Saturday, 15 January 2011

The Girl Who Went Bing, Part Three

Oh, I forgot to say. I found the notebook that contains the rest of the story. You're going to get the whole thing...

Shortcut to: Part One | Part Two

Illustration by Spotty Dog Rosie

Zena looked on in awe and wonder as the shining white kitchen appliance rose out of the box. She barely noticed that her parents looked as excited as she was.

She watched as her father carefully turned every delicate page of the instruction manual, poring over its contents; comparing diagrams with the device, and the device with the diagrams.

And then...

He took the microwave and placed it on a spare work surface. He found the plug and eased it gently into the wall socket. He reached out tentatively, and flicked the switch as if tending to an injured tiger.

Zena saw the machine flicker into life, its digital display flashing up the wrong time. She gazed longingly at the oven while her father attempted to set the clock correctly without activating a half-hour cooking schedule.

She absorbed the sense of occasion as he cradled a large potato, gently set it down on the heatproof plate and shut the door.

She closed her eyes and listened to its barely audible hum, meditating upon it for many minutes until -


The noise made her jump, yet she was overcome with joy upon hearing it. She felt a surge of pride in her present as her father opened its door, waved back the thick smoke and removed the blackened lump of charcoal from within.

It spoke! It had spoken to her, to tell her that it had completed its task, and she had understood it.

"Bing!" repeated Zena, giggling to herself.

"What did you say?!" Replied her father angrily.

"Bing," she said again, unable to help herself.

"This doesn't concern you! It's none of your business! Get out of my sight! GO ON, GO TO YOUR ROOM!"

Zena was astonished. She'd never seen her father's face turn that colour before. She quickly ran upstairs, giggling uncontrollably and muttering the word "Bing" under her breath, again and again and again.

She threw herself onto her bed and wrapped her coarse itchy blanket around herself.

"Bing," she said again, and laughed. Not giggled; laughed. She was happy. She'd never been happy before. Modestly content, yes. Never happy, never even sad.

She heard some noises from downstairs, and wondered dreamily why her father seemed to be doing everything slightly louder than was absolutely necessary.

To be continued...

Link of the Day: First Name


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