Morning all. I hope everyone had a fantastic weekend. Mine was filled with all sorts of little chores, but otherwise it was quiet. Which I kind of like. Gives my brain a chance to rest. But it is Monday and the gray cells must awaken. So To the morning prompt! Timers set and off we go.
I’m certain this ornament is something hinky. Not sure what, but hinky.
Monday, February 3rd: It was very delicate.
It was very delicate. She held it with the gentlest touch, cupping the fragile metal from underneath and trying not to put too much pressure at any one point. The tissue paper it was wrapped in was brittle and flaked away as she carried it across the room. She hardly breathed as she moved, worried that the air disturbed by her passing was enough to destroy something vital. She moved quickly and with purpose. If this …thing…broke, she didn’t want it to be on her watch.
Even as she moved, she tried to name the item. She supposed Christmas ornament would be a good general term. It came out at the holidays, but it wasn’t placed on the tree. Never on the tree. It was given it’s own small stand off to the side with its own little spotlight highlighting it. When she was younger she thought it was because it was too old, too delicate to be added to the tree. Asking any one part of it to support the weight of it on a branch seemed like a lot to ask.
As a child it was an object to be shooed away from. She and the other children were not allowed to get too close. They were, by way of age, considered too rough for the ornament. Because of this she never really looked too hard at it. It was only when she was older that she realized it had bever been designed to hang from a tree in the first place. It had no hook, no loop, not even a space for a loop that was long gone. It was an ornament that was put out at Christmas. It wasn’t a Christmas ornament.
Still that didn’t seem right to her. There was nothing inherently Christmas about it. The only thing she could think of was that as they had more people in the house during the holidays her grandmother liked to show it off. And so it was brought out and then when everyone admired it, the ornament was put away for safety to await it’s next viewing.
They all took turned bringing it out each year. This year was her turn and her only goal was to get it in place, unbroken and then step back, distancing herself from it, lest something happen. Each year it seemed more and more in danger of falling apart. She made it to the living room, trailing tissue paper dust and walking fast. The end was in sight. She stepped into the room and everyone cleared a path. She could feel her grandmother’s eyes on her, watching her every step. She had never been one of the old women’s favorites and she could feel the frown crossing her face, the weight of her disapproval at the choice of who was to bring the ornament forth.
She held it out like an offering and the tissue paper was peeled away. The ornament was revealed and it was taken from her. It was placed on its stand and the glass cloche was placed over it. The spotlight was arranged.
“Go and take that filthy paper way,” she was ordered by the old woman. “And clean up the mess you made bringing it.” She nodded and turned away. “Can’t do anything right,” the old woman muttered in a voice loud enough to carry to the far ends of the house. She flushed and walked out of the room carrying the tissue paper.
She knew her father was the reason she was not liked. He married her mother against the old woman’s wishes, her parents had her and then he had the temerity to go off and die in a traffic accident. While her mother eventually remarried and had other children, she carried too much of her father’s looks for the old woman.
Ten til Midnight 