postcard prompt
Sep. 7th, 2012 05:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kasihyaFiction Workshop is back! I had a postcard from the Royal Museum of Surgeons, with a picture on the front of a partially dissected cuckoo bird in a jar. I typed this up exactly as it was written, with the addition of a couple of words. I'm pretty pleased with myself.
Hannah is thirty-four years old and going to school to be a mortician because her previous job was at a daycare because she thought that she really liked being around children and she’d always liked the idea of being a nurturer of young minds. She realized halfway through college that she wasn’t quite cut out for it but her parents weren’t paying for more than four years of school and couldn’t really afford to be paying for those years anyway so she stuck it out and then spent six years getting screamed at and puked on while she force-fed tiny monsters their graham crackers at snack time, growing more and more miserable with each passing day until finally she had had enough and would probably have resorted to things that qualified as child abuse within the next six months or so.
The last straw was when her parents asked her when she was going to find a man to settle down with and have tiny monsters of her own for them to dote on and she’d shouted at them even though for all they knew she was perfectly happy working at Kiddie Konnection so it had come as something of a shock to them and there had been a fight and after the next paycheck came she quit her job and took out a student loan and went back to school. She had had enough of shouting whining eating living human beings and working in a basement room full of filing cabinets with people who didn’t want anything from her seemed like it would be a nice change. Her younger sister who is twenty seven and deliriously in love with an artistic type with his own chair at a hair salon tells her that she’s going to die alone in an apartment with fifty seven cats, stinking of formaldehyde, to which Hannah replies that at least she’ll be well-preserved when the neighbors downstairs finally knock on her door to complain about all the noise that her fifty-seven cats will be making.
Hannah is thirty-four years old and going to school to be a mortician because her previous job was at a daycare because she thought that she really liked being around children and she’d always liked the idea of being a nurturer of young minds. She realized halfway through college that she wasn’t quite cut out for it but her parents weren’t paying for more than four years of school and couldn’t really afford to be paying for those years anyway so she stuck it out and then spent six years getting screamed at and puked on while she force-fed tiny monsters their graham crackers at snack time, growing more and more miserable with each passing day until finally she had had enough and would probably have resorted to things that qualified as child abuse within the next six months or so.
The last straw was when her parents asked her when she was going to find a man to settle down with and have tiny monsters of her own for them to dote on and she’d shouted at them even though for all they knew she was perfectly happy working at Kiddie Konnection so it had come as something of a shock to them and there had been a fight and after the next paycheck came she quit her job and took out a student loan and went back to school. She had had enough of shouting whining eating living human beings and working in a basement room full of filing cabinets with people who didn’t want anything from her seemed like it would be a nice change. Her younger sister who is twenty seven and deliriously in love with an artistic type with his own chair at a hair salon tells her that she’s going to die alone in an apartment with fifty seven cats, stinking of formaldehyde, to which Hannah replies that at least she’ll be well-preserved when the neighbors downstairs finally knock on her door to complain about all the noise that her fifty-seven cats will be making.
