Firestarter
Posted: March 20th, 2005, 5:38 am
Doris almost dropped her shopping when she stepped in the living room.
Once again, in the middle of the room was a big cardboard box with "do-it-yourself kit" written on it, a very large instruction leaflet laid on the floor and a pandemonium of screws, nails and wooden pieces that made the whole scene look like a tree that got hacked to death by some psychotic lumberjack. The sofa, TV and table had been pushed in a corner of the room, and the temperature was already rising.
Judging the size of the box, it was probably a closet. Great, thought Doris. Just what I needed. Fuck.
She knew that her husband had been up to something. Things had been a lot too quiet around the house lately. But a closet? How could she not have anticipated that? What vile machination did he use to hide the receipt from her? She felt the anger boil up inside her like a firework that was about to go off.
Doris was just about to scream when he arrived in the warzone (erm I mean living room) with an armful of tools and his working helmet.
"-Oh, hi hon! You're back early!
-Eric Yellowpages!! Hold it right there!
-Oh come on, darling! I got it extra-cheap! It's got 6 compartments too, and a cute little..."
She stormed out of the room (and towards the phone) without letting him finish. He had his naïve "everything's A-OK" smile on, which was a very bad sign. Over 5 years of marriage, she had learned to dread and hate that smile.
Fortunately, he had just got the tools out, so she still had time to act before anything dangerous started happening.
Doris didn't even notice that she was dialing the fire-brigade number, partly because she was so worked up. The other reason was that she was so used to dialing that number that it became a reflex.
At the other end, a deep manly voice greeted her.
"-Local fire brigade, how may we help you?
-Doris.
-Shit.
-Yeah.
-What's he got this time?
-It's a closet. Cheap one too.
-Don't move, ma'm. We'll be right there."
-CLICK-
She watched her jubilating husband bounce around the lounge and tried to calm down at the same time. But both actions proved themselves to be incompatible, so she stopped watching and made herself a very generous glass of whisky instead.
She took a quick glance behind her back. Eric had the instructions and was almost bouncing up and down, his eyes widened with exitement. His lips were moving as he read.
Doris drank the glass in one gulp (and hardly noticed) and slumped down on the sofa. Eric was now waving in his left hand what was destined to be one of the closet's knobs, and the silence in the room was punctuated by his short doglike yelps that were answered by a poodle across the street.
"There's one in every house..."
Suddenly, Doris glanced at the bay window, and everything went silent around her as she knew what was going to happen next. Her eyes narrowed and time froze as she tried to guess the exact moment.
3
2
1
NOW!
The jet of water blew the glass to shreds and knocked Eric off his feet. He let go of the plan but still held the knob in a solid grasp. One by one, the firemen almost flew through the hole made by the hose.
But Eric Yellowpages was a determined person, and as he got to his knees he grabbed another random piece and a tube of glue, and quickly jumped behind the sofa.
"HURRY THE FUCK UP, HE'S GOT THE GLUE!!!", yelled doris, and before you could say "D.I.Y" Eric was wrestling with three tough and fully equipped firemen. Eric had just glued two pieces together, and was holding them tight so that the glue would dry properly. With a kick and "no!" of protest, the two pieces were sent to the ground, small yellow flames sprouting frome where Eric had touched them.
An awkward silence followed, so Doris broke it.
"-If you need anything...
-It's ok ma'm, we'd know the way.
-I made you all some blackberry pie! (she was trying to be cheery)
-Cool, thanks ma'm!."
And that was that. Just before they took him away, Eric gave his wife the look of an 8 year-old whose favourite toy just got confiscated.
She made a lame joke, they replied with a fake laugh, she gave them the pie, and then they were off. After that she started picking up the pieces to throw them away and trying not to think about anything.
On the knob, still glowing, were 5 very neat charred fingerprints.
The end (?)
Once again, in the middle of the room was a big cardboard box with "do-it-yourself kit" written on it, a very large instruction leaflet laid on the floor and a pandemonium of screws, nails and wooden pieces that made the whole scene look like a tree that got hacked to death by some psychotic lumberjack. The sofa, TV and table had been pushed in a corner of the room, and the temperature was already rising.
Judging the size of the box, it was probably a closet. Great, thought Doris. Just what I needed. Fuck.
She knew that her husband had been up to something. Things had been a lot too quiet around the house lately. But a closet? How could she not have anticipated that? What vile machination did he use to hide the receipt from her? She felt the anger boil up inside her like a firework that was about to go off.
Doris was just about to scream when he arrived in the warzone (erm I mean living room) with an armful of tools and his working helmet.
"-Oh, hi hon! You're back early!
-Eric Yellowpages!! Hold it right there!
-Oh come on, darling! I got it extra-cheap! It's got 6 compartments too, and a cute little..."
She stormed out of the room (and towards the phone) without letting him finish. He had his naïve "everything's A-OK" smile on, which was a very bad sign. Over 5 years of marriage, she had learned to dread and hate that smile.
Fortunately, he had just got the tools out, so she still had time to act before anything dangerous started happening.
Doris didn't even notice that she was dialing the fire-brigade number, partly because she was so worked up. The other reason was that she was so used to dialing that number that it became a reflex.
At the other end, a deep manly voice greeted her.
"-Local fire brigade, how may we help you?
-Doris.
-Shit.
-Yeah.
-What's he got this time?
-It's a closet. Cheap one too.
-Don't move, ma'm. We'll be right there."
-CLICK-
She watched her jubilating husband bounce around the lounge and tried to calm down at the same time. But both actions proved themselves to be incompatible, so she stopped watching and made herself a very generous glass of whisky instead.
She took a quick glance behind her back. Eric had the instructions and was almost bouncing up and down, his eyes widened with exitement. His lips were moving as he read.
Doris drank the glass in one gulp (and hardly noticed) and slumped down on the sofa. Eric was now waving in his left hand what was destined to be one of the closet's knobs, and the silence in the room was punctuated by his short doglike yelps that were answered by a poodle across the street.
"There's one in every house..."
Suddenly, Doris glanced at the bay window, and everything went silent around her as she knew what was going to happen next. Her eyes narrowed and time froze as she tried to guess the exact moment.
3
2
1
NOW!
The jet of water blew the glass to shreds and knocked Eric off his feet. He let go of the plan but still held the knob in a solid grasp. One by one, the firemen almost flew through the hole made by the hose.
But Eric Yellowpages was a determined person, and as he got to his knees he grabbed another random piece and a tube of glue, and quickly jumped behind the sofa.
"HURRY THE FUCK UP, HE'S GOT THE GLUE!!!", yelled doris, and before you could say "D.I.Y" Eric was wrestling with three tough and fully equipped firemen. Eric had just glued two pieces together, and was holding them tight so that the glue would dry properly. With a kick and "no!" of protest, the two pieces were sent to the ground, small yellow flames sprouting frome where Eric had touched them.
An awkward silence followed, so Doris broke it.
"-If you need anything...
-It's ok ma'm, we'd know the way.
-I made you all some blackberry pie! (she was trying to be cheery)
-Cool, thanks ma'm!."
And that was that. Just before they took him away, Eric gave his wife the look of an 8 year-old whose favourite toy just got confiscated.
She made a lame joke, they replied with a fake laugh, she gave them the pie, and then they were off. After that she started picking up the pieces to throw them away and trying not to think about anything.
On the knob, still glowing, were 5 very neat charred fingerprints.
The end (?)