A
Hunting He Will Go
For Pete’s sake, how much longer
must I wait?? Harold muttered exasperatedly. This
was not the plan at all. I was meandering about the house, doing my hunting and
gathering thing to share with the clan, and now I’m going to be late for lunch!
Harold’s
thoughts ran away with him as he considered his options, of which none existed.
There is no way around or out of
this mess. ‘I’m stuck. I’m cornered.’
As
question marks bumped into exclamation marks in a caricature fashion, and swam
in a haphazard orbit around his head, he heard the continuing, gesticulating
conversation taking place on speakerphone out on the back patio.
She’s still jawing away, flapping
those lips. The last time her sister called, she clocked up over an hour. At least she replaced the batteries in the
wall clock in the kitchen. I can now keep track of the day.
The conversation rambled along like tumbleweed, ”I know,
Fran, I know. That’s what I said,
too. But It’s not my call to make, she’s
got to make her own mistakes, I guess.”
“It’s
not the end of the world, Martha, but it’s not a great start either, is it?”
I have no idea what they are on
about, nor do I care. What bothers me,
there is no way out of this corner I am in.
Why didn’t she use fast-drying paint? How long will it take to dry?
There’s no way I’m walking across it, I’ll get stuck - and that will be that.
Harold thought he had time to get across to the breakfast
bar before her paint roller got too close to him, but when Martha is on a
mission, there’s no holding her back
Worst still, she’s wearing that darn
green bandana so nothing is going to get in her way…except her sister with
fresh gossip. So she took the call and settled on the lounger out on the patio.
Meanwhile, the roller dries up and I’m left waiting. So very inconsiderate!
Inconsiderations
aside, Harold was still wondering how he was going to get down from his spot.
It was going to become very tiresome indeed in his current position beside the
light shade covered with fly poo. That’ll
be the next thing, she’ll take all the light coverings down and wash or buy
flash new ones. The new paint will show
up the dust and whatever else.
As Harold contemplated the complexities of this moment and
life in general, there was a shift in gear out on the patio.
“Okay,
Fran, you call me. I’m painting the
ceiling so I had better make a move. Let me know how you get on.”
“Okay,
Martha. You haven’t got ideal weather for painting, this rain is meant to set
in.”
Well,
you know, when the mood hits me, it’s hard to dampen the fire in my belly.’
“True,
take some anti-acids, that’s good for
heartburn, but nothing generally stops you when your mind is set.’
“Yup.
You know it! Talk soon! Bye.’
Martha
sighed, getting out of the lounger, ‘Now… where was I? I’ll finish that patch,
and that’s the job done! She glanced at her phone as she entered the kitchen,
‘Darn it, one bar left. I better charge it up before she rings back.’
Harold
sighed. Any time today would be nice…
Martha examined the roller, which was a little crusty to the
touch with drying paint. ‘Darn it, but it’s not worth starting with a new
roller for that last little bit…’
As
she looked up to see where she had left off, Harold held his breath.
Martha,
almost cross-eyed, peered through a splotch of paint on the left lens of her
glasses. It impaired her vision somewhat, hence she had not noticed Harold thus
far.
‘What’s that?’ She squinted, knowing it was futile to remove
her glasses for a better examination of the large dark round shape on the
ceiling, her glasses aided her vision, so removal was inviting a complete blur.
‘I
hope it’s not mould…’ she muttered to herself.
Don’t
roll that wet sticky crusty roller over me, for goodness sake! Harold said a prayer as his life
flashed before his eyes. He also gave thanks to Pablo, who had shown him the
benefits of praying when times get tough. The praying mantis community had
become an ally with his clan.
As
much as he tried to remain as still as possible, his leg was starting to cramp,
so he agonisingly stretched it out.
“Ohhhhh…No! Argh! How
long have you been there?’
Martha, don’t get me started! The
answer is - too bloody long - so if you can hold the dramatics and assist me,
I’ll get out of your way, pronto!’
‘Ohhh,
creepy darn thing. I know you’re not
venomous but you give me the creeps.
Ohh, what to do?? You’re so BIG!
Oh, my God! Ray next door is away for the weekend, he could sort this out. Bugger!’
Steady on, Martha, that’s one for
the swear jar!
‘Ohhh
I hate this…’
Stop being such a sook! Go get the
broom and I’ll hop on…
As
if such a thing as telepathy existed between humankind and Arachna, Harold
almost saw a lightbulb glow above Martha’s mess bun. And this lightbulb didn’t
have any fly poo on it.
“I
know! I’ll get the broom. Don’t move! Wait right there!”
Trust me, I’m not moving, but be
quick about it eh?
Martha was on a new mission. The painting was no longer the
prime focus. As she rushed to the cupboard in the laundry, kicking the basket
filled with dry washing across the floor as she went, she pulled at the broom
which was at the back of the long narrow cupboard behind the mop and bucket and
other assorted cleaning equipment, all with long shafts or handles. Included in
this disorganisation, was the vacuum cleaner with a bag of useful attachments.
There was a crash as handles went this way and that, falling forward and
landing on the floor like a game of Pick-up sticks.
‘Bloody
hell!’
I
heard that…are you going to be long?
Martha appeared in the kitchen with a soft-bristled kitchen
broom. The yard broom would be too heavy and awkward for the job at hand.
Despite himself and his stressful dilemma, Harold chuckled. Martha looked quite
a sight with her trusty bandana on a crooked angle to its normally composed
status, and holding the broom as she did, all she needed was a black peaked
hat.
‘Right…” Martha had never felt so unsure.
Well, that’ll do the job nicely,
just don’t squash me…
‘Okay,
pal, just… don’t.. fall.. on.. me.’ she stuttered as she gingerly raised the
broom handle up to Harold.
Harold
saw his moment. He was expecting the broom head to be his escape route, but
okay, the handle was going to work equally well. Beggers can’t be choosers. He took a big step
then a leap and landed on the end of the handle. He half slid - half ran down
the length, heading straight for Martha’s shaking hands.
All
Martha could see was a massive Huntsman coming for her.
‘ARRGGH!’ Martha yelled, throwing the handle aside to avoid
contact with Harold. The broom went one way, and Harold was flung to the other.
It
was a bumpy landing as he hit the dinner table and skidded across the smooth
shiny surface.
Holey crap! No brakes! Harold wished the salt and pepper
set was in his path to break his slide.
Finally
coming to a stop just before the tabletop edge, he righted himself and
scrambled down the table leg to the sanctuary of the large, potted ‘Elephant
Ears’ Begonia in the corner.
‘That went well, I wonder where he is now…’ Martha looked
warily around the kitchen, hoping she would not encounter this creepy house
guest again any time soon.
Harold
sighed and said another little prayer of thanks for his safe return to the
ground.
Be damned if I'm getting up on the
ceiling again, ad what a good job the cat wasn’t playing any part in that
drama. Now
to find out if they saved me any lunch!
About the author
Fleur is a Kiwi living in SE Queensland. She enjoys the fun, challenge, and possibilities of short stories. She is a member of the local writer's group - The Squabbling Scribblers. For more of Fleur's work: fleursfabulousfables.wordpress.comDid you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee?. Half of what you pay goes to the author th otrht eehalf goes to expense se.g. Maintaining rhthe web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.
