original fiction
Apr. 13th, 2012 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ljgeoffI actually wrote something. I guess I'll put it up for my International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day offering.
Story: Old Mother Hubbard
Author: LJG
Rating: Teen (for swearing)
Word Count: about 1300
Author's Summary: based on the Mother Goose rhyme
Warnings: f-word, violence
Author's notes: First and last couple of sentences are from the Mother Goose rhyme. Feel free to send me a con-crit in a message. I love crits.
Old Mother Hubbard
Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to give her poor dog a bone. When she came there, the cupboard was bare, and so the poor dog had none.
“Well, shit.” Hubbard slammed the cupboard door and looked down apologetically to old Buster. “Sorry, bud.”
He was a grey muzzled veteran, mostly black, but with a splash of brown saddling his back. His ears flopping softly along his blocky face gave testament to a significant percentage of Labrador Retriever in his lineage. Hubbard scratched between his ears and let her fingers trail softly down his silky neck.
“Come on,” she said in sudden decision. “Let’s go see if Charlie’s got some scraps.” She threw on her coat and snapped Buster’s leash to his collar.
The wind was chilly but Buster only shook his head and lifted his nose, smiling. Hubbard chuckled. Lord love a dog. What would her life be without her boon companion?
The clouds were low tonight, not a fog, but still low enough to darken the city lights. Hubbard shivered and pulled the collar of her coat close. The wind swirled a bit of garbage, fast food wrappers and newspapers inserts, across the sidewalk. Buster didn’t give it no mind. He was a great walker; stayed right at her side. She never worried when she walked with Buster.
It was the middle of the week and about the time of night when most mothers were putting their little ones to bed. Lights were on in bedrooms. Hubbard could imagine teeth being brushed, diapers being changed, prayers being said. She’d had that once, but she pushed those memories away. That was long ago.
Now she had Buster. He was a good ol’ dog, he was.
At Charlie’s place, she went around to the dumpsters first. No reason to bother Charlie if there were scraps right there in reach. But, no, the dumpster was locked down tight. Hubbard sighed in disgust.
“Ah, well, Buster. Guess we’ll just have to go in and ask. We’re not too proud, are we, boy?” She patted his side absently and looked at the back door. Maybe just step in the back door? She’d known Charlie for, well, since school days. He’d be okay with her stepping in the back door.
She pushed the back door open and there was a smell. Buster stepped forward, hackles raised and a low growl sounding in his throat. It was a smell that Hubbard hadn’t smelled in a long while. She took a step back, pulling on Buster’s leash.
He looked back at her and blinked. Come on, woman. The look said. That ain’t right.
Hubbard sighed, slipped her hand down the leash and unsnapped it. Buster swept into the door like a black wind. Hubbard paused outside, one hand clutching the slack leash and one hand holding tight the collar of her coat. Finally, she stepped over the threshold and took a breath.
Gunfire and blood.
Hubbard peeked out from the back room into what looked like an empty store. Then, over by the magazine rack, she saw a slim, dark woman.
She’d held this child on her knee, kept an eye on her and the other latchkey kids while their mothers worked, watched her walk off with this boy and that one. Now she was standing by the magazine rack with a gun in her hand.
“Sha’naya! Girl, put that gun down now!”
Sha’naya whirled, gun steady, screamed and squeezed off a shot that shattered the door of beer cooler next to Hubbard’s head.
“Fuck!” Hubbard ducked back into the storage room. “Sha’naya! It’s Alice Hubbard! I just came here to get some scraps for my dog. I don’t want anything from you, girl.”
Another shot exploded against the beer cooler’s glass door followed by a scream of rage. “What are you doing here? Charlie is fucking closed! Can’t you..” Another shot. “Fucking read the fucking sign?”
Beer was spritzing out of the cooler. Hubbard got down on her hands and knees and tried peering past the rows of chips and candy bars, up to the front of the store. There was no sign of Charlie.
“Charlie?” she called. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he called back. “She shot me, but it ain’t too bad.”
Another shot rang out. “SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
Hubbard began crawling slowly past the chips toward the magazine rack. She had no plan, no idea of why she was crawling toward a crazy woman with a loaded gun. It was as if she was in a dream, as if her dream self was crawling carefully across the store, peeking around the ranch flavored Doritos.
As she peeked around the corner, she was at the height to meet Busters eyes, past Sha'naya, way down at the other end of the isle. He opened his mouth and gave her a doggy smile.
Oh, no, Buster. Go, boy. Go!
Sha’naya lifted the gun at Buster.
Buster did something then that Hubbard had never seen him do. He stood on his back legs like a circus dog and began to do a little dance. First to one side, then to the other – a little hop, a little skip and then a bunny hop, hop, hop!
Hubbard watched the gun waver in Sha’naya’s hand. Buster gave a little yip and began the dance again. “Miz Hubbard,” Sha’naya turned to the back of the store, “what’s up with this freaky dog of yours?”
And her eyes found Hubbard there, crouching not three feet away. The gun began to swing toward Hubbard.
Buster dropped to all fours and let out a horrible howl.
“CHRIST!” Sha’naya swung back toward the dog but he skittered around the isle. He howled again and his paws came up, knocking over a condom display, followed by his blocky head.
“Alright,” Sha’naya said, lifting the gun. “Hold still now, ‘cause I’m gonna shoot you right in yo' ugly head.”
Buster eyes twinkled. His mouth opened and a beautiful voice came from between his black dog lips:
“There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.”
Hubbard took two quick steps and took the gun from Sha’naya’s nerveless fingers. Buster leapt over the isle, feet kicking off the top shelf, backed Sha’naya into a corner and kept her there until the police came.
Hubbard stayed up by Charlie, keeping pressure on the really bad gunshot wound – he had one that grazed the side of his head but the one through the meat of his upper arm wouldn’t stop bleeding.
She kept hearing that voice, Buster’s voice, but then she’d shake her head because there’s no way that Buster could have talked. That’s just crazy. Except that now she had Sha’naya’s gun. Now Sha’naya was sitting like a puppet in the back of the store and Buster was watching her like he knew what he was about.
Charlie never really saw what had happened, but he was so grateful that he kept Buster in first rate dog food and raw hide bones for the rest of Buster’s days, which ended up being another couple years.
That night, they dined richly on Charlie’s largess – the best frozen dinner in the place, a couple of bottles of imported beer (the remainder of the un-shot-up six pack) and some good chocolate for Hubbard with a nice, meaty bone for Buster.
The neighborhood kids still talk about Hubbard’s old dog. Nobody believes Sha’naya, but she still tells the story to anyone who’ll listen. If you ask Hubbard, she'll just tilt her head and smile.
This wonderful dog was Dame Hubbard's delight. He could read, he could dance, he could sing, he could write. She gave him rich dainties whenever he fed, and erected his monument when he was dead.
end
Story: Old Mother Hubbard
Author: LJG
Rating: Teen (for swearing)
Word Count: about 1300
Author's Summary: based on the Mother Goose rhyme
Warnings: f-word, violence
Author's notes: First and last couple of sentences are from the Mother Goose rhyme. Feel free to send me a con-crit in a message. I love crits.
Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to give her poor dog a bone. When she came there, the cupboard was bare, and so the poor dog had none.
“Well, shit.” Hubbard slammed the cupboard door and looked down apologetically to old Buster. “Sorry, bud.”
He was a grey muzzled veteran, mostly black, but with a splash of brown saddling his back. His ears flopping softly along his blocky face gave testament to a significant percentage of Labrador Retriever in his lineage. Hubbard scratched between his ears and let her fingers trail softly down his silky neck.
“Come on,” she said in sudden decision. “Let’s go see if Charlie’s got some scraps.” She threw on her coat and snapped Buster’s leash to his collar.
The wind was chilly but Buster only shook his head and lifted his nose, smiling. Hubbard chuckled. Lord love a dog. What would her life be without her boon companion?
The clouds were low tonight, not a fog, but still low enough to darken the city lights. Hubbard shivered and pulled the collar of her coat close. The wind swirled a bit of garbage, fast food wrappers and newspapers inserts, across the sidewalk. Buster didn’t give it no mind. He was a great walker; stayed right at her side. She never worried when she walked with Buster.
It was the middle of the week and about the time of night when most mothers were putting their little ones to bed. Lights were on in bedrooms. Hubbard could imagine teeth being brushed, diapers being changed, prayers being said. She’d had that once, but she pushed those memories away. That was long ago.
Now she had Buster. He was a good ol’ dog, he was.
At Charlie’s place, she went around to the dumpsters first. No reason to bother Charlie if there were scraps right there in reach. But, no, the dumpster was locked down tight. Hubbard sighed in disgust.
“Ah, well, Buster. Guess we’ll just have to go in and ask. We’re not too proud, are we, boy?” She patted his side absently and looked at the back door. Maybe just step in the back door? She’d known Charlie for, well, since school days. He’d be okay with her stepping in the back door.
She pushed the back door open and there was a smell. Buster stepped forward, hackles raised and a low growl sounding in his throat. It was a smell that Hubbard hadn’t smelled in a long while. She took a step back, pulling on Buster’s leash.
He looked back at her and blinked. Come on, woman. The look said. That ain’t right.
Hubbard sighed, slipped her hand down the leash and unsnapped it. Buster swept into the door like a black wind. Hubbard paused outside, one hand clutching the slack leash and one hand holding tight the collar of her coat. Finally, she stepped over the threshold and took a breath.
Gunfire and blood.
Hubbard peeked out from the back room into what looked like an empty store. Then, over by the magazine rack, she saw a slim, dark woman.
She’d held this child on her knee, kept an eye on her and the other latchkey kids while their mothers worked, watched her walk off with this boy and that one. Now she was standing by the magazine rack with a gun in her hand.
“Sha’naya! Girl, put that gun down now!”
Sha’naya whirled, gun steady, screamed and squeezed off a shot that shattered the door of beer cooler next to Hubbard’s head.
“Fuck!” Hubbard ducked back into the storage room. “Sha’naya! It’s Alice Hubbard! I just came here to get some scraps for my dog. I don’t want anything from you, girl.”
Another shot exploded against the beer cooler’s glass door followed by a scream of rage. “What are you doing here? Charlie is fucking closed! Can’t you..” Another shot. “Fucking read the fucking sign?”
Beer was spritzing out of the cooler. Hubbard got down on her hands and knees and tried peering past the rows of chips and candy bars, up to the front of the store. There was no sign of Charlie.
“Charlie?” she called. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he called back. “She shot me, but it ain’t too bad.”
Another shot rang out. “SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
Hubbard began crawling slowly past the chips toward the magazine rack. She had no plan, no idea of why she was crawling toward a crazy woman with a loaded gun. It was as if she was in a dream, as if her dream self was crawling carefully across the store, peeking around the ranch flavored Doritos.
As she peeked around the corner, she was at the height to meet Busters eyes, past Sha'naya, way down at the other end of the isle. He opened his mouth and gave her a doggy smile.
Oh, no, Buster. Go, boy. Go!
Sha’naya lifted the gun at Buster.
Buster did something then that Hubbard had never seen him do. He stood on his back legs like a circus dog and began to do a little dance. First to one side, then to the other – a little hop, a little skip and then a bunny hop, hop, hop!
Hubbard watched the gun waver in Sha’naya’s hand. Buster gave a little yip and began the dance again. “Miz Hubbard,” Sha’naya turned to the back of the store, “what’s up with this freaky dog of yours?”
And her eyes found Hubbard there, crouching not three feet away. The gun began to swing toward Hubbard.
Buster dropped to all fours and let out a horrible howl.
“CHRIST!” Sha’naya swung back toward the dog but he skittered around the isle. He howled again and his paws came up, knocking over a condom display, followed by his blocky head.
“Alright,” Sha’naya said, lifting the gun. “Hold still now, ‘cause I’m gonna shoot you right in yo' ugly head.”
Buster eyes twinkled. His mouth opened and a beautiful voice came from between his black dog lips:
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,
And when she was bad she was horrid.”
Hubbard took two quick steps and took the gun from Sha’naya’s nerveless fingers. Buster leapt over the isle, feet kicking off the top shelf, backed Sha’naya into a corner and kept her there until the police came.
Hubbard stayed up by Charlie, keeping pressure on the really bad gunshot wound – he had one that grazed the side of his head but the one through the meat of his upper arm wouldn’t stop bleeding.
She kept hearing that voice, Buster’s voice, but then she’d shake her head because there’s no way that Buster could have talked. That’s just crazy. Except that now she had Sha’naya’s gun. Now Sha’naya was sitting like a puppet in the back of the store and Buster was watching her like he knew what he was about.
Charlie never really saw what had happened, but he was so grateful that he kept Buster in first rate dog food and raw hide bones for the rest of Buster’s days, which ended up being another couple years.
That night, they dined richly on Charlie’s largess – the best frozen dinner in the place, a couple of bottles of imported beer (the remainder of the un-shot-up six pack) and some good chocolate for Hubbard with a nice, meaty bone for Buster.
The neighborhood kids still talk about Hubbard’s old dog. Nobody believes Sha’naya, but she still tells the story to anyone who’ll listen. If you ask Hubbard, she'll just tilt her head and smile.
This wonderful dog was Dame Hubbard's delight. He could read, he could dance, he could sing, he could write. She gave him rich dainties whenever he fed, and erected his monument when he was dead.
(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-14 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-04-14 04:39 pm (UTC)