Flimsy Whimsy: “Sour”
The woman had the sourest temperament any sane being could imagine: condescending, wrathful, bitter, unforgiving, sharp-tongued and just plain unpleasant. She was the epitome of darkness, unfit for habitation on the fire planet. All fragments of humanity had long ago dissipated. She was the witch who haunted childhood dreams. Daydreams too. There were no limits for the inventive tortures that went on inside that eerie place, the house of horrors, worse than anything Poe may have conjured up.
We never walked down her side of the street. The sidewalk was a hidden trap concrete door, a tunnel to her dungeon of chains and whips that lay beneath the worn grey hovel. Even the safer other side of the street had its own dangers. That long rope she had, with a hired expert lasso artist who tossed it out with the accuracy of a Cy Young winner, snaring any one of us at any time. Or the trained skilful kidnapper, the first slave she had captured in decades past. We all knew the answer to “Where had Billy gone?” the headline written years before. Nothing – absolutely nothing – would surprise us.
Baseballs, kites and Frisbees were forever lost in that backyard of hers, where the silent Dobermans lay in wait to feast on children’s noses. That pair had teeth of sharks and were vastly underfed. We could hear them growling in anticipation of that next fleshy tasty fresh as veal kidmeat meal.
Alas, the woman we had named Mrs. Sour mostly just to honor our collective imaginations turned out to be the best cookie maker on the block, in fact for miles around – anywhere west of Charleston. Her genius had interplanetary recognition. Her cookies were so succulent that angels hung around just for the possible inner plane crossover of that magnetic smell….