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[Jules] slides into a seat beside me with her hot lunch tray, sighing. “Four hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds till we’re out of purgatory for the weekend.” “Maybe later,” I murmur, still distracted by the day’s previous events. “So, let me show you how a conversation works. I say something, and then you say something back that actually relates to what I was talking about, as if you were even the least bit interested.” “Huh?” I say. ↗
#conversation #delilah-mcphee #humor #jules #paying-attention
The mere mention of the Farakka Express, which jerks its way eastward each day from Delhi to Calcutta, is enough to throw even a seasoned traveller into fits of apoplexy. At a desert encampment on Namibia's Skeleton Coast, a hard-bitten adventurer had downed a peg of local fire-water then told me the tale. Farakka was a ghost train, he said, haunted by ghouls, Thuggees, and thieves. Only a passenger with a death wish would go anywhere near it. ↗
Galadir drew his sword, pointing it at the throat of the mother. «Be quiet! Never! It's just one, the Goddess whom I have entrusted my life: the Queen of the Underworld. And no one else.» Mewar drew a sweet smile and enigmatic. «Oh, no, my loving son, you're wrong. You've been promised, and this can not be changed. You will become one servant of the Goddess that I chose for you. And you can not do anything, if you do not subject yourself to her will - and now every God wants the same thing: the death of the Maid of Flames.» ↗
I've been feeling down I've been looking round the town For somebody just like me But the only ones I see Are the dummies in the window They spend their money on clothes It saddens me to think That the only ones I see are mannequins Looking stupid, being used and being thin And I don't know why I hang around with them. The way they act, I'd rather be fat than be confused. ↗
He said, I won't have one of those things in the house. It gives a young girl a false notion of beauty, not to mention anatomy. If a real woman was built like that she'd fall on her face. She said, If we don't let her have one like all the other girls she'll feel singled out. It'll become an issue. She'll long for one and she'll long to turn into one. Repression breeds sublimation. You know that. He said, It's not just the pointy plastic tits, it's the wardrobes. The wardrobes and that stupid male doll, what's his name, the one with the underwear glued on. She said, Better to get it over with when she's young. He said, All right but don't let me see it. She came whizzing down the stairs, thrown like a dart. She was stark naked. Her hair had been chopped off, her head was turned back to front, she was missing some toes and she'd been tattooed all over her body with purple ink, in a scrollwork design. She hit the potted azalea, trembled there for a moment like a botched angel, and fell. He said, I guess we're safe. ↗
