Xirysa Says: I actually do wear glasses IRL. But right now I'm wearing my contacts. Speaking of which, I need to get more… Ah well—I'll work on that later. But what is this? A new format of 'fic—that of a play? How blasphemous. –shot- Once again, trying something new. Because I read a couple of 'fics like this and was inspired—yes, I can be both inspired and inspiring. How cool is that? Anything else? Oh. Normal text is speech, bold is just to differentiate between characters, and italicized text is stage direction.
"G" Is for Glasses
Enter scene. Two children are crouched in a corner of a room, both appearing to be around seven or eight years of age. Both are barefoot and have expressions of intense concentration upon their faces. The taller one has darker hair and squats just behind his smaller blonde companion. In the center of a room, an old woman lies sleeping in an old armchair. On her lap is a small book, and her small round glasses threaten to fall off her nose at any moment. She snores a bit, but otherwise the room is perfectly silent. The two children crawl forward when the dark haired boy suddenly lets out a muffled yelp.
André: Ow!
Oscar: Turns around and glares at him. Hisses at him. Shut up, you idiot! She'll hear you!
André: I stepped on a nail! A sharp one too! Sits down and inspects injured foot.
Oscar: Are you dying?
André: …No.
Oscar: Are you bleeding then?
André: Nope.
Oscar: Then shut up.
She turns back around and resumes crawling back towards the old woman. André sighs and glares at her, but follows anyway. They make their way to the center of the room, and soon are standing on either side of the arm chair. Aforementioned chair is in a sorry state indeed—the fabric is threadbare and worn, and stuffing is coming out from random pieces on the cloth and between the seams. Despite all this, however, it gives off a feeling of warmth, contentment, and familiarity, even though it may in fact be the woman in the chair. Oscar stands on tiptoe and peers into the old lady's half-open mouth. The two children carry on their conversation in hushed tones.
Oscar: Climbs onto armrest.Your grandmother has very crooked teeth, André.
André: Scowls. Of course she does—she's old!
Oscar: And that's exactly why we're here. Alright, hold your hands underneath her nose in case I drop them.
André: I can't believe were doing this… Stands in front of his grandmother and holds up his hands with a small scowl on his face.
Oscar: You agreed to come with me!
Oscar carefully hooks her right forefinger around the bridge of the glasses while using her left hand to slowly slide the glasses down her nose. She looses her balance and almost topples on top of Madame Grandier, but André catches her and helps her back up.
Madame Grandier: Snorts in her sleep. Huh?
André and Oscar freeze, but relax when Madame Grandier does so as well.
André: Wow… That was really close.
Oscar bites her lip in concentration and manages to get the glasses off of Mme. Grandier's face. She holds them in her hands as if they are a treasured heirloom.
André: Come on, Oscar! Let's go!
Oscar: Alright—We'll got to the stables since they're closer.
André: Fine, fine, whatever. Let's just get out of here.
They run out of the room as quickly and as silently as they can. Oscar holds the glasses close to her body, as if hiding a precious secret. André limps after her as fast as he is able to—his foot is still injured from its encounter with the nail. Upon reaching the stables, Oscar and André sit side by side on one of the large bales of hay located by the small building.
Oscar: I'll go first. Places the glasses on her face. They are too large for her slight frame and big her the appearance of an odd bug—her eyes are magnified to amazing proportions. Well, André? How would I look if I was old?
André: Blinks, unsure of what to say. Well… They… Uh… Well, you do look older. Can you see anything?
Oscar: A bit, yeah. It's all blurry though—my head hurts from just trying to make out your big head. Grins when he blushes. Hm. Wish I had a mirror. Alright, your turn. Hands them to André.
André: Thanks. Puts glasses on and yells a few moments later. Ack! Oscar! I… I can't see anything! Hurriedly takes glasses off and rubs his eyes.Oh, my eyes… Anyway, how did I look? Older, smarter… What?
Oscar: Well, you did look smarter. But then… Anything does. You look like such a stupid buffoon sometimes. Laughs.
André growls and tackles Oscar off the hay—the glasses fly off of his lap and land in a conveniently placed mud puddle a few feet away, where they remain. The two children attack each other, rolling about in the dust until André pins Oscar to the ground and triumphantly straddles her stomach.
Oscar: Growls. You lout—you only won because you're bigger than me. I could beat you at fencing any day. Now get off, you're squishing me!
André: Grins. Whatever you say, Oscar. Gets up and helps Oscar to her feet before pausing. Hey, wait a minute…
Oscar: Stops dusting herself off long enough to look up at him. What?
André: Bites his lower lip and looks around nervously. Where are Granny's glasses? Sees mud puddle and stares at in horror when he makes out part of the ear piece sticking out of the muck. Oh no…
Oscar: What are you looking at? Follows André's gaze and eyes the puddle with growing realization. Please don't tell me that the glasses are in there…
André: I hope they're not broken! Limps to the puddle and picks up the glasses. Although they are covered in mud, they look relatively fine. Thank God, they're alright.
André uses his sleeve to clean the glasses and gasps in horror as the right lens pops out onto the ground. Oscar looks a bit sick. Neither notices Mme. Grandier walking towards them and stopping a few paces behind.
Oscar: André… What's your grandmother going to say?
Madame Grandier: Why don't you ask her yourself? Arms are crossed over her chest, while she holds her spoon in one hand. Glares at the children as she taps her foot impatiently on the ground.
Oscar and André turn around slowly to face her. Both attempt to be the image of pure innocence, but the image is spoiled by their fidgety movements and the broken glasses in André's hands. The children manage to mumble out one word before the spoon flies out and knocks them both on the head.
Oscar and André: Tentatively. ...Sorry?
End scene.
Xirysa Says: Oh, that was fun. A very fun one indeed. And actually… Yeah, that's the longest oneshot in this series as of now. And glasses… I've never broken my own, but I've come very close. Currently, my own pair are sitting on my dresser, bent out of shape because I ran into a tree and got a bloody nose. But that's a story for another time. Ehm… What did y'all think of this one? The feedback and critique is, as usual, very much welcome! Ah, and next chapter... "Harlequin" is one of my favorite words. I like what it IS and how to pronounce it. Anyway, as background information for the next chapter, the definition of harlequin is either a court jester or fancifully varied in color, decoration, etc. And it's a French word, I do believe. Or comes from a French root. Which makes it epic win.
Up Next: The Letter "H": Harlequin