Maurice sat in his sunny spot on the window sill, sneering. His first thought this morning had been about the peace and quiet he would experience once The Girl left for the day, but alas! She had not left! She had opened the curtains so the sunlight spilled away from his dry, cracked skin and into her room, warming up her dirty carpet and rouge-coloured clogs and pile of dusty papers that had been sitting on her bar-heater since the dawn of time, probably.
Psh!
Then she had bounced around with an ungodly amount of energy, using that white, vibrating square non-stop and dazzling with brightness and sparkles that- in his world- should mean she had some toxic illness preceding death, but here, in this upside down mad world, merely meant she was 'busy making plans for the day ahead'.
Well! Sorry if he didn't believe a word of that! Maurice scratched his eyebrow as he watched The Girl play around with another, larger, silver square. Her attention was admittedly absolute. He narrowed one eye (the eye that could see her), uncomfortable with the act of throwing niceties to undeserving people, even if This Girl would never hear his compliments. Look at her, he grumbled in is head. Look at the way she sits with her legs crossed. Are we in a type of prayer meeting? Does she know her blazer is on backwards?
He focused back on the lump of ceramic shit that commanded his attention most days.
Maurice is a gnome. He went to those YIG meetings and took the flyers in his thick, grasping hand, because he had wanted to know more and his hands always wanted to grasp. He liked to do things. He was industrious. Some days, when he wasn't staring at this monstrous ballsack, he liked to imagine he was really a dwarf who had been kidnapped and forcefully brainwashed into becoming compliant and perfectly-painted. He liked to believe there was an alliance forming, a rescue mission arising, perhaps somewhere in the East as that is where most good things rise.
"We can take the underground railroad! It should be round in twenty," came a voice and Maurice jerked his seeing eye to the activity.
Oh, The Boy is here. Maurice fumed quietly. Now they're going to start that jig again, as if I haven't seen enough bloody Kilts!
"The underground!" retorted The Girl in a dismal voice, "Yeah whatever. I thought they closed that ages ago."
"Closed?" asked The Boy as he wandered up and down the small amount of carpet place available. The Girl sure did know how to keep guests uncomfortable and pacing.
"Went down for repairs, you didn't know? They found a body, half an arm, and no teeth-"
"Wait, no teeth?"
"None."
"Hmm." The Boy stared at the piles of shoes and display-flamingos crammed around the bookcase, as if they would give him some inspiration. Maurice chuckled mildly. "What about ninth?"
The Girl shrugged, "Could do."
"Come on! We can take a gnome and blow it up!"
What now? Maurice blinked. He watched as The Girl looked over her scattered collection of gnomes. He squinted. She didn't look the least bit apprehensive! Hadn't She spent hours upon hours painstakingly painting each and every one of them, only to set them some place high where all they could do was stand and stare? Didn't she know how tiring that was?
"Come on..." wheedled The Boy. Look at Him, all wired up and restless. Maurice glared at His thin, shiny belt. He used to have one exactly the same!
"Yeah, alright," The Girl said, getting into the rhythm. "Let me make a few calls."
"Which one?"
What fucking traitors. Maurice tried to look for each gnome but couldn't due to his position, and he wondered for the thousandth time why She had placed him sideways on this ruddy windowsill, and he cursed Her stupidity, Her spontaneity, Her relaxed opinions and Her constant sleep-talk of magic hats and enchanted pumpkins. For god's sake, didn't She live in the real world at all!?
"Ummm..." The Girl glanced around pleasantly. The Boy glanced also, but in a shifty manner, and Maurice swore He shot a glance his way. "The fucking tards", Maurice muttered aggressively. Pick the pink one! The pink one! All he does is sit and smile and it's fucking LUDICROUS!
She did look up at the gnome with the pink jacket and glittered, yellow hat. Maurice tensed. His seeing eye started to water as he stared as hard and as furious as he could up at The Girl. His other eye gazed unseeing into a wall of red.
For the love of every unholy dick out in the world...
She stood up and Maurice almost yelped. "The monochrome gnome! Take that one."
You fucking cuntstop.
Maurice felt Her cool, thin fingers enclose his head as She picked him up lazily and without respect and handed him over to warmer, longer fingers that gripped his torso. Colours flew around him and he had to admit, he felt a little motion sick.
"The black one!" The Boy exclaimed without originality. "The best one!" claimed The Girl lamely.
They both deserved to rot in the furthest pit of hell, the darkest cave of Hades, the painfulest-
"So ten then?" said The Boy happily, suddenly flipping Maurice about, ignorant of his sensitive digestion issues and eczema patches on both legs.
The world whirled and bounced. His head swam. His mouth was unused to this movement and he, embarrassingly, started to drool but doubt The Boy noticed so he didn't worry. The Girl said something and The Boy stopped flipping long enough for Maurice to catch sight of his lumped-up window-sill companion. How happy and peaceful he looked. Maurice tried to focus between woozy blinks at this real garden gnome with whom he had never spoken to. All those sandwich lunches in the sun, all those bird-watching games seen with one eye, all those midnight conversations under the moon and fits of giggles while listening to The Girl rave on about a potted Geranium losing its spark or her 'Durnham' dying before she could finish reading it more crack stories of madness.
Durnham, thought Maurice as he lay rather comfortably, if a bit stiff, in The Boy's hand. Probably code for obscene sex. He should make an anonymous call and have Her locked up.
"Yeah, he's the worst one... ugh."
Blasphemey! Maurice perked up at the injustice of this conversation. She had painted him entirely black because She was bored of colour. She had the real problem here, not him. She was 'ugh', whatever that was. No doubt more code for how incompetent and utterly obscure She happened to be.
The Boy laughed at something unfunny and walked off. Maurice caught a last glimpse of the marvellous gnome he called lumpy, the gnome who had actual curves and shades, with real features, wrinkled hands, folded boot fabric and a belt with visually genuine buckle holes. The realest garden gnome who sat there smiling but never talked or ate or giggled because his realness didn't extend past his exterior.
Well! Maurice thought, as his world turned and turned so the real and unreal merged together like different flavours of melted ice cream in the same bowl, he may be the realest gnome around, but I am going on an adventure! I am going to see the underground and the body without teeth and the-
He stopped, horrified.
"Come on, then!" called The Boy from a dark area with fluffier carpet and immensely more paper piles than that air-headed female. "Get a move on!"
"Yeah yeah, keep your hair on!"
Maurice was distracted by a book titled: 'How tall is my grass? and Where to put my spare awning?... Household hints you never knew you needed!' and he thought, What the fuck is this shit?
The Girl appeared carrying a large backpack that was outrageously too big for her weak little arms, The Boy bounced on his feet in some form of excitement or mental retardation, and Maurice suddenly remembered Their earlier conversation.
Good lord. These lousy moronic fuckwits are going to blow me up!
[All language and representations are extremely fictional due to the 'voice of Maurice', who is a very angry, cynical gnome and uses verbal profanities as often as a coffee addict would drink finely brewed coffee (which is often, as I happen to be one).] (4__4)v
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