Updated: Dec 10, 2020
picture credit https://pixabay.com/users/darksouls
Morag was a young and simple girl of seventeen. A dark beehive balanced precariously atop her small frame and her pale Scottish skin was almost see-through under the heavy Mary Quant kohl. She traipsed the aisles of the supermarket holding her hard baby-filled belly. The sailor, who had married her nine months prior, was pleased with his work and Morag was, thus far, grateful for the escape route to better things.
Then the waters came; a torrent of bloody slime that rushed down Morag’s legs and drenched her pumps. A sharp pain caused a high pitched yelp from the young girl as she lifted her handmade smock in terror. Then, little Morag from the village began to growl like a beast. Echos of the menacing bass notes reverberated between the freezers.
Everyone in the supermarket turned to see what was happening. Morag dropped to the floor and watched the tins roll and the vegetables scatter in slow motion. The pain was unbearable. She thought she saw Jesus amongst the harvest as she lay next to the porridge box and stared at the oats in the field with the quaker man.
Someone who seemed to know what they were doing removed the Morag’s pants and screamed, ‘it's crowning, get water and towels.’
Fanny felt all the commotion and woke up. Something seemed to be squeezing her body tightly and, although it was not unpleasant, she was not pleased with being woken in this manner. She tried to speak.
‘Might I suggest that there is already enough water in the vicinity?’ But no one heard as she was not yet born and she had no voice. Besides, there was a lot of noise and mayhem going on. ‘What is that terrible growling?’ she wondered.
Marilyn Monroe was drunk on life and sang happy birthday to JFK, Walmart opened its first store in Arkansas, and the technological revolution waited at the gates of Morag's vagina to lead another of the Generation X children through the disaffected years.
Fanny Blomme had arrived.
to be continued © 2020 The Tale Teller