LindaGHillhosts Stream of Consciousness Saturday. The prompt is “close eyes and point.” Grab the closest printed material to you when you sit down to write your post, open it up, close your eyes, and point. Whatever your finger lands on, use that as your prompt. Have fun!. Click HERE for the rest of the rules, and to play along.
“There are various kinds of slug traps on the market,” said Colin. “But I refuse to sell them. You should buy a duck.”
“I don’t have a pond.”
“Pity, because then you could enjoy free-range eggs with your slug-free lettuce.” He gave me a curt nod and served another customer.
“You wouldn’t need to build a pond.” A garlic-scented voice whispered in my ear. I turned around to find Marge Hopkins staring at me. “Divert the stream at the bottom of your garden.”
“And lose most of my planting land?”
“Good point! Why don’t you try beer? It works a treat.” She clapped her hands as if that ended the conversation.
It did. Now, all I had to do was get rid of Marge. I told her I needed the loo.
“Over there,” she pointed to a tent at the far end of the field. “I’ll catch you later.”
We exchanged non-friendly smiles, and I trotted off to the toilet thinking: I bet she’s sent me to the eco-potty.
She had, and the queue was ten deep. I asked where to find the regular bogs and was stared at as though I were a nasty slug in the lettuce patch. I am green, I wanted to say, but sometimes nature won’t wait. Wilting under their disapproval, I scuttled off to the planet-trashing flushing toilet.
I had it to myself and relished the peace and cleanliness of it all. This was a thing we would all be saying goodbye to in the next few years. Would I miss the joy of wasting gallons of water and mounds of paper? No! But I wish people like Marge and Colin weren’t so holier than thou and encouraged, rather than hectored, me into being a part of the clean green living machine.
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt vellichor (48 words)
“We need to go in here, Rob, right now!” “This is a bookshop, Sally: we don’t buy books anymore.” “Or CDs and DVDs, but I don’t care about them. I want a fix.” “What are you talking about?” “I need to inhale.” “Huh?” “You can’t sniff a Kindle.”
“Cheeky cow.” Simone slammed the front door. “Wanted mayonnaise.”
“So?” said Callum. “Neighbours should help each other.”
“I’ve helped plenty today. First, he wanted some barbecue briquettes: No problem. But five minutes later, it was lighter fuel. And his wife turns up to borrow our plates. Then comes back asking for the mayo.”
“Maybe they are pushing their luck,” said Callum. “How about—”
“If that’s him, I swear I’ll do murder,” Simone hissed before wrenching the door open.