Gargouille

Reads: 115  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Have you ever wondered if your stuffed toys or ornamental dogs came to life at night and watched you sleep?
Just me then.

Submitted: December 05, 2013

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Submitted: December 05, 2013

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Gargouille

"Where's my pack lunch?" shouted Amy as her mother bundled her into the car.
"In your back pack" she yelled, swivelling around in the seat as she manoeuvered the driveway nearly taking out yet another plant pot.
The car roared away, a gas guzzling machine of a magnitude far too heavy for a small thing like her to control.

Silence.

A sigh filled the large room. The front room that boasted hardwood floors, Liberty rugs and Habitat sofas.
Yes, this family had expensive tastes especially since the man of the house had taken up that new job in Germany. He sent money home for the woman to spend on the precocious child, the one who played the clarinet - BADLY.

Gordon stretched and padded about the room sniffing the cushions for evidence of the ugly cat that roamed about at night and licked the butter that this trendy family always left out. The woman had seen it in a magazine once and had decided that it was very bohemian, along with the jam making and knitting of strange scarves.

Gordon liked it when he was alone. He climbed the curtains, sometimes slicing the fabric with his long nails and passed the blame onto the cat who only last week was sent to the vet to be de-clawed.

Up the stairs, three flights and he was there. The attic was cold and damp but he liked it, it reminded him of home and the bell tower of the old church that was his window to the world.

 How he missed Paris. How he missed standing guard for all those years watching as they stormed the Bastille, revolution and then Fashion week. His home had changed so much but worst of all was when they'd taken him down from his plinth, bundled him into a bag and sold him to the highest bidder. Passed around from shop to shop, customers with more money than taste picking up ashtrays that would cost any normal person a months wages he'd finally ended up here, among the carved elephants from Thailand and the wall hanging from a small village in Japan.

He scuttled about for a while then went back downstairs scaring the cat who jumped so high it almost hit the ceiling.

She was back.
Had he been reminiscing for so long that he'd forgotten to be on guard?
She threw her coat on the sofa and went into the sleek minimalist kitchen to make a coffee.
She logged onto her blog, 'today I made cupcakes' she wrote, 'and my daughter has been chosen to be in the school play.'
'What an exciting life she has' he thought as his mind went back to heads that rolled and the crowd that cheered while waiting for Madame Guillotine and her sharp tongue and all the while the women with their knitting and their foul smelling cigarettes choked on their laughter as the aristocracy crumbled.

With moments to spare he'd settled himself back into his position by the fireplace and watched her cry.

Gordon the Gargoyle taken from his home, brought to this hellhole of suburbia waited for the time he could be alone once more, but he also longed to show this woman that he understood what it was like to be made of stone.

 


© Copyright 2017 Charlie J Gibbs. All rights reserved.

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