by Anthony Ward
“Today I’m going to be helping out in the kitchens,” she announced to nobody in particular. Yet she had gained everyone’s attention.
Everyone looked at her as if she was mad, despite the fact she actually was. Mad in the sense that she behaved differently to what they were used to, not mad in the sense they deemed in their derogatory manner.
“ Hello! I’m Molly,” she introduced herself to the bemused staff who in turn introduced themselves as Emma, Jane, Sara, Emilia, and Francine. “I’m going to be helping out in the kitchens.”
Jane and Francine couldn’t hold their bellies as the blood vessels dilated across their cheeks.
“Now Molly, first of all you can peel the carrots,” Emilia said throwing a glance that hit Francine in the face.
Molly responded with a modest consent of the head and began filling a sieve full of carrots to wash.
“Now I’m going to be peeling the carrots,” she broadcast to her newly attentive audience.
Emma and Sara couldn’t help but join Jane and Francine in their predicament. They resembled four beetroots suspended on sticks of celery, quivering with instability.
Emilia threw another glance that missed them altogether and ended up hitting the floor.
“Now I’ll just slice the carrots thinly. Not too thinly or they’ll become too soft,” said Molly reaching for the vegetable knife.
Like eggs about to hatch, the four girls wriggled inside.
“Now I’ll boil them for, I’d say, about fifteen minutes or so.”
Their laughter broke free.
“Now I’ll boil them for I’d say fifteen minutes or so,” uttered Francine rocking her head from side to side.
“Franceeene!” Emilia chirped like a mournful Bullfinch while Molly looked on in utter awe.
Molly was mad, but not in the sense she was mad with them. She talked her way through things as others would talk their way out of them. She could not help it, just as they couldn’t help themselves.
That’s how Molly saw the world.
Anthony Ward is a writer from the north of England who likes to write whatever’s wrong with him.