(( Dearest Devils & Ghouls, I am making Artemia a novel series !))
Artemia Part 3
I despise grocery shopping. The lines, the prices, my appetite. To top it off, the frizzy haired obese woman in front of me smells of a marlboro and puke mixture. I hate the check out lines. Especially those self service ones… I don’t work here and unless I’m getting paid, I should not be checking myself out. The damn computer voice annoys the hell out of me. Of course, being the bachelorette I am, I only needed a few select items and no express lane is available. Walmart. You guys must be so proud to demolish the hopes and dreams of the mom and pop shops. I wonder why they don’t play the generic super market music they do in sitcoms. I grabbed a newspaper “Gloria Roberts, 17, Still Missing”. It’s always a shame when young people go missing.
I was greeted by a woman with too much make up. $108.50 for a small amount of items. On the drive home, I was jamming out to the radio when The Ripper by Judas Priest came to play.Sparking very delightful memories. I am amused by those that claim the ripper case is closed. No one knows who the ripper was… but me. I was friends with the ripper until it’s death in 1896. A lot of people came to mourn the ripper… shedding tears, wishing condolences and not one of those individuals new of the dark deeds that were committed. In 1888, I was living in a small flat in England. Right above the bakery where I worked, and sometimes played piano for the guests at a nearby hotel. I remember one foggy night, I was walking home in the dark. An unfortunate had passed me by, stumbling from having too much to drink. A dark carraige followed her. I guess the well off need loving too. Shortly after I saw her get into the carriage, I heard a muffled scream. Who ever was in that carriage had some pretty insane fetishes.
I seriously became obsessed with the ripper case. I put together pieced of information better than the police. The police wouldn’t take my findings into consideration because I was a young woman. The best thing I remember was that rainy night in 1888. A knock on my door that changed my life. I answered the door in my night gown. “Yes?” I said, wiping my tired eyes. A tall man, whom I recognized as a carraige driver, was at my door. ” Your company… is requested.” He pointed out down the front door and to the carriage. The same carriage I saw when stalking the ripper. I was taken to the carriage, greeted by the ripper and a bloody knmife. “I know you’ve seen my doing, Kathleen.” Yes, i have.” I said, firmly not showing fear. “I admire your fearlessness.” The ripper handed me an exquisite amount of money. “Go have yourself a grand meal… and this is our little secret.” I saw the ripper smile and was excused from the carriage. I wish I could get a meal like the one I had that night. But, sadly no one cooks like that anymore.
At home, my cats greeted me one by one. I turned on some music and begane to work on my artwork. ” Oh You.” I said to myself.The Ripper was the inspiration for this art piece. I kept thinking so much of David. He could very well still be a live. He would be an elderly man now. I often wonder if I’ll ever search for him. I kept working on my art until 6:00 AM I had to get some sleep. I awoke at noon to have some french toast and home fries at the local diner. I took my laptop to look up agencies that specialized in helping people find lost loved ones. I wanted to find David and get over my fear. Maybe finding him will bring me some sort of closure on that past life. The agency around me was a fifteen minute drive. “Hello, my name is Artemia. I’m calling to make an appointment.” A polite voice answered me, “Sure. Who may we help you find?” I thought about it. I couldn’t say my son. “A distant relative.” I heard typing on the other end. “Hmmm, well ma’am we have an opening tomorrow morning at eight? Come on in with some pictures and family history.” I wrote it in my plan book. “Okay, sounds good.”
Tomorrow begins that search. I shut my laptop and had my brunch. Angel came in and sat next to me. We had a great conversation about her engagement. I wanted to talk to her about David so much.but I couldn’t. “You need to go on a date and stop being such a cat lady.” She said suddenly. I hated it when other women got engaged, they automatically think that you need to be too or else it’s just a bore. “You can’t bring one of your cats as a date to my wedding.” I rolled my eyes. “I can go as an individual.” I said simply. Back at home, I dug out my old photographs Me, Roger, and David. I cried and listened to some Dean Martin. My emotional state about that life is quite terrifyiing. I could never forget Roger’s Love or my only child.
© Mercy Desdemona 2013