What Went Wrong?
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What Went Wrong?
This belongs in War Stories, I suppose, but . . . it didn’t feel right. So I posted it here instead.
The teenager led me to the section in the back of the bookstore where the audio books were kept and I thanked him for it. There were no braille subheadings, but the CD’s were arranged obsessively in alphabetical order with plaques below them to ensure even the most ignorant of customers would find—and keep—everything in proper order; no Dewey Decimal System required. I started searching through the titles in the plaques, my fingers glancing through the indented letters. The teenage employee stood behind me hemming and hawing; he wanted to help, but I was only browsing. When the manager caught him just standing there, he sent him off on an errand and asked if I needed any help. I thanked him and said no, I was just browsing, and he left me to my thoughts. I continued searching for several minutes. Muffled footsteps shuffled against the carpeted floor.
“Yes, I’m looking for CD books of Harry Potter, please.” A familiar voice explained to her companion. “Yes, I would like all seven of them if you please. Would you do gift-wrapping so early in the season? I would like to give them to my granddaughter—”
“We do ma’am, right down here . . . .”
Her voice matched her steps, both dying the moment she turned down the aisle and spotted me. I spun on my heel and wore a bright, cheery smile.
“Mrs. Grady! How are you? Did you—”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said in an unnaturally high voice. “I want to get her those Narnia books instead . . .” she stalked away, the confused salesman following.
“Mrs. Grady?” I indented my eyebrows and cautiously followed the sound of her clipping heels, suddenly muffled again when she struck carpet. “Mrs. Grady, is everything all right . . .?”
She whirled at me, her voice a shriek. “It was a coincidence, you hear me!? A coincidence! Nothing more! It’s not real! It can’t be!! You didn’t see the future! You didn’t find my son in that abandoned house! You’re a fake!”
“Mrs. Grady . . .” I stepped forward, my hand held out. She recoiled as though I had offered her a venomous snake. The woman sounded deranged.
“Stay away from my family, you . . . you b—!” I staggered back and my face and neck jerked to the right, my glasses flying aside and clattering against the floor. Utter silence reigned after the echoes of the slap faded to nothing. The few other customers in the store were dumb, uncertain how to react, either.
“I’ll shop somewhere else,” she declared, stomping out the door and slamming it so hard the glass panes within rattled.
And all I could do was stand in silent, shocked surprise, my left hand raising up to touch my stinging cheek, my mouth agape.
This happened yesterday.
The teenager led me to the section in the back of the bookstore where the audio books were kept and I thanked him for it. There were no braille subheadings, but the CD’s were arranged obsessively in alphabetical order with plaques below them to ensure even the most ignorant of customers would find—and keep—everything in proper order; no Dewey Decimal System required. I started searching through the titles in the plaques, my fingers glancing through the indented letters. The teenage employee stood behind me hemming and hawing; he wanted to help, but I was only browsing. When the manager caught him just standing there, he sent him off on an errand and asked if I needed any help. I thanked him and said no, I was just browsing, and he left me to my thoughts. I continued searching for several minutes. Muffled footsteps shuffled against the carpeted floor.
“Yes, I’m looking for CD books of Harry Potter, please.” A familiar voice explained to her companion. “Yes, I would like all seven of them if you please. Would you do gift-wrapping so early in the season? I would like to give them to my granddaughter—”
“We do ma’am, right down here . . . .”
Her voice matched her steps, both dying the moment she turned down the aisle and spotted me. I spun on my heel and wore a bright, cheery smile.
“Mrs. Grady! How are you? Did you—”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said in an unnaturally high voice. “I want to get her those Narnia books instead . . .” she stalked away, the confused salesman following.
“Mrs. Grady?” I indented my eyebrows and cautiously followed the sound of her clipping heels, suddenly muffled again when she struck carpet. “Mrs. Grady, is everything all right . . .?”
She whirled at me, her voice a shriek. “It was a coincidence, you hear me!? A coincidence! Nothing more! It’s not real! It can’t be!! You didn’t see the future! You didn’t find my son in that abandoned house! You’re a fake!”
“Mrs. Grady . . .” I stepped forward, my hand held out. She recoiled as though I had offered her a venomous snake. The woman sounded deranged.
“Stay away from my family, you . . . you b—!” I staggered back and my face and neck jerked to the right, my glasses flying aside and clattering against the floor. Utter silence reigned after the echoes of the slap faded to nothing. The few other customers in the store were dumb, uncertain how to react, either.
“I’ll shop somewhere else,” she declared, stomping out the door and slamming it so hard the glass panes within rattled.
And all I could do was stand in silent, shocked surprise, my left hand raising up to touch my stinging cheek, my mouth agape.
This happened yesterday.
Sometimes the only thing to be done is to feel one’s way through the darkness.
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Hmm may well be stating the obvious here I think, but my guess is that those two Gentleman( I am using the term in a very loose way here.) Eilonwy encountered when she first met Mrs. Grady, went after Mrs. Grady after Bert so elequently rebuffed their efforts to expose Eilonwy as a Con Artist.( As severla here can already state, Eilonwy is hardly a Con Artist.)
Hate to say it but maybe Bert should have just shot the Jack asses, or at least decked the both of them.
Hate to say it but maybe Bert should have just shot the Jack asses, or at least decked the both of them.
To find the darkness you have walk in the shadows.
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It can't be helped... Some people are so enthralled by the belief that such things as psychic abilities and such don't exist that they can't handle finding proof otherwise.
As for the two guys, they are much the same. They have never seen such things work, mostly because they (unwittingly) cause it to fail. Therefore, they see it as their duty to stop people from being conned by people who cause "marks" more pain just to get their money.
They don't deserve to be killed. They do much the same work we do, on the other side of the coin. Instead of going after paranormals who are hiding from humanity, they go after human monsters who prey on the weak and emotionally hurting.
It's just a pity that they can't distinguish those human monsters from the real deal.
Eilonwy, I am sorry that you were caught up in all of this...though as Willie said, I'm glad everything worked out for her.
As for the two guys, they are much the same. They have never seen such things work, mostly because they (unwittingly) cause it to fail. Therefore, they see it as their duty to stop people from being conned by people who cause "marks" more pain just to get their money.
They don't deserve to be killed. They do much the same work we do, on the other side of the coin. Instead of going after paranormals who are hiding from humanity, they go after human monsters who prey on the weak and emotionally hurting.
It's just a pity that they can't distinguish those human monsters from the real deal.
Eilonwy, I am sorry that you were caught up in all of this...though as Willie said, I'm glad everything worked out for her.
I am not A bitch...I am THE bitch. And to you, I'm MS Bitch.
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I’m not so sure . . .
KonThaak wrote:Eilonwy, I am sorry that you were caught up in all of this...though as Willie said, I'm glad everything worked out for her.
I’m not so sure. There’s something more to this. She blames me for something, but I haven’t found out what that is, yet. I’d like to investigate further.
Sometimes the only thing to be done is to feel one’s way through the darkness.
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It could be that those guys have somehow convinced this lady that you had something to do with her son's dissapearance.
It would be easier to convince someone of that than it would be to convince them that you really are a psychic. People just don't want to believe in the supernatural.
It would be easier to convince someone of that than it would be to convince them that you really are a psychic. People just don't want to believe in the supernatural.
Konrad Andreas is at peace. I am something new.
WWVLD
WWVLD
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I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything.
GhostSpider wrote:It could be that those guys have somehow convinced this lady that you had something to do with her son's dissapearance.
It would be easier to convince someone of that than it would be to convince them that you really are a psychic. People just don't want to believe in the supernatural.
I’m not going to try to convince her of anything, Konrad. But if those men have somehow tried to link me to her son’s vanishing, I would like to know why.
Sometimes the only thing to be done is to feel one’s way through the darkness.
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I don’t want to press charges
duamerthrax wrote:maybe they did it, and are trying to find someone to blame it on, for all anyone knows, at least. but i think that old broad should have been charged with assault at least. no one even bothered to help? what the hell's up with people? why does it seem like everybody's a jackass?
I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to press charges on her. Hannah says the bruise is gone, and it’s not tender anymore. She’s been through a lot, and I wish I could help her.
Sometimes the only thing to be done is to feel one’s way through the darkness.
So there are people out there that do what they do, yes it is the same as what others do if you look at it, but everything can be considered the same, whether you look at it with good or evil intent. Don't forget that just because someone else might be dammed, doesn't mean even the good people are care free. It sucks that you had been slapped by her, but she could very well be lashing out just because she can, not because she is actually hurt. Don't let anyone seem nice until you have seen all they do. Something is weird about the situation though, I agree.
Twisted and churning, bubbling and boiling, this is the way we cook our halflings.