It has been more than a year since I have written an installment of The Curse of the Moongician (And Other Tales To Tell ‘Round Midnight). I want to get back in the game this year, because I still eventually want to turn them into a dumb book or some other thing that is dumb. So, yeah, here is a tale to tell just ‘round midnight. More to come.
Be Careful What Wishes Are Like
It was just two days before Deb’s big birthday party, and she was just as excited as one might expect a selfish girl with a name like Deb to be. She looked a bit like a Fran but her name was definitely Deb. Please pay closer attention. Strangers and friends would occasionally assume her name was Fran, and they were always wrong, although she did sometimes try to go by Fran. Not to avoid confusion or to stir up confusion, but because she loved the name for whatever reason.
“Oh”, Deb would lament. “If only my name was Fran for some reason.”
Preparations for her birthday were in full swing even though the party was days away, because Deb was a bit of a bratty little shit. The shrillness of Deb’s voice would often pierce the ears of dogs and well-eared humans the world over, riling them up and whatnot. “No!” Deb would shout like a major snot pile. “I wanted one and a half inches of icing on my stupid ice cream cake!”
“You’re acting like a Grade A Cuntfest right now, Deb,” her older sister Fran would scold her. “You should appreciate how much we give to you.” And Deb would likely sulk off upstairs, and Fran would mutter about cunts some more. In those instances where Deb didn’t sulk off, she would usually say something like, “Whatever, shut up. Call me Fran, I wish my name was Fran, etc.”
“But, Deb, that’s my name,” Fran would tell Deb.
“Well I wish it was my name!” Deb would probably scream, her shriek riling up all those dogs again.
“Be careful about that,” Fran would warn. “Wishes, I mean.” Then the cunt words would fly and everything would remain as it should. The world over, riled up dogs were being calmed down by their owners or by the passage of time. Those that did not calm down never would.
The passage of time passed and then it was the morning of awful Deb’s spectacular birthday party. She awoke to a blue bird singing in her window, which in her town was a sign of death. “Death Birds,” they called all birds. She stretched in her bed and sat up as the bird stopped its cheery doomsong and flew away. Deb knew: This was going to be a bad birthday.
Deb’s bad birthday was amazing. Her mother and father got her so many dolls, and make-ups, and other girly shit, that Deb could barely keep it all in the second room she had just for stuff. The ice cream cake, which is of much importance later on, was eaten without complication. The only downside was the sudden and graphic slaughter of Deb and Fran’s parents by forces unknown. Shoulda listened to that terrifying bird, I guess.
The funeral was inappropriately on Fran’s birthday, which was just days after Deb’s birthday. Ignoring the corpses nearby, everyone at the funeral was abuzz about Deb’s recent amazing party. “Ashes to ashes,” the preacher spoke. “Deb to Deb.” The crowd coughed in unison as if to say, “Um, excuse me? What the hell are you spitting on about, preacher?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the preacher said, having realized his mistake. “I was kind of drifting in and out there for a minute. I didn’t get to go to Deb’s wicked party so, you know. Just thinkin’ about Deb’s parties.” Everyone gave an understanding nod. “Dust to dust,” the preacher corrected, and he closed the town bible, half of which was about birds and the horrible things they probably mean. The other half: contents unknown.
Rain started to fall like rain would. Everyone dispersed, forgetting that Deb and Fran ever had parents.
A year went by and it was of no consequence.
The next year, on the eve of her birthday, Deb’s thoughts drifted to her dead parents, and how they would not be giving her any presents this year. Ignoring her sister Fran’s warning about wishing things, Deb bravely wished her name was Fran. It was the kind of wish that you knew was going to come true, because of the story’s title and all of the nearby shooting stars I forgot to mention. They were plentiful.
The next morning, Deb woke up to find everyone calling her Fran, and not in the way they used to mistakenly call her Fran. No, this calling of her name being Fran was eerie and foreshadowed. Deb was temporarily thrilled. Yes, it was all dancing and raisins for a while, but she soon realized the Devil’s Deal-style ramifications of her wish that was made without the Devil’s knowledge or consent. She was called Fran because holy shit her sister Fran didn’t exist anymore! “What a cruel and expected twist of wish-granting!” Deb might have lamented, were this part covered in detail.
Deb quickly learned a lesson about not being such a spoiled princessy fuck, and about how wishes are a certain way and maybe care should be taken when wishing them, and something about names too probably. She blew out the candles on the unprecedentedly important ice cream cake and she used her birthday wish to wish that everything would go back to normal, which I guess it did because otherwise, poor Deb and Fran, ya know?
Deb awoke to the life she had taken for granted, the life where she was called Deb. The life where everyone hated her and loved her parties. Her sister Fran was alive and well, and they gave each other sisterly hugs, the kind you’d write home to your sister about. Yes, Deb was finally happy and not as much of a tragic little puked-up puke stain. The two sisters quietly folded laundry, because that is what sisters do together. They talked of boys, and fabrics, and eventually they arrived on the subject of wishes. Deb asked Fran if she knew of her recent experience with wishing.
“No, Deb,” Fran said and paused in one of those creepy ways they’re always going on about in books. “I mean Fran…”, she whispered.
“Do you?” Deb asked.
“What do you think, Fran?” Fran whispered, her breath colder than the ice cream cake that is of so much importance later on.
“I don’t,” Deb dumbed. “Are you insinuating that you know what happened with me and my wish?”
Fran became much more relaxed and slightly less foreboding but still like pretty foreboding in terms of just some nice girl folding her laundry. She looked down at her little sister and smiled. “I have no idea what you or I are talking about, Deb… Or do I?”
“Do you?”
This continued almost forever and then they both died.
The End
Next time’s tale: Now Everyone Is Plants Again!
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