October 22nd Curdling Cries

17.58 – 18.58

Lucy Curdling was a weather god. A minor god, it has to be said, but a deity all the same.

She wasn’t up there with the big ones: Buddha, Jesus, Krishna, Thor, or any of the other ones you might have heard of, but she was up there. Or, more accurately, she was down here. Because Lucy Curdling walks among us.

She’d always been told that she was an orphan. That was the story, and they were sticking to it, although it wasn’t always clear who they were. They just said things, though, every now and then, but for the most part they let Lucy get on with it.

Lucy Curdling was twenty-seven years old. At least, that’s what she’d been led to believe, and for the most part that was fine. She’d been allowed to grow, normally, (or fairly normally) from the age of about one, and that was fine. In an orphanage, then in foster care, and now, at the age of roughly twenty-seven, in a fairly average flat in Manchester.

For a weather god, there are few better places to be.

The trouble was, Lucy was happy. Very happy. Her job, in a garden centre, was going well, and she’d spent the summer with Steve. Steve was her first real boyfriend, the first one who made her feel special. Who made her smile.

That summer was hot. Very hot. And Lucy had smiled. A lot.

But things were getting desperate. There had been no rain for weeks, and while Lucy might have floated around in blissful ignorance, there were others who were concerned.

It was time to stage an intervention.

The trouble was, they didn’t want to put anything between Lucy and Steve. After all, Lucy was happy, and causing no trouble, and that was fine. She just needed to be a little less happy.

But what to do? Break her leg? Too extreme. Food poisoning? Not really their style.

And then someone, it doesn’t matter who, had an idea.

Picture the scene. It’s Monday morning, 9 thirty or thereabouts. Lucy Curdling is at work, when she is approached by a courier with a delivery to sign for. He has a cap low over his eyes: she doesn’t see his face. She signs, takes the package and, intrigued, opens it.

The aroma of freshly chopped onions hits her full in the face.

Lucy Curdling cries.

And the heavens open.

Inspired by https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com/2018/10/01/october-writing-prompts-2/


3 thoughts on “October 22nd Curdling Cries

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