by Cookie N Screen
It’s World Book Day and the table's been set. The dinner has been cooking, not an ounce I forget. I smooth all the creases of my periwinkle dress, making sure that my hair hasn’t exploded with stress. My make-up is flawless but on my teeth is a smear. Best clean of that lipstick before all of my guests get here. I light all the candles and relight the mood. There’s aromas of meat, cake and all of the food. I’ve slaved over the meal, now I simply have to wait. Soon they’ll be arriving and the night will be great.
There’s a ring of the doorbell, a knot in my tum. Whose here at my home? It must be someone.
It’s World Book Day and the table's been set. The dinner has been cooking, not an ounce I forget. I smooth all the creases of my periwinkle dress, making sure that my hair hasn’t exploded with stress. My make-up is flawless but on my teeth is a smear. Best clean of that lipstick before all of my guests get here. I light all the candles and relight the mood. There’s aromas of meat, cake and all of the food. I’ve slaved over the meal, now I simply have to wait. Soon they’ll be arriving and the night will be great.
There’s a ring of the doorbell, a knot in my tum. Whose here at my home? It must be someone.
In swaggers a legend of the wizarding world. His eyes have now wrinkled, the boy who lived has grown old. The aurora of might, with his wand in his hand strides into my home, butter beer in hand. Harry Potter is an icon that we muggles adore, his conquests so famous my breath quickens with awe. He kisses me on the cheek, tells me Ginny’s away but he just had to come over on this World Book Day. Then he launches into the tale of two decades, I’ve heard so many times - it’s a little clichéd. Walking over to the table, I’ve not room to talk. But I must hear the story of Voldemort.
He munches the snacks and I make my excuse, I need to grab glasses, I think I’ll need booze. There’s a knock on my door, three speedy raps. I’ve no time to answer as it slams with a thwap! A deerstalker crooked and a pipe from his lips, Sherlock narrows his eyes and plans all his quips. He studies my house, the strangest of creatures as he makes these deductions based on all of my features. Apparently, I’m lazy and the cooking’s not mine. I’ve had help in the kitchen and brought heavily cheap wine. I grumble under my breath; this man’s one of the greats. But it’s a little bit rude to hear complaints and berates.
He munches the snacks and I make my excuse, I need to grab glasses, I think I’ll need booze. There’s a knock on my door, three speedy raps. I’ve no time to answer as it slams with a thwap! A deerstalker crooked and a pipe from his lips, Sherlock narrows his eyes and plans all his quips. He studies my house, the strangest of creatures as he makes these deductions based on all of my features. Apparently, I’m lazy and the cooking’s not mine. I’ve had help in the kitchen and brought heavily cheap wine. I grumble under my breath; this man’s one of the greats. But it’s a little bit rude to hear complaints and berates.
He strides over to Potter, and there’s a hearty hand shake. Before Holmes makes a wild accusation that wizarding’s fake, I roll my eyes as the argument sprouts as outside my door is the drunk singing of louts. And no sooner have I thrown open my door, Bruce Robertson’s filth bounds in with a snort. It’s clear he’s been inhaling whatever he can find, his face sagged with despair as it’s a difficult time. His wife Carole had left him, his jobs causing him strain. And I’m sure he’ll inject anything to feel some regain. There’s a smudge of make-up still left on chin, but I daren’t say it to the man whose now sort of twitching. I pass around champagne and it’s a rich round of fizz. We have to drink the best and not one sip will be missed.
We're sat in the room, and the atmospheres tense. There's a fight between two and a drugged up copper whose bent. Harry’s throwing up spells at Sherlock, they're deflected. Which isn’t too bad for a mortal detective. Robertson has cocaine that he breathes in like a manic, I’m already stressed, why is everything so frantic? There’s a chime of a clock and glass breaks on the floor, I spin at my guests who let out a snore. They’ve all fallen asleep! Potter slumped on the table. Sherlock poisoned by wine, I didn’t think he was able!
I smirk as I peer at my slumber ridden guests. If they weren’t so angry or rude, they wouldn’t need to rest.
We're sat in the room, and the atmospheres tense. There's a fight between two and a drugged up copper whose bent. Harry’s throwing up spells at Sherlock, they're deflected. Which isn’t too bad for a mortal detective. Robertson has cocaine that he breathes in like a manic, I’m already stressed, why is everything so frantic? There’s a chime of a clock and glass breaks on the floor, I spin at my guests who let out a snore. They’ve all fallen asleep! Potter slumped on the table. Sherlock poisoned by wine, I didn’t think he was able!
I smirk as I peer at my slumber ridden guests. If they weren’t so angry or rude, they wouldn’t need to rest.
Out of my kitchen, Hannibal Lecter walks in, the dining room now hushed there’s no room for a din. Of course, he is the chef as my cooking is weak. After all I burnt corn only this time last week.
When he enters with the meal, the conversation gets heated. He listens to my thoughts as though a great mind he had greeted. The hours over wine, (and liver and beans) melt into the night as the moon echoes and beams. Courteous and kind, Lecter unravels my past and as he’s receptive to talking, he listens and reacts! And together we dine on Potter pies and Sherlock stew. There’s even Bruce in the moose – it’s delicious too!
Yes, it’s the other guest that make up our feast. What? You didn’t think we’d waste such succulent meat?
When he enters with the meal, the conversation gets heated. He listens to my thoughts as though a great mind he had greeted. The hours over wine, (and liver and beans) melt into the night as the moon echoes and beams. Courteous and kind, Lecter unravels my past and as he’s receptive to talking, he listens and reacts! And together we dine on Potter pies and Sherlock stew. There’s even Bruce in the moose – it’s delicious too!
Yes, it’s the other guest that make up our feast. What? You didn’t think we’d waste such succulent meat?
RSS Feed
