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Looking up at the dim light bulb, she shielded her eyes, for the brightness caused her head to throb. Feeling for her aspirin, she searched the end table next to where she was sitting, scattering pens, various books and scraps of paper. As if trying to make her aching migraine worse, the buzzer sounded, summoning her to the door. Arching her back, she pushed herself out of the ancient recliner, hobbling towards the entry hall of the small apartment. Peering through the peek hole, she sighed at the sight of a young man wearing a fresh suit, his hair sleeked back and his eyes full of determination. Grumbling, she called through the door. "We don't want any!" Expertly he replied, "I'm not selling any." With a shaking hand, she turned the four locks down the door in turn, hearing the satisfying click of each releasing it's hold to the frame. Opening the door a crack, she poked her tired face into the hallway of the complex she resided in. "What do you want then?" Flashing a sly smile he started into a well-thought out presentation about the benefits of living in an elder-care center. She turned quickly to the man, lowering her eyebrows in a discontented glare. She cut him off, lowering her voice. "Do I," Gesturing towards her scraggly hair, knobby knees and bony fingers, "Look like the kind of person who needs taking care of in a home? I've done fine for the past fourteen years on my own, I'll do fine for the next few years I have to live!" With that, she slammed the door, turning the locks, one by one.
Sighing, she limped to the main room where her recliner was located, but turned to a small coffee table, and dialed the dusty phone that rested on it. "Hello?" Came a cheery voice from the other end of the line. "Martha, have you sent for me to be placed in a nursing home?" The voice seemed to become exasperated in replying, "Yes mother, I did. You can't live alone in that disgusting apartment any longer. I'm worried for you." "Martha, you know I can't leave. Never. Not after what happened here." Setting the telephone back onto the reviver, she started back to her chair, and with sitting in it, began to pray.
- by Glitter Grenades |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 05/01/2011 |
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- Title: a selection about an old hag
- Artist: Glitter Grenades
- Description: This came to me when applying for the Literate Roleplaying guild.
- Date: 05/01/2011
- Tags: selection about
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