Story: Mrs Marmalade – 15th September 2019

Mrs Marmalade was known as such because she liked to have marmalade as the main ingredient for her lunch. Not only that, but it was the same for her tea, and breakfast might I add, of course, Mrs Marmalade would agree. She held a great love, a fondness for this condiment, jars and jars filled her cupboards, to fetch more was not required, stockpiled they were, of her house she hardly ever left!

My, was she ravenous, for this delightfully sweet and zesty treat, that in actual fact I will tell you the truth, the only ingredient was this sweet preserve for her meals. She didn’t mind only consuming the sweetness, never had she recalled missing savouries, because this woman only needed one item on her grocery list. Do you get the point, do you understand, that even though she was risking malnutrition she was adamant at only consuming this condiment similar to jam? She couldn’t help it, but she’d never admit it was an addiction, poor Mrs Marmalade didn’t understand that this was a dangerous predilection. Her teeth were nearly all rotten, she could barely chew the zest without experiencing overwhelming pain, yet she would not make an appointment with the dentist; last time she’d presented, he’d told her to throw all her jars of marmalade away!

“Preposterous!” she had yelled. “Why would I do such a thing?” He sadly told her if she continued eating only marmalade her teeth would soon need to be removed rather than replaced with fillings, and given dentures that were uncomfortable and wieldy. But she had not listened, and a pain was present basically in every single tooth, she couldn’t afford the dental service for dentures, but she knew what to do. When it came to having tooth aches, she knew that the first line of advice was to eat soft foods, and my goodness, didn’t she have that in excess: her marmalade was the best item to consume! How she laughed to herself as she continued to eat her favourite delicious item, her delectable treat. What would she do in the future though, who would hold her hand as her teeth either fell out or were yanked out by the dentist man? She didn’t care about the future, for now she was too happy to give a damn.

And so, she continued living only on the condiment, her teeth continued rotting away, she didn’t notice though, for she took pain killers to ease the growing pain. She continued to order her treats online, on the supermarket website. She didn’t need to leave the house at all, no judgement would anyone pass for the massive amounts of jars she had to have delivered by freight.

The potential ending of Mrs Marmalade’s tale is not all that sweet, in fact, it is fraught with disaster, because over time, quickly, her tooth ache peaked. The cavities and gums throbbed with great insistence, and soon there came a time where she couldn’t even chew the softened zest of her favourite treat. Saddened, she knew she must return to the dentist, where he was shocked, horrified, to see the damage she’d allowed to develop when she avoided seeing him regularly.

“You knew I asked you to return late last year, why didn’t you, Mrs Marmalade? Now I have to remove nearly all of your teeth, because you refused to e more aware.” He could talk to her in this tone because they were old family friends, but she didn’t’ appreciate being addressed in this manner, so she built up a wall of defence.

“If you don’t speak to me nicely, I’ll just leave and eat more marmalade!” she threatened.

“Please yourself,” he said with a shrug, “but I’d better remove your rotten teeth to save the few others while you’ve still got them.” Excruciating though the pain was, once they were removed, she felt so much lighter and less in pain. She thanked the dentist and went home again to do what? Exactly what she always did, and wasn’t this a crying shame. Some people never learn their lessons and Mrs Marmalade was a perfect example. Her addiction to this sickeningly sweet treat was her failing, and she felt no need for behavioural correction. 

Nowadays, Mrs Marmalade is the proud owner of a set of perfect dentures. The dentist felt sorrow for her and fund-raised until he’d had enough to aid her. Mrs Marmalade enjoys them because they’re perfect for appearance, but easy to remove when it comes time to eat. There is no worrying about whether her teeth with suffer, because, with the dentures out of her mouth, she can eat all day, throughout all meals, without any chance of decay, no need to suffer! She can consume her delights from morning to supper.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


Return to All Posts


Home 




 

Story: “See Ya!” – Simon the Sociable Sloth – 11/09/19

“See ya!” called Simon the ever-sociable sloth to his visitors. “I hope you thoroughly enjoyed yourselves. I urge you to come again soon,” and with that, he bowed deeply, for he was so glad that they had attended. Simon wasn’t like most sloths, who were solitary and shy, hiding behind trees and their leaves. No, Simon was an extrovert, and he socialised as much as pleased. However, after the dinner guests had left, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was difficult for him to remain on top of all of the conversations, and be charming, and most of all avoiding appearing meek. Because inside he would be fighting the urge to flee the scene. He was only recently teaching himself how to be sociable, to be as keen for company as he could be.

Sloths were known for sleeping the day away, so it suited Simon to have his social events at dinner time, with his friends with exuberant personalities, the dinners would be perfectly joyous and gay. Because, when he and his guests were all together, they ate, and laughed, and danced, and played after-dinner cards or board games. Everything was very merry, it was as though these types of dinner were planned perfectly, and their itineraries would be well thought out, and always ended in playing Uno, or on occasion, Monopoly. They would be entertained for hours, and sleepily they would leave only when the sunshine would show itself.

But who were Simon’s friends, how did they stay up into the wee hours of the night with him? Surely they couldn’t be other sloths, because somewhat antisocial they were known for being. No, his friends were the owls, the wolves, the animals that hooted or howled at the moon, away from the sun, and how he loved their company, they were unique and loyal, and terribly great fun. It didn’t matter all that much that Willy the Wolf had tried to bite him one time. Simon understood that was part of his instinct, his urges, to seek out delicious meats to eat. In fact, Simon took it as a compliment, that he was considered a delicacy by Wolf, it made him tingle inside with confidence. What a strange thought process Simon had regarding his friend Willy the Wolf.

One dinner, when Olivia the Owl and her family of six were present, along with Willy the Wolf and his new wife Mindy, Simon asked his guests to take their seats, because presently it was time for their tea. Carefully, for with his curved claws it was difficult to serve, Simon precariously balanced the first course – pumpkin soup – before his ravenous friendship herd. But the soup was secretly not to their liking. Willy and Mindy wanted the taste of meat! So too did Olivia and her troupe, they were hoping for servings of dead rats to be seen. After all, Simon knew of their delicacies and preferences, and they were unsure as to why he’d not catered to their specifications as he usually did.

It was as though he could read their minds. In reality, he’d read their disappointed body language.

“I’m trying a differing menu of sorts,” he said with a smile. With a flourish towards the kitchen, he explained, “I’m going to serve vegan for a while.”

“Vegan?” they all collectively gasped. “What about our need for protein, or red blood cells, their iron??” Mindy began bickering with her husband, forcing him to tell her why on earth she had allowed him to drag her here. Olivia and crew now were squawking among themselves, trying to work out how to politely leave this room. There was no politeness in this. Everyone could hear them, including a now despondent Simon. He had tried, really, he had, to make a positive change to his menu, for his community, and for the environment. He was happy enough to now only eat a strictly vegan menu, and he hadn’t known his friends would be so narrow-minded. He stalked over to the door and flung it open.

“See ya!!!” he yelled, and pointed out the exit of the door.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


Return to All Posts


Home 


Story: Super Slug – 07/09/19

One fine day, when the sun shone my way, I woke feeling completely whole again. Nothing could or would deter me from my exploration of the garden, my winding path, my set stage. Inside this bustling ecosystem were many specimens of flora and fauna, not least my favourite, Mister Wily Old Toad. He loved to croak at me while blinking incredibly slowly; his wrinkles determined his age as very wizened and old. Mister Toad had been living in the garden for many years. He lived off a diet of snails mainly, a family of them which never seemed to be diminish despite his fantastical sense of hunger that was present always.  It was not unheard of that he could consume two or three of these creatures a day. The poor snail family always lamented their losses, but there was nothing much they could do or say.

There was, however, one snail, who seemed to always be able to dodge the bullet. This snail had been around for many years, despite the fact that snails were meant to survive for only a short length of time. I would see this creature in the mornings, and after Mister Old Toad had lazily captured some of the snail’s family, I’d see him rest down for the night. Then so on and so forth, I’d spot him, and safe in the evenings, he had avoided any strife. How could this possibly occur, when a snail could not travel very fast nor far? How could he evade the sharp tongue of Mister Old Toad? For years he had survived, and I knew not how. I decided today to take a closer look, and follow this snail around until I could view what was happening, until I understood how he remained alive and whole.

So, this morning, when I had awakened whole myself, the broken pieces of me fixed back into place, I searched out this target snail, I shall call him Snail, myself. He was easy to find because he had certain markings upon his shell that made him appear as if he had a saddened donkey painted on his outside. On second thoughts, I could have called him Donkey, but it was a little late for changing the facts and details.

This snail was very peculiar indeed! As I watched him, it was as though my eyes were malfunctioning with the greatest of ease. From one corner of the garden he would suddenly zoom to another, essentially materialising from one space to another area. I couldn’t understand! Weren’t snails meant to be laboured and slow? Their movements barely aided by excessive slime and impeded by the unnecessary lack of desire for any speedy know-how? I shook my head, rubbed my eyes, and once more, the snail was moving in a laboured manner that was more fitting for his species. This I was now relieved to view. I felt satisfied that this was the behaviour that I was meant to find.

The more I stared, the slower the snail became. It was as if he knew I was watching him carefully, and he had slowed down his measures to a speed that caused me to feel incredibly pained. It was excruciating to watch a creature move so bloody slowly, how could he perform this task purposefully and knowingly? I swore that I had seen him move in a zig-zagging rushing pace, but maybe that was a trick of my eye or a trick of my mind; perhaps I had dreamed it. I almost fell asleep while observing him, there was nothing interesting to view, aside from the trail of sticky slime that he left for me to view.

Then all of a sudden, I heard him. Mister Old Toad had made his appearance. It seemed high time that this toad should now wish to manage Snail, in a manner that only he knew best. With a loud and slow opening of his mouth he flicked out his tongue. It wrapped around Snail’s shell in a most delicious and smacking sound heard by all in the garden, not only some. I half expected some shrieking from the snail, some wailing, some yells, but then out of his shell he did pop! And now revealed was a vibrant slug with a red cape, invisible ink upon it carrying his secret name! “Super Slug”, was etched on the fabric, and how the cape flowed as he flew along the ground and away. Mister Toad didn’t seem astonished, perhaps he had seen Super Slug on many days.

And how the slug flew around and around, alerting his other snail and slug beings and gathering them away from the area of Mister Toad, forming their own safety, an impermanent town. He brought all of them to a safe area, where they could avoid being devoured. Mister Old Toad lazily blinked his eyes. He wasn’t impressed by Super Slug’s flamboyance sense of rescue style. After all, he had seen it again and again. It was only impressive to me, for I had never seen it before. Super Slug, formerly known as Snail’s shell lay discarded on the garden path. I carefully picked it up to save it for him, when he decided to return to his disguise at last.

Suddenly, everything in the garden seemed calmer, it was like it had breathed a sigh of relief, for Mister Toad had not bothered any of them further, and he’d decided to go to sleep. So, I waited and waited for Super Slug, but it seemed he would never return, perhaps the fact that I’d viewed his transformation meant that he had to live elsewhere, for his secret had come undone.

No matter that the other creatures already knew of his alteration, I was different, because I was a human, and with other members of my species, I could talk with them. To reveal his ability, and this would not be good for the snail and slug family, not at all for them. I wanted to reassure him that I would not reveal, I would not talk, but the truth is, I may, out of excitement have slipped, and this was what Super Slug surely wanted to avoid, his identity was to be kept safe: that was of the greatest import.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


Return to All Posts


Home 




Poem and Drawing: Le Fishy Bouffant – 21/07/19

Le Fishy Bouffant was incredibly clever.

Le Fishy Bouffant, oh, what a treat,

But watch for the sticky hairs between your teeth!

Moving little fishy fingers,

To and fro they go,

Fishy Bouffant the gorgeous one,

Renowned for best on show.

She takes great care with her styled and well formed hair,

But of her odour, she holds no concern, no impeccable care.

Fishy Fishy, oh, on the nose strong and itchy!

Sneeze, sneeze,

Begone Le Bouffant oh so Fishy!

Do not heed our paining, aching stares, as we itch and twitchy.

Fishy has succeeded at her secret plan,

Her stench and her whirlwind hair are her defensive cares,

Little did we know,

But now we’re simply amazed,

At how clever Le Bouffant Fishy is each and every day.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts

Home

Poem and Sketch: Adrian the Unimpressed Owl – 20/07/19

Adrian: Forever unimpressed.

Adrian the Owl was forever unimpressed.

Whatever he caught for dinner he felt sure it wasn’t the best.

But shouldn’t he be grateful for what he could find?

For one day, he may return empty clawed, nothing for him to call “Mine.”

And wouldn’t that be such a terrible salty taste to find?

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts

Home

Story example: Television Rabbit – 14/07/19

(c) By Alice Well (LMH) 

Television Rabbit was in demand all over town. Fuzzy television screens he could fix in a flash, for this task he held the undefeated title and crown. All he’d do was hop hop HOP atop the faulty appliance, and alter the angle of his electronic ears, for a correct signal or signals, to analogically find them. 

One fine day he was strutting about town, soaking in the glory of his knowledge that wherever he was, success could be found, then suddenly, slowly, he felt a slight droooooop. 

In fear he grabbed his ‘bunny ear’ and found it had gone from rigid to lacklustre, weak and limp like a kinaesthetically warped and unattractive spoon. 

“By George, what will I do?” he frantically thought to himself. All traces of bold arrogance now aborted, he was paining now, within himself. How could he perform his job tasks with expertise and ease?? Now both ears were drooping and bent, was he the only one who would truly care that they almost reached his knees?

For now, his competitor, Panda the Tuner, would likely take over all of his future clients, and saddening though it was, perhaps Television Rabbit’s working days had been had, now it was his time to experience the television’s fuzz of his own faulty appliance that he had. 

These days he is quieter, much less bravado has he, he walks slowly among the town peoples, wistfully dreaming of analogue TVs. If only he could fix, go back to his hey day, but the truth of the matter is there was no need for him nor Panda, for digital TV was now the way.

© 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock, also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.

Return to All Posts

Home