For ~ Bluebell Books Twitter Club ~ Short Story Slam Week 33 ~ The Epic Domestic Terror Episode ~

Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain... did shouts, screams and squeals reach my auditory system as I am jolted out of my engrossed state while trying to gather the mock epic characteristics of Alexander Pope's famous Rape of the Lock? I had slumbered into the upper class aristocratic society of the 18th century England at my writing table, waltzing into a world of lacy frilly gowns curly wigs and coat tails; violas and violins...

This music crept by me... no tis gone, mingled with Shakespearean expressions, no it comes again... the winds did sing it to me the name of...

"Mother, Mother,” loud cries resound over the staircase raising a tempest rushing into the calm seas of the lounge where I am trying to memorise the heroic couplets... exam in English literature, but alas! These precious moments must fade...

“Its moving, its moving," My six-year-old daughter, frail and skinny in physique but so sharp in sound, is now standing straight on the sofa chair with her eyes fixed at the corner of the ceiling. I just manage to see my teenage daughter hastily gather her legs, trembling, reclining, on the other side of the sofa. Gracefully majestically, the lithe movement is discovered to be of none other than the queen of reptiles, a common but unwelcome visitor, the innocent looking domestic lizard.

“Slight is the subject but not so the praise. O Cleo muse, descend and raise in me, the courage... never to yield.” I sing a praise for the muse of history, maybe I am about to create history... Behold! With daring but careful steps I descend the staircase feeling no less than Cleopatra... But oh there is a job to be done. Save the two damsels in distress... er... I mean the two human beings now perched on the sofa and settee respectively...

I gather my thoughts as I descend. I know where to reach for the long and deadly instrument which in times of peace is used to demolish the labors of the industrious spider... er... I mean “the broom”, now placed behind the kitchen door. The kitchen situated in one corner of the lounge is easy to approach and soon I have laid hold of the epic weapon. Thus armed like Achilles out to rout an enemy I raise the broom, just then my gallant knight in armour, Prince Charming appears in the doorway of his chamber. “How now Mother dear? What in the world is Alexander the Great attacking?"

“Shhh,” I caution him. "You will scare the enemy away." There should be complete silence. My son smiles he knows. The enemy has been recognized.

"Mom let me face the challenge. Oh boy! Er... I mean Oh Lord how I have waited for this day! At last the time has come. Mom wish me luck! Pray! Sacrifice something to the Gods." What a heavenly sight! What black eyes! Darting lashing tail... It is waiting to kill its own prey. How the hunter becomes the hunted, the fragile lucid trembling moth sticking beside the illuminated fluorescent tube, stealthily now. Tension is greater than the  War situation, but luckily no oil slicks, just dry open challenge, physical courage bespeaks moral courage.

Thin lanky Prince Don lunges forward. Up goes the broom, victory is within sight, doubt not the guile of your foe but with deliberate valour breathe, move, swish. My hero heaves the long handle, as the princesses sit stiff and breathless, lest the creature of the other world would fall on their heads... eyes fixed super glued to the ceiling... but as if it felt the movement of the missile in the air, sensing the invasion to take place, dangerously flipping quivering the earthly creepy creature flurries across the creamy plastic emulsioned vast expanse and evaporates into thin air. The heroic spear which seemed taller than the largest pine on the Norwegian mountains loomed across the ethereal plain, narrowly missing the hoisted chandelier; amidst further screams and squeals. Down flumps the tragic hero followed by a thunderous volley of multi coloured pencils which stand at grand attention with grace and dignity in a used diet coke container on the top shelf of the book rack.

Victory was ours as the evil queen has been defeated and dethroned out of the sacred home sweet home... though she makes her slithering exit through a crevice in the wall. Up rises Don, smiling from the heap, a conqueror in the field where the books, like carcasses of the Memphian army in the Red Sea, lie thick bestrewn... Upright he stands and so speaks, "princesses delicate and brave! Lo behold (with courage never to submit or yield, to be weak is miserable. Awake arise, the enemy has slipped... er... has been killed!”

The breaths of the princesses thus restored, my prince with uneasy steps emerges so victorious, beaming as mama puts a laurel bough of her loving arms around the slightly bent neck. Peace and harmony prevails as life returns to normal. I survey the battlefield. Books scattered, dust all around, tumbled cups, each item will have to be carefully picked up in the area to be cleared soon, the reality of the housework.

But nothing in the world will equal or even match the united force of the love and laughter we had all joined in to retrieve the treasures so dropped. Till late, the episode was narrated with all the suspense and excitement, fun and laughter seemed to burst the seams as the heroic act was remembered time and again. Much as the family life is filled with hardships, trials, tribulations, struggles and moments when all seems lost... these moments of childish apprehensions sudden drama fill the hearts and souls with everlasting joys and a strange comforting satisfaction... we were in it together.
Thank you  O Almighty  Most Gracious for giving us loving parents who taught us the true values of a happy life.