I am now. I'm lying in a hospital bed, post-operation. I'm finally able to wrench my eyes open and take a good look around the bland, beige room. Nothing catches my eye except the clock on the wall, which tells me it is 12:05am.
"Oh, Nurse?" I ask sweetly. "Would you mind turning on the television to the news channel? I always watch at midnight." The nurse walks over to the television set and powers it on. The first thing I see is flames. Flames are everywhere, licking the side of a smokey trailer. My favorite newscaster announces that a grease fire was started in a food trailer at the carnival. She also states that the cause of the fire is unknown. I'm lucky to have escaped that carnival with only a monkey bite and a couple of stitches, I think to myself in awe. I scan the footage attentively; my eyesight hasn't left me yet, unlike my youth. Two female employees huddle together, keeping as far away as possible from the fire. Just beyond them, two large, dark figures hurry away from the scene. They're carrying something that looks big enough to be a body...
I know something must be wrong.

Post 2 - Accidentally On Purpose

“Pearl,” Magna calls from the kitchen. “I signed us up to work the ticket booth at the carnival today.”
I start to object, but I stop myself. Glancing out of the window, I see what a lovely day it is outside. “I guess that’s alright, Magna,” I sigh.
“Great!” She says excitedly. “Let’s go! They’re expecting us in half an hour.” I guess she knew that I wouldn’t be able to resist this unusually nice weather. She sets up my wheelchair, packs a sack lunch and my walker (just in case), and off we go, down Moth Street towards the carnival. When we arrive, there is some confusion as to where the ticket booth is located. After wandering around for a good twenty minutes, we finally come upon it. It's a sad fold-up table, with no box for cash. A sign, reading “TICKETS,” hangs precariously off of the side.
“Where are the tickets?” I wonder aloud.
“A woman named Maria is supposed to drop them off for us,” Magna informs me. So we sit, and we wait. And wait. We wait for fifteen minutes, and still no Maria. The smell of stale cigarette smoke hangs in the air. An organ grinder and his Capuchin monkey linger suspiciously near our table. As I watch the growing crowd, I see a young couple arguing as they exit the photo booth. In the distance, a large woman rushes towards us. Presumably, this woman is whom we've been waiting for.
"Here," she grunts when she finally reaches us. She shoves a box at Magna, turns around, and rushes away again. Magna opens the box. It is full of tickets and all kinds of money. I look up again, and the organ grinder is right in front of us.
"Can I play you ladies a song?" he asks us.
"Absolutely," Magna replies, smiling.
I, however, am cautious. The little monkey scurries onto the table with a devilish grin on his face, so I wrap my arms around the box of money and cling for dear life. Before I know it, his teeth have sunken into me. I look down at my bloody, mangled hand, and I scream. The dizziness is overwhelming, and all I want is to be away from this horrible place, so I let myself drift away on a cloud of cigarette smoke until I disappear, and everything is dark at last.

Post 1 - The Burning Lamp

I smile as I imagine myself rolling out of bed at the first sign of sunlight. In this fantasy, I hop up, glide to my closet, slip into my favorite dress, and start the day with a strong cup of coffee. But when I awake, reality hits me. I see my sagging, spotted skin. I can't feel my legs or wiggle my toes. I'm exhausted, as usual. I notice how gray and drizzly it is outside of my fifth story window. My smile sinks to my chin.

"Magna!" I cry out in agitation. She doesn't respond, so I count to myself. One...two...three...four...

Suddenly, I hear the rattling of keys outside of the door. She must have been out for a walk. I feel a pit forming in the bottom of my stomach. “Magna?” I call again.

“Hey, Pearl,” she replies casually as she walks into my bedroom, squeezing the water from her hair with a towel. “Ready to get dressed?”

“I suppose,” I respond. I look up into her twenty-year-old face. A green haze distorts my vision.

“Let’s get you into your chair,” Magna says to me. I extend my arms, and she hoists me up, carries me across the room, and sets me down. I hate this sad, old thing, but at least it gives me some mobility. I roll my chair to the window and look out over the block. I hear a loud, rumbling sound in the distance, quickly approaching. A couple of seconds later, two large trucks speed right past Finch Pointe. One turns down King, and the other disappears out of sight.

“Incredible,” I sigh as I drift back into dreamland.