reslashed...IV
it had so happened that the monk, while delivering a slightly stilted yet honest speech, made the fairy god-mother choke on an inappropriate laugh while swallowing white wine. subsequently the white wine sprayed out the fairy god-mother's nostrils and inconveniently onto the princess's dress. however this was The Princess. The fiancee now wed to The Prince of the evening. that is, the owner of the dress of was indeed Amy. the lady of the night. with the usual gruff and slurry that ensued, the monk was taken completely by surprise, forgot himself and promptly sat down without finishing and therefore without applause.
later the monk would confide in satan that he did not manage to address the punch-line in the joke he was working up to in his speech. it was the one about marriage being like picking up a hitch-hiker on a highway in a stolen car heading for the state line. but the monk was convinced he had thought of an even better coup-de-tat - better than "...it was the hitchhiker's car!" - while he was relieving himself not half-an-hour ago. satan considered whether or not if the joke would had been tasteful in the current climate, yet did not mention this thought allowed. instead he piped up about the beasty and gaudy costumes, how you couldn't trust accountants and that most of the crowd here, particularly the bride's side (which made up the majority of the gathering, even though she is supposedly from a small family - although it does seem these days that those from small families seem to need more people around them. it seems as though their small world thoughts need to be shared with as many people as possible. or perhaps they grew up being listened to and respected for their own opinion, without being shouted down or outspoken, that they continue to expect such treatment in a more realistic world. that they expect people from outside the family, in the general populous, to admit their frivolous and outright stupid behavior. nevertheless mostly they surround themselves with dubious people that are willing to submit to their verbal bouts) were boring clouts who couldn't manage two sentences without boring the tits off a bull.
yet the wine was spilt. Amy, ignoring a flood of criticisms and advice from her table, gathered herself and hurried off to the amenities block to clean herself up.
it could be said at this point in the story that there is an inherent lack of explanation of the motivation for the actions of the characters that are being written about. and this is true. however a number of facts must be remembered, and if not remembered then at least stated for the written record.
firstly this is not a story.
it then follows that there are no characters.
secondly, even if there are characters, which there are not, i do not know their motivations. it seems that most characters, within stories (of which this is not one) are combinations of people. it is to be understood that this is done because people are not characters. people are not interesting enough to be characters and hence stories tend to use the actions and motivations of multiple people in the creation of fictional character/s. however it is needless to say - yet needful in having been written - that people nevertheless enact and act upon motivations. yet most of the time these things are unbeknownst to even the self-owners, people, of action and motivation.
in a sense, therefore, i am concluding that there are no characters in this novelette, but indeed people. people who will never know their motivations. people who will forget their actions. people who are inexplicable even to themselves. their actions are not only not to be condoned, but also to be forgiven and laughed at.
Amy and Bill had sex in the amenities block.
it was fun.
it was passionate.
it started with an argument.
another stain accompanied the white wine.
Labels: shortstory