MAD HARRY & THE GIRL WITH THE PIERCINGS

surreal-3072-2048-wallpaper
surreal-3072-2048-wallpaper

The girl with the pierced everything queerly shunned any blood line tattoo kith and kin. A monogamist she was in that regard! Whether her judgement in respect of the aforementioned was one of beautification or mutilation, a fetish perhaps or maybe that she just subscribed to the cult of aesthetics she had thus far never said.  Whatever she was sunny enough picking at her crust free hardboiled egg with a pinch of black pepper lunchtime sandwich permitting the gentlest of incoming waves the privilege of planting ‘don’t linger too long’ kisses upon her bare toes and all the time thinking of Mad Harry. For reasons she could not identify she had a soft spot for Mad Harry.

Trading the beach for a ‘Do like to be besides the seaside’ home for the terminally bewildered she reports back for duty cursing the gull that stole her last bite.  Still, back to more bum wiping, counting out pills and potions, changing soiled bed linen and serving sweet, milky tea as and when…oh, save for Wednesday afternoon at 3pm when she would sing unaccompanied Vera Lynn songs to the assembled unhinged geriatrics.  Mad Harry who, as ever, had completely forgotten she existed remembered her once more at these times…indeed liked it best when she sang ‘We’ll Meet Again’. Even that old harridan boss lady had admitted the girl had quite the sweetest voice.

Mad Harry had long since pulled the pin from the grenade inside his head.  These days all he could manage was the occasional shuffle about the place as well as getting stuck into blank screen ‘Season Infinite’ on TV…plus his occasional little accidents of course. She had heard tell he hadn’t spoken a word this last decade at least. From the framed postcard size photo they let him keep aside his bed she could see he had once upon a time been the most handsome man, also a beautiful woman wearing a Venetian masquerade mask at his side! Already the girl had whiled away many an hour making up story after story in her head based upon that snap, some farfetched others of romance and things more risqué.

On this day she found herself chewing gum and cutting Mad Harry’s toenails with scissors (rumour had it that a night time wandering inmate had apparently purloined the regular clippers) in the virtual isolation of his little room overlooking an obstinate wall.

Then a tired crackly out of the blue rattle “Are all those pins holding you together luv?” 

“Crikey Harry”…she was much too polite to call him ‘Mad’ Harry to his face… “I thought you didn’t speak to anyone? And yes they are all there to stop me falling apart.”

“Thought as much…my missus had a thousand masks you know…that way she could be anyone she wanted to be.”

The girl with the piercings thinks hard, even lays down the scissors, kneels in front of the old boy so her eyes are tenderly in line with his, one hand on each mummified cheek, squeezing just enough to make it feel right and ever so careful not to graze him with her barbells, “Harry I’d be grateful if we keep the reason for my piercings as our little secret…please don’t tell a living soul.” With that she plonked an indulgent kiss upon Harry’s forehead.  As was his want and spontaneously Mad Harry fell into one of his private dreams. Come morn he had forgotten she ever existed…roll on 3pm Wednesday. No harm done.

 

 

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30 thoughts on “MAD HARRY & THE GIRL WITH THE PIERCINGS

      1. Don’t I know it…mind I worry about the poor gal…a dozen hot flushes this very day…when I said ‘that’s odd’ she, as ever hit me with the rolled up newspaper. Seriously though she is a diamond gal.

      1. Cheers…my evening ‘almost’ tea time glass of red has just called my name…have a splendid one…it was 15 degrees and only slight (for once) wind this day…we went out to buy Christmas presents yet came back with black olives and a pair of gardening gloves for Shirl! That plus had to suffer that awful Costa coffee served up in a bucket…God how I hate that place!

    1. You have the gift young Marissa. The only one who can do it…who the hell is Gertrude? You know I only think logically…I am being sent to bed by Shirl who is tugging at my sleeve because the blood pressure has dropped alarmingly…wow this makes typing really weird…speak tomorrow! I stress I am 100% sober just in case you’re thinking otherwise!

      1. I was just making my own scenario of a nursing home story where someone doesn’t remember something after a minute. Thought Gertrude would be a good name for her. The last time I saw my grandfather he asked me when lunch was on repeat. Mind you, this was as he was staring at the lunch menu with the times clearly posted.

      2. I remember my own father in a similar situation…quite heart-breaking if the truth be told. My sincere apologies re the ‘low blood pressure’ addition to my comment last evening. You really didn’t need to hear that. Totally out of order. In my defence I had just blacked out once more and my arm/shoulder pain since the tumble is killing…my silly doctor has merely said he doesn’t know what it is and prescribed Valium as a muscle relaxant which I plainly refused. So there you have it young Marissa I really am going insane! What I was doing even thinking about going on WP I’ll never know…at least Shirl dragged me away. Rest assured sensible comments henceforth.

  1. A charming piece. It actually gave me goosebumps. Why we call them goosebumps really does my head in though.

    ‘Crust free hardboiled egg with a pinch of black pepper lunchtime sandwich’- incredibly delicious, descriptive words. Your a great wordsmith.

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