Ms.Thatwackyperson and the councillors

Ms. Thatwackyperson sat on a mat in front of the lady councilors. They were bombarding her with finely sharpened Words. “Why do you wear your buttons like that? It makes you look like a flaggered out wambler!”

                                                   “Vhat’s vup vith the colour of vyour bag-strap? Why veezveet such a disgustint shade of gvrey?”

        “Why do you smell? Such a smell, regardless of its pleasantness simply should not be allowed in our modernized town!”

                  “What ozz that rag you wear? Why do you wear rags? Why ozz it green?”

                                                                                     “Why do you even exist? You useless lumps of tomato biscuit!”

There was a sudden silence, as every finely painted eye turned on the last speaker. A scandalized cloud of angry emotions slowly blew in, filling up the room, in swirly, dancing, invivisble, tantalizing twirls. The councilor concerned, who was wearing several hats stacked neatly on her small square head, stared right back, with a fierceness before which even the scandal-cloud seemed to became less invisible. “When I say tomato biscuit, I mean tomato biscuit! Potato heads the lot of you! That woman- yes this Ms. Thatwackyperson, is worth you boodle headed idiots ten times over. Useless indeed! No wonder the town has become such a terrible cotton-woolly dump!”

“But, but, my lady, we’ve done so much this year-!”[1]

                                                                “yes the new incinerator[2], even though I am a clichéd clog!”

                                                                “and the dirty dustbin centre- for recreation, says I, the mean queen!”

                                                               “No more books! Or stories! Or feelings! Or dreams! Or else I am simply nasty, which I                                                                             already am, so this stands either way!”

                                                                “don’t forget- no more candies, or chocolates, or fun, or sun. No siree or madamee! not by I,                                                                  the boring goop!”

                                                                 “Nor I, the nincompoop!”

                                                                  “Vot by ve, the vlootvead!

                                                                  “I agree, the agreeable agree-er!”

“Silence, all of you! You spineless maggots! Get out! Out of my hearing! NOW.”

 There was a period of small plastic heels scraping the hard wooden floor. Cluttering sounds of hundreds of jewels, chains, ornaments, brooches, tiaras, parasols, canes, clips, and staplers, lots of staplers, filled the place in a long jarring sound, ringing out in spirals that hit Ms.Thatwackyperson’s ears in a protracted painful whirl. Scents from the shelves of all the expensive stores punched her long nose. Like one of those demolishing balls. Every scent, from rose, to lilac, spring, fire, smoky, classic roasted potato chips, feta cheese, and prize eggplant smells. They did not mix very well, and smelling eight different smells at the same time was a monumental life experience.

Ms.Thatwackyperson got up, nice and springily. She grinned at the hatted lady, and, although Ms.Thatwackyperson’s smile wasn’t very visible amongst all the bunchesof woven polyester and cotton wool wrapped around her person, the hatted lady grinned right back. Mind you, being a lady, she rarely grinned; smiling meant a double crease around one’s mouth, before looking away, in her world of ladies.

A scrunched up little square face, with an oval-stretched mouth, showing large front teeth, and pointed canines, and bunched up smodgy chins and cheeks, crinkled up eyes, and lost eyebrows in forehead- crumples (perhaps because of the surprise),  under a pile of hats, looked just-simply beautiful thought Ms.Thatwackyperson.

And then they went on their two wondering ways, one off on the road of high heels, evening dresses, polite chocolates, and fifty hats a day, and the other, on a road of flat shoes, and ribbons and candy-wrappers, and avoiding nosey knock-heads. And yet, they were remarkably alike, these two, both terribly kanka and cuckoo, and wacky and absolutely burdolicousineradiee[3]! 


[1] This style of adding on imagined, muddled up wording is inspired, among others, obviously, from Roald Dahl.

[2] Because every conscientious vomit-worthy councilor adds on a new incinerator to his/her town, its part of their job of being conscientious vomit-worthy people.

[3] Synonym of wacky. As usual, liberties have been taken with the English language. No, I don’t care what you think!

About theshadowsofthenight

An amateur writer and amateur artist :)
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2 Responses to Ms.Thatwackyperson and the councillors

  1. Ayesha says:

    Hanufa, I love it. Its very poetic, wildly delicious writing. You have to continue.

    • Thank you! I didnt really think of it like that. haha. Its just kind of easy to right about coocoo people, by making them talk crazy and wildly weird. LOL. I realize why Roald Dahl did it. You should try it out its fun! and you’d be really good at it.

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