Blood Blister Blog.

This is our first contributor post here on Blood Blister!!!!!!!!, brainchild of Lucie Bloomberg: wordswoman, fancy pants and alien extraordinaire, she presents us with an enrapturing anecdote from a longer legend; ‘Kirsty n co’.

Kirsty has a daily screen time of 9 and a half hours that varies depending on the weather and other things like the moon cycle and what the TV in the living room is showing. Tonight there was no need to go on her phone since Elaine Schmitz was showing the public the contents of her bag. She would be spending hours carefully removing each item and explaining its purpose, what it looked like and the significance it had for her. 

Kirsty’s parents were already in the living room when she got there, squirming like jello on the sofa in an attempt to find the most comfortable position and twitching in excited anticipation for the next two hours to come. Her father, Gus, had a marshmallow addiction. Just the sight of those bouncy squares of pink goo could make him feel weak in the knees. He carried a large tin of marshmallows with him at all times and by his bed lay a mound of the plushy sweets on a silver tray. Once Gus was in his optimum position on the sofa, lying flat with his head and neck buried in the faux fur pillow, he began eating. Kirsty watched him as a slight trickle of sweat slid into his mouth before he placed the first marshmallow on his tongue. Slowly, he began sucking the sweet, until it became sticky and he could chew it briefly before it decomposed. He only had two packs to get him through the show and was beginning to anxiously droop in the brow. 

Anette, Kirsty’s mother, had a thing for closed curtains. She couldn’t bare not seeing them fully drawn. What was the point of having them if she couldn’t see them in the full power of their pattern. In fact, she preferred when things were shut; doors, windows, wardrobes, and boxes. Tonight the curtains were drawn, revealing the green hue of the coniferous floral print that cascaded from the ceiling onto the moquette. Anette, now content, sat upright on the velvet futon in her usual stubborn endeavour to practice good posture. As Kirsty plunged into the bean bag she felt something sticky on her left thigh, a marshmallow had fallen from the sofa, embarrassed she removed it and chucked it aside, Gus growled. 

The TV began throbbing and a white glow lit the room, it was time. The family rustled enviously, poised in their seats. As the electric buzz ran through their body and a static shiver ignited their hair, a twinkle could be seen in Anette’s eye. Suddenly, a face appeared on the screen, a pale woman with black hair wore blue lipstick, she stayed still for a second and then spoke.

“One hundred extraterrestrials will fly from Berlin to Paris tonight and paint the sky orange”. 

Gus had frozen mid bite, his hand floated in the air holding a marshmallow, his mouth ajar, stunned and occupied. Annette was erect on her seat and had stopped breathing. Before Kirsty could say anything the TV shook, the screen flashed blue and Elaine Schmitz and her monosyllabic voice filled the room, loud and hypnotic. It was as if nothing had happened. 

“That was weird”, mumbled Kirsty. 

But her parents, now relaxed, had already forgotten the woman and her lipstick and ignored her, scorching Elaine with their eyes in fanatic stillness. Elaine Schmitz had a real crocodile skin hand bag with gold clasps and her initials carved into the front pocket. She spoke fast with long breaks after certain words of importance like ‘really’, ‘handmade’ and ‘organic’. Kirsty started feeling the weight of her eyelids progressively drag down as the impromptus lullaby of Schmitz’s monologue swaddled her eardrums. 

Anette had forgotten to close the window and, for a second, a weak breeze flushed open the curtains and revealed a marmalade sky.