“Always watch your back. Danger comes from the most innocent and innocuous places! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
I wrote this story in answer to the following prompts:
FOWC with Fandango —Paradox
Your Daily Word Prompt — Demur
Ragtag Daily Prompt — Compassion
Word of the Day Challenge — Farctate – To stuff or fill solid – what a word!
A Fudge Fetching Farce
Fudge. Smooth, creamy, luscious, fudge. Yes, Harold Demurest was a self-confessed Fudge-aholic. He’d eat it all day until he was farctate with the stuff if he could. Of course, the very thought was a paradox. To consume so much of anything, let alone something as indulgent as fudge would lead to death by gluttony.
One Monday afternoon, Harold simply had to go get some fudge. He’d resisted the urge all weekend but the hankering never abated. And so, he was on his way to the sweet shop. Today his addiction was to cost more than the value of the fudge.
The sweetshop was in sight. He has across one final road and walk a hundred yards along the house and tree-lined avenue to reach the store. Harold had crossed the road on this corner many times without incident. Today fate decided to intervene in the form of an old woman on a mobility scooter.
Harold saw a flash of silver hair and a blur of blue paint. He had no chance of avoiding it; the mobility scooter rounded the bend almost on two wheels and cannoned straight into him. “Waaaaah!” Harold screamed as he somersaulted through the air and landed in a privet hedge within the corner garden. All that could be seen from the road was his shiny black shoes.
The lady on the scooter came to a sedate stop. “You there, why were you standing on the corner where I couldn’t see you?” she called while straightening her glasses.
Harold let out a few moans and groans as he tried to wriggle free of the bush. He felt a great deal of pain from his knee; his back and shoulders were complaining too. “I—”
“Oi! You wearing the bush. I asked you a question.” snapped the old woman climbed from her scooter with a walking cane in hand.
Harold didn’t like to be demur with the elderly, but now he was both in pain and brassed-off. “That’s it – go on! Blame me. I wasn’t the one acting like Lewis Hamilton whilst careening around bends on the bloody footpath! I mean, are you taking part in the pensions Grand Prix or something?” He blustered having managed to sit up. He noticed a label on the scooter’s basket. “Hettie NO1”
“Mind your manners, young man.” Hettie waved her cane at him as she adjusted her pink-polka-dot dress. “You could have had me off my scooter, standing there!”
Harold grumbled as he examined his earthy Harris Tweed suit. “Not one ounce of compassion. You don’t give a rat’s backside that you just mowed me down like an old goat on rocket skates, do you?”
“Hey! Watch who you call old, deary. I’m still young enough to box your ears!”
“Box my ears! I should have you arrested for using your scooter as a medieval battering ram.” Harold stood up, swore and crumpled to the pavement. His knee had given way and collapsed beneath him. Agony radiated from it through his entire leg now. “It’s no good. You’ll have to call me an ambulance.”
Hettie scowled at him through her glasses, “What you want an ambulance for?”
“You caved me bloody knee in when you bulldozed me – that’s why!” Harold felt his knee throbbing, lying there on the path.
“Huh, so that’s your game is it? Next, you’ll be calling the police and your lawyer and suing me for grievous bodily harm. Now, get up and stop being a sissy!” Hettie walloped his arm with her cane. Hearing a car horn, she turned and waved a two-fingered salute at the driver.
Harold was dumbfounded by this rude woman. “I was not going to sue you!” he seethed his voice raised and gravelled with ire. “I cannot stand and I need some medical assistance. As you just assaulted me with your Formula One grade pensioner mobile. The least you can do is call me some help!”
“Obstreperous, git! I Can’t believe you have the nerve to yell and blame me when you were standing on a blind corner!” Hettie folded her arms and scowled at him.
Harold sighed and pulled himself into a sitting position against the hedge. The movement forced him to breathe deeply against the pain before he could say anything. “Look, I didn’t want to be infuriating about this, but you are living in a paradox, my dear.”
“What?” Hettie’s expression became one of confusion.
“I’m lying on the pavement in agony because you took me out at a million miles an hour on your scooter! But in your paradoxical mind, you did nothing wrong. Even if that were the case you could show a little compassion and help me. Instead, you are so farctated with yourself, you’d rather yell at me instead. Now, —”
“Well, I never! Yelling and swearing at an old lady!” Hettie raised her cane again.
“I’m with the cane again and I will have no choice but to demur and have you arrested for assault. Look, do us all a favour, get back on your scooter and sod off!” Harold pointed away down the road with a stony gaze.
Hettie opened her mouth to reply but instead grumbled and climbed on her scooter.
Harold watched her key the ignition and begin to move away. “Have a good afternoon, Schumacher. Don’t go pedestrian-pin bowling anymore will you!” he hollered after her.
It was the following morning when Harold made it home having had a dislocated kneecap operated on in the hospital. Although the police did become involved, Harold asked them not to press charges against Hettie. He was satisfied that they’d warn her to drive slower in the future. The worst of the whole incident for him was, he never managed to get that fudge!
Have a great day.