Fable Friday – Tantrum Drought (Blog Action Day Special)

Today is Blog Action Day 2010. In a nutshell, it means that over 4,500 bloggers across the blogosphere are going to write about the same subject to raise awareness on that matter: water.
Today is also Fable Friday. If there is someone crazy enough to write an absurd fable about such a serious issue, it’s probably me.
To put you back in context, in the last fable a wanna-be witch called Marie gave birth to a cabbage baby fathered by a cucumber made human by mistake. Also, the narrator is cursed: if she’s tired, nothing works (includes electronic stuff, cars and whatnot).
Here goes nothing!

                                         

Tantrum Drought
An Absurd Fable In Which Water Can’t Suffer The Tears Of A Child

Should we trust his exterior and forget about his cabbage leaves birthday suit, the baby boy was human. He had his mother’s eyes and his father’s inclination for silence. Thankfully.
I wrapped him in a blanket and gave him to his mother. Now I could get back to bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Granny Kianga bellowed. I frowned and spun on my heel.
“Home. I need to sleep.”
“And you plan on leaving me alone with the kids?” Granny said pointing at Marie, Cuber and their baby. “I’m not flexible enough to bathe a newborn.”
Internally, I fumed but Granny had a point. And I refused to let a cucumber care for a child, fatherhood or not. Unfortunately, I had already lost a great deal of my night and forfeiting more sleep meant hell to pay tomorrow. I sighed and ran the water in the sink. Marie cooed her baby while I adjusted the temperature.
Once the sink was filled halfway, I turned off the faucets and fetched the baby. At least, he was calm. Or so I thought up until the point his bottom touched the water. He automatically started crying and trashing then, after a few seconds, he stopped.
“What the hell?” I said.
“Hey! Vocabulary!” Marie scolded. I was about to give her a piece of my mind but Granny’s observation interrupted me.
“I think baby doesn’t like to be bathed.” She said, looking in the sink. The empty sink.
I cocked an eyebrow, cradled the baby in one arm and opened the faucet again. Not a drop of water.
“What the –
– Hey!”
Peeved, I dropped the baby back in his mother’s arms. A quick survey of the house confirmed that there was no water around; not in the toilet, not in the fridge. By the time I was done, neighbors were coming out of their home asking around if anyone had any water left.
“I guess the child of a witch and a human cucumber was bound to have some power.” Granny commented, sitting herself in her favorite chair. “It’ll take me a while to fix this. You’ll have to get some water into town.” She took a worn-out spell book out of the shelf by her side and began flipping through the pages.
“You’re kidding right?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll send someone.”
“Nope.” Granny repeated. “I’ll spell you so that the water you hold is unaffected by the baby’s power.”
“Again, why me? If it’s a bloodline thingy, spell a cousin or something. No car will work if I sit in it.”
“Impossible. This spell is very specific and will only work on you. You’ll have to walk.”
I stared at her. Trust me when I say bewilderment literally stopped my thoughts on their track; the city is twenty miles from our village.
“Lift my sleeping curse, then.”
“No can do. If I use my mojo for that, there won’t be any left to counter the baby’s spell.” Granny rose from her chair and laid her hands on my chest. She whispered a couple of phrase I barely understood. “It’s done. Now go fetch water so the village doesn’t die of thirst.”
Of course. Water for the whole village. My pleasure.
“Come on now.” Granny pushed me toward the door. “Some women do that every single day. It’ll make you appreciate your house more when all is fixed.”
“Right.” Before I knew it, Granny slammed her door behind me. And because the community is full of buzzards, a wheelbarrow and a backpack full of plastic jugs awaited me down the porch.
“You so owe me a foot massage,” I told my boyfriend Elija before taking the road to town. Fortunately, no traffic would keep from crossing the city streets; I was so tired every car would die before reaching me.

As usual, the moral of this story is twofold.
First, we too often realize how precious something is after we lost it. Everything we take for granted falls under that category, be it a loved one, health or water.
Second, water, like a bunch of other causes, is always someone else’s or tomorrow’s problem. Until it isn’t. And when that happens, it doesn’t matter if it’s someone else’s fault or your own; you’ll have to deal with it.
So why not save yourself the trouble through prevention? Obviously, we should have bound that baby’s power before doing anything else.

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About Aheïla

Somewhere in Quebec City, Aheïla works as a Game Design Director by day and writes by night. Known for her blue hair, unyielding dynamism and tasty cooking (quails, anyone?), she’s convinced “prose is the new crack”. She satisfies her addiction daily on The Writeaholic’s Blog and weekly on Games' Bustles View all posts by Aheïla

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