The Uprising (part two)
“Let me tell you about the uprising darling…”
Yesterday I promised I would finish the rest of my story and that’s what I will do. I have had my rest now and my hair is back to being on the good side of messy chic.
As I was saying, I could see the villagers coming towards my house with pitchforks and fire torches; I could hear curses and my name in the same sentences so I was pretty sure it was a bad sign, and I tried to worry, except I got distracted by the women donning black and white ensembles and the weirdest face jewellery I had ever seen.
They started thumping on my front door, demanding me to open.
“Baker, Butcher, woman who hides her smile behind her scarves, and the rest, what brings you here?”
“Madeliene we will not take this anymore!” the butcher said while shaking the fire torch at me.
“You burn an inch of my peony bush darling and you won’t have a hand to hold that torch anymore.”
“Oh please, you wouldn’t dare!”
“I know a guy.”
“Butcher, stop, the girl has a guy for everything,” I heard the fisherman say through a stage whisper.
“Alright listen, put off those torches, there are enough candles in my house, and come in so you can tell me what’s bothering you.”
I led them to the drawing room so that we could have a decent conversation but they refused to sit down, so I sat on the chaise, surrounded by angry villagers who had never looked better in haute couture.
“Why are there smoking slippers on piles of hardbacks? Why are the hardbacks scattered on the floor?” asked the baker in his soft voice.
“Baker! I don’t tell you how to shape your gingerbread beasts now do I? So, what did I do wrong?”
“You have upended our village by bringing pirates to live here and by gossiping with the flower hoarder,” the butcher said, pointing at me with his unlit torch.
“One pirate, one, with very good taste I might add — he might come in handy for you darling, let’s face it, you’ve been slacking on your daily outfit lately.”
“And with regard to the flower hoarder, well, she just lures me with all those flowers alright, I’m hooked!”
“Traitor!” the fisherman said.
“I am not a traitor; I never tell her anything bad about you, unlike you gossiping beings, and you know, if you object so much to my going there, why don’t you invite me more to your cabins once in a while?”
“You are always off somewhere Madeliene, you barely see us, and when you visit us you don’t really listen to what we say to you” said the butcher, as he took a seat on the chaise next to me.
“Mmm, well, I can’t argue with that. Alright darlings, I’m sorry, but we’re all here now, shall we have something to drink together?”
“What do you have?”
“Well, there are cupcakes,” — the mad hatter had sent me a box that morning in an effort to lure me back to his table, “and whisky, is that alright?”
“Sounds decent,” said the fisherman.
Story credits: Givenchy for the image.