This week’s Manic Monday word is:

“bat”

Mo at It’s A Blog Eat Blog World gives us words to use as a prompt for writing.

I read Mo’s “bat” story before I got the word this week. It is too much fun, so if you get a chance do stop by and see him. When I got the word, late last night, (I was edging squares to put together for an afghan for the Share a Square project all day, didn’t even turn on the computer until late), my mind began chasing “bat” thoughts and memories around in preparation for writing my MM.

I thought briefly of the baby bat I found in the driveway when I was 12 or so, and tried to rescue. I remembered how my Grama scolded me about bringing “that dirty thing” in the house (but gave in and helped me find a shoebox and tuck it into a warm corner of the winter kitchen), where it died in a few days.

I then took a moment to remember riding my bike, singing (as I was and am wont to do) at dusk here in the desert as a kid, with the bats circling curiousely about my head as if trying to discern in their sightless way what this moving, singing thing was. I also remembered watching the bats swoop down to skim the water of the reservoir at dusk, sipping and eating the insects there. I thought then of the plans I have for building bat-houses and how my garden would benifit from having more bats around to eat the evil grasshoppers.

All these thoughts tumbled lazily across my wind blown memory, and I decided I’d pick one; just one, and tell the story in the morning. I was too tired last night to write, and wanted to get a good night’s sleep.

This morning I staggered out of bed barely awake and stumbled to the bathroom for that insistant morning pee. I wasn’t thinking of anything yet; hadn’t even tasted my first cup of coffee. I was completely occupied by that ritual; that primal need- the morning pee.

As I sat, barely registering cold porcelain in my groggy relief, I became aware of a voice; a too familiar voice blah-blah-blahing away none to softly. A voice that I’ve come to accustom with death and lies, stupidity and outright evil. The voice intruding on my morning relief came from Grama’s TV. (The poor thing is practically deaf and that damned box just blares away 24/7.)

Now, I admit that I’m not exactly a happy morning person. I’m a grumpy bitch until I’ve had a couple of cups of coffee, but I’m not really violent. I mean, I suppose I’m a far cry from being a true pacifist despite all my screaming against war and for peace. I’m more of a mama bear type; provoked to violence only in need to protect or defend me and mine. But as I sat listening to that obscene southern drawl spew his ignorant, circular nothing-speak an image began to form in my mind. An image of a baseball bat. The bat grew in size and weight and vividness until it eclipsed any other meaning or context in which I might use Mo’s MM word, until all I could see was the bat and the Pretender to the Presidency’s ugly mug. Suddlenly he was there; in my bathroom of all places; and I stood, naked, holding that bat.

And I swung.

Viciously and repeatedly. Screaming, “There, you bastard! For every soldier who has died! For every innocent Iraqui citizen! For every person tortured! For every child left behind! For every lie!”, each shout punctuated by the sound of that baseball bat striking that worthless son of a bitch who has led our country down the poisonous path we’re on.

I walked away smiling and satisfied, leaving Georgie bleeding on my bathroom floor.

Time for that coffee!

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