Wednesday, August 15, 2012
My Stories: Little Sparks, Big Fires(Part 2)
My Stories: Little Sparks, Big Fires(Part 2): Both Mr and Mrs Pinkie left their house in hand cuffs. They took off in a police car and as the car left the lane in front of their house, ...
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Little Sparks, Big Fires(Part 2)
Both Mr and Mrs Pinkie left their house in hand cuffs. They took off in a police car and as the car left the lane in front of their house, they could see through the side mirrors, their neighbours coming out their houses. Mr Pinkie turned his head around and looked at the back of the car. Soon the houses and people became too small for him to bother about them. The police car was later in the busy road of eight carriage ways. Fleeting thoughts went past his mind. He refused to look into his wife's eyes. Suddenly he felt extremely infuriated by her foolishness, but it quickly turned into pity for her. Mr Pinkie was not the type of person to hold grudges for too long. He was a mild tempered person. Even in such a situation, he was a picture of composure. What on earth was she thinking? What devil got into her to do such a stupid thing? And why was Little Boy crying when he recalled what he saw as the police car was leaving the houses. He was adamant that he saw Little Boy crying and his mother was shaking his shoulders as if to demand for an explanation. Probably Little Boy must had forgotten his errands again.
Mr Pinkie was calm. He did not kill Mr Potter. Why should he be scared? He strongly believed that the truth should prevail. There was so much work unfinished and his clients would be very disappointed with him. His main worry was his work. He could not visualize the fact he was going to spend time locked up in jail.
Suddenly, Mr Pinkie laughed. The whole car was rocking. 'Shut up', the officer sitting next to the driver shouted. It was almost lunch time and the officer must had been very angry for having missed a good part of his break.
Little Boy was acting funny. That was what his mother was telling his father the whole morning after the Pinkies had gone off to the police station. ' Little Boy, come here'. 'Now, listen'. 'You have the whole of Mrs Pinkie's house to look after'. 'Those are the keys there. You are to switch on the lights in the living room at night and to switch them off in the morning'. 'Tell the milkman and newspaper boy to stop delivering for three days until further instructions'. 'Do you get it?' Mr Pinkie was only too glad that he had finally pass over the burden to his son. Just as he had finished, Little Boy started to sob. 'Why?' 'You are not happy that you have to do this?' 'Alright, I will give you some pocket money for that'. 'No?' 'Ah, stop that crying. What's wrong with you?' No answer from Little Boy. He had started to cry uncontrollably.
'What? What dead mouse?' 'You put it in Mrs Pinkie's laundry basket?'
'Gosh! You...you good for nothing! '
'You are the cause of Mrs Pinkie's broken hip and now, that poor lady, have to suffer again.' 'Now, you feel really sorry for her?' 'Alright, then you do your job well. Look after her house and her pet cat.'
' I want to get to work now.' Little Boy's father left the house shaking his head and muttering something about dead man's debt. He had a lot of work in his hands. Somebody had been calling all morning about a faulty washing machine that needed repairs and another was asking if he had finished repairing a recording set. Damn it! He swore under his breath. He had worked on Mr Potter's TV set amongst some other things and he had not collected the payment yet. How is he going to get paid when he is dead? Life is hard when you have many mouths to feed. Little Boy's father was telling himself. Why and how did it happen? Who has done it? It was a mystery which he did not want to unravel. Let the detectives do the work.
Drying his tears and trying hard to quell his own sobbings, Little Boy took off to Mrs Pinkie's house. The back door was not locked as the couple left in a hurry. Before he pressed the knob to lock the door, Little Boy went in to take the cat out. The cat was searching for its female owner and must have felt something was missing. It was hiding under a chair, refusing to move at first. It never liked Little Boy that much especially when he would drop her from a high place. This time , strangely enough, it went to Little Boy. 'Come, Kitty, Kitty'. 'You wanna drink some milk?' Probably it was missing its usual food.
As he was about to turn to go, he saw a framed photo on one of the shelves. Much to his surprise, in the photo of a group of high schoolers, he saw Mr and Mrs Pinkie standing on the same row as Mr and Mrs Green, except that Mrs Green was holding Mr Pinkie and Mrs Pinkie as well as Mr Green were standing as if they had never knowneach other. There was another man standing quite close by whom Little Boy felt he had seen him somewhere. Now, where did I see him before? He was thinking so hard that he did not hear his mother yelling out his name. Suddenly, a weird thought flashed across his mind but he had not the time to give it a further thought. 'I am coming, mum'.
Mr Pinkie was calm. He did not kill Mr Potter. Why should he be scared? He strongly believed that the truth should prevail. There was so much work unfinished and his clients would be very disappointed with him. His main worry was his work. He could not visualize the fact he was going to spend time locked up in jail.
Suddenly, Mr Pinkie laughed. The whole car was rocking. 'Shut up', the officer sitting next to the driver shouted. It was almost lunch time and the officer must had been very angry for having missed a good part of his break.
Little Boy was acting funny. That was what his mother was telling his father the whole morning after the Pinkies had gone off to the police station. ' Little Boy, come here'. 'Now, listen'. 'You have the whole of Mrs Pinkie's house to look after'. 'Those are the keys there. You are to switch on the lights in the living room at night and to switch them off in the morning'. 'Tell the milkman and newspaper boy to stop delivering for three days until further instructions'. 'Do you get it?' Mr Pinkie was only too glad that he had finally pass over the burden to his son. Just as he had finished, Little Boy started to sob. 'Why?' 'You are not happy that you have to do this?' 'Alright, I will give you some pocket money for that'. 'No?' 'Ah, stop that crying. What's wrong with you?' No answer from Little Boy. He had started to cry uncontrollably.
'What? What dead mouse?' 'You put it in Mrs Pinkie's laundry basket?'
'Gosh! You...you good for nothing! '
'You are the cause of Mrs Pinkie's broken hip and now, that poor lady, have to suffer again.' 'Now, you feel really sorry for her?' 'Alright, then you do your job well. Look after her house and her pet cat.'
' I want to get to work now.' Little Boy's father left the house shaking his head and muttering something about dead man's debt. He had a lot of work in his hands. Somebody had been calling all morning about a faulty washing machine that needed repairs and another was asking if he had finished repairing a recording set. Damn it! He swore under his breath. He had worked on Mr Potter's TV set amongst some other things and he had not collected the payment yet. How is he going to get paid when he is dead? Life is hard when you have many mouths to feed. Little Boy's father was telling himself. Why and how did it happen? Who has done it? It was a mystery which he did not want to unravel. Let the detectives do the work.
Drying his tears and trying hard to quell his own sobbings, Little Boy took off to Mrs Pinkie's house. The back door was not locked as the couple left in a hurry. Before he pressed the knob to lock the door, Little Boy went in to take the cat out. The cat was searching for its female owner and must have felt something was missing. It was hiding under a chair, refusing to move at first. It never liked Little Boy that much especially when he would drop her from a high place. This time , strangely enough, it went to Little Boy. 'Come, Kitty, Kitty'. 'You wanna drink some milk?' Probably it was missing its usual food.
As he was about to turn to go, he saw a framed photo on one of the shelves. Much to his surprise, in the photo of a group of high schoolers, he saw Mr and Mrs Pinkie standing on the same row as Mr and Mrs Green, except that Mrs Green was holding Mr Pinkie and Mrs Pinkie as well as Mr Green were standing as if they had never knowneach other. There was another man standing quite close by whom Little Boy felt he had seen him somewhere. Now, where did I see him before? He was thinking so hard that he did not hear his mother yelling out his name. Suddenly, a weird thought flashed across his mind but he had not the time to give it a further thought. 'I am coming, mum'.
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