Gunny

MAUDE’S JOURNAL

                                                   Friday, Night Time

Photo: zeusitup.com

I don’t like the way they look at me. All… mucky. Their faces, mucky. They don’t like me, I see it, I know, but they don’t care, and the other ones, they don’t see them. Probably plotting against me, like those things they call spoons. Not utensils, not at all, not when they’re so sinister. Sinister in disguise. I have proof, too. I saw him go, disappear, poof! Right before my eyes. I saw it. They don’t believe me. They laugh, the mocking things. I don’t need them to believe me, I have Gunny. She believes me. Every time I walk past a reflecty, I can tell Gunny what I saw. She waves when I wave, smiles at me like I smile, ‘cause she likes me. And Hans, he’s good. He gets it, he listens, he smiles. Not like the mocking things, they don’t smile or wave. 

             They’re just mucky.

Photo: farm6.staticflickr.com

Saturday, Morning Time

Somebody else went. In the night. I saw it. The mocking things still hate me, don’t believe me. Gunny says be careful.

                                

                            


                                                      Saturday, Night Time

I hear them whispering. All the time, just sneaking, whispering. They say I’m next. The spoons, they’re plotting things. Like the mocking things. Too many things. Gunny looks scared, too. I packed up camp. Not gonna let them poof! Not th-- 

HANS

Photo: essediem.files.wordpress.com

The old man bent to pick up the stray notebook, closed it up, put it on Maude’s crate. She had a disease, one that required medication, but she couldn’t afford it.  She suffered from delusions, hallucinations; she ranted about them to anyone who would listen, about abductions, disappearances, and most people just laughed at her. She was just a crazy person. Few cared to get to know Maude better, to find out whether or not her ravings held some truth. The old man had just recently discovered that when she talked about “spoons”, she didn’t actually mean the flatware. She meant people dressed in odd suits, with rounded helmets. Probably just another of her hallucinations. He wondered where she had gone. 

Photo: farm4.staticflickr.com

Last night she had told him part of one of her abduction stories, one that she’d told some of the other villagers, but they mocked her for it. They didn’t believe her, because it was so implausible. He never got to hear the ending. He’d hoped to hear it tonight. He looked at the horizon; it was getting late. His wife was holding dinner for them, him and Maude. It was Maude’s favorite. She’d turn up eventually. She wandered often, getting lost in thought or running from the “spoons”. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, and began the walk home, odd whispers filling the night air at his back.

Like a Girl

When you tell me I run

"like a girl"

Australia's Melissa Wu
Photo: abc.net.au

You're telling me I run with grace and poise.

When you tell me I throw

"like a girl"

You're telling me I throw with strength and power.

When you tell me I jump

"like a girl"

You're telling I jump with more force of will and ambition than you have ever seen.

When you tell me I think

"like a girl"

You're telling me what I already know--

That you have forced yourself into labeling me,

that you have allowed yourself to be duped into the false security

of assumptions.

Australia's Sally Pearson
Photo: abc.net.au

I do throw

"like a girl",

I throw with power and calculated force.

I threw you for a loop, didn't I?

I threw you off,

startled you,

gave you what you didn't expect,

proved you wrong,

you don't have to tell me twice,                   
I already know.

Photo: naaree.com

You can't change me by telling me what you think I don't want to hear,

Can't insult me with your words,

Because I hear your words for what they really are--

Your insecurity.

Photo: tedxwaterloo.com

So I'll just keep on doing what I'm doing--

I'll keep on being me--

And if that upsets you,

I'll even respond

"like a girl"--

With the self assurance and the knowledge

that I am who I want to be.

So the next time you tell me I do something

"like a girl",

I'll say

"thank you!"

And I'll walk away like a

Woman--

Like

Me.

 USA's Sanya Richards Ross
Photo: csmonitor.com