Daily Detritus: Day Eleven

“—and then we will talk to a woman who takes care of over 70 cats—”

“—just try and use your old paper towels to clean up this mess—”

“—Williams for the three... and it’s good and that gives the—”

Tweeeeeeeeeet. Tweeeeeeet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jillian turned up the volume on the television to try and drown out the whistle sounds coming from upstairs.

“—and see this right here? This is a load bearing wall and it is improperly—”

Tweeeeeeeeeet. Tweeeeeeet. Tweeeeeeet.

“That old bat is going to drive me nuts with that stupid whistle! Whose idea was that anyway?” Jillian knew the answer. She was the one who came up with the clever plan to give her grandmother the whistle so she could signal her when she needed something. What Jillian never imagined was that her grandmother would need something every five minutes and that the house would end up sounding like a basketball game.

She sat for a few minutes, hoping that her grandmother would give up but she knew that was not going to transpire. It never did.

Tweeeeeeeeeet. Tweeeeeeet.

Jillian shut off the television and hoisted herself up from her chair. “How much longer is she going to hang on?” she wondered. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

As she walked up the stairs an idea began forming. With each step it gained clarity and made more sense. When she arrived at the top landing she knew it could work. But did she have the guts to follow through?


“I’m coming, Gran.” Yes, she did.

{This story isn't complete! Continue the narrative in the comments by adding on to the previous comment. Come back as often as you want and see where the story has traveled. Go! It’s your turn...}


Anonymous said...

As she entered into the room, there was Gran- sitting straight up with her hair all tangled up. Poor old ldady- she had always taken just pride in her apperance. As long as she could remember, Gran was decked out in Jewlery, hats and the matching purse.

As she approched her to let the bed down so she could get out, she realized something:

this is the circle of life. Yes it was obnoxious to walk up and down the stairs every 5 minutes. Yes it interupted her American Idol hour. But this was Gran.

"Gran, I have an idea"

"Whats that suga?"

"Why dont we move you to the downstairs bedroom next time the boys come over? That way I its easier to get to you and your not up here all the time alone."

while walking up the stairs, she didnt know if this idea would make things worse or better. But what was the harm in it really?

Her little dog leaped off the bed, ready to follow Gran where ever she went.

Gran paused and looked up at her grandaughter. Then everything went black.

Jon said...


Jillian was slouched over in her chair. It was such a cliche. The old metal lamp sitting on the table was pointed up into her eyes, which made her squint. The detective, who's name she couldn't remember, had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a cigarette that had already expired was lightly clamped between his lips and his jet black hair was slicked back covering the faint baldspot on his crown. Under any other circumstances she would have probably rolled her eyes and said something pointed and sarcastic in response to the scene.

"I don't know what happened. I... I was walking towards her bed and when I woke up I was standing in the front yard holding the brass sailboat. It's the one she had bought in Bermuda on her honeymoon." Jillian's sobbing made the last word barely comprehensible.

"Officer Cruplocke said you were holding a whistle too. What was that all about." The detective asked her.

Jillian took a sip of the cold coffee she was cradling and wiped her nose again on her shoulder. She moved her head to try to pull away from the glare of the light, but the detective gently shifted the lamp in response.

"She wouldn't stop blowing it. It was making me crazy. But not... I'm not crazy. I didn't do this."

"The blood on the sailboat would say otherwise. Don't pull this 'I don't remember' crap. I'm not buyin' it. Not for one second. Just own up to it. You did the old broad in because you got mad. Real mad. Done. It happens. Just tell the truth and make it easier on yourself lady."

Julian was finally able to smirk. "If you make a Chinatown reference, I may throw up."

"What are you talking about? I'm from Missouri."