You have until Thursday, April 12, 2012 at midnight to write and post, and it can be in any format.
I will read, comment on, and feature your responses a week from today.
* Have your title say FWE or Friday Writing Essential, and have the initials “WWAW” (Whew, What a Week) in it.
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My grandmother isn’t dead.
Do you know how I know?
It’s easy. Evil never dies.
It’s not that she started to be evil.
It’s just that that’s how she wound up.
Bi-polar disorder runs through our family.
We all have it, including her.
One day, she would be kind and sweet.
And the next, she could kill with a tounge.
My biggest mistake, when I was a little child,
was to ask my mother about something, and get refused.
So I reasoned that if mom could tell me what to do, grandma
could tell mom what to do, and I asked grandma’s permission.
I only tried this once, based on mom’s rather hostile reaction.
Grandma hated me, as do my mom and brother,
because I was so strange and she couldn’t figure it out.
But she saw what I was clearly, up to a point.
She knew me very well, and how to hurt me even more.
She also knew my mother like the back of her own hand.
My grandmother is a lunatic.
She’s a satanist, and an idiot, too.
And she controlled my grandfather until the day he died.
There’s a story in that, about the night he died.
But I’m not getting into it here.
All I will say is that he couldn’t until she was gone.
The woman once called the authorities on my mother,
because my mother wouldn’t let me eat a sandwhich after school.
She did it out of complete spite.
She loved to fake a heart attack,
and often did when things didn’t go her way.
It always turned into a big production as the paramedics came.
She tried to take custody of my brother and I
when mom decided to move to California with us.
But it didn’t work, and off we left.
She would insult me and treat me horribly,
criticize me in every way, just like everyone else does.
And like my mother, you never knew when it was coming.
When we’d visit, sometimes I’d take a couple of cans of Coca-Cola
back with me from her well-stocked fridge because we didn’t have
any to drink back where we were living.
Mom found out, turned us right back, and forced me to apologize.
Grandma felt this was absurd and didn’t care one bit.
I don’t remember what the result was.
But she and my mother never got along one bit.
They would always scream at each other.
Mom would frequently pray that God control the person who would
not control themselves. Now I wonder which one it really was.
Mother was going crazy herself, in just the same way.
Around my seventeenth birthday, mother went unglued over
my forgetting to pick up some towel left on the floor.
Mother went crazy that day, and subjected me to a tirade.
Thanks to mother’s controlling nature, I had no friends, nowhere to
go, but mother still demanded I pack up and move out now!
Grandma just happened to be visiting with us for the month,
and as she heard mom screaming at me to leave our apartment,
but blocking me in the bedroom so I couldn’t,
she came up to my mother and told her off.
She forced her to back down, I don’t know how, I don’t know why.
I only know no one had ever stood up for me that way before.
She loved to play gin rummy.
She taught me very well.
We share a great love of playing cards.
One thing we don’t have in common is that I adore cats.
She adores going crazy and poisoning them.
As I said, she is evil.
Grandma is excellent at manipulation.
She always manages to get her way.
She’s got a lot of tricks up her sleeve, even on my mother.
Grandma normally despised me, like everyone else does,
because I’m so strange and I’m not my brother.
But one day, she give me the best advice I ever heard.
She told me that my mother would never allow me to have a life
so long as mom was still alive unless I got away from her.
And she was right. And so I try, and try, and try, but always fail.
I haven’t seen her since mother dragged us here to Idaho,
but I gave up my school grant money so mom and my brother
could, due to a health scare and mother being homesick.
In fact, that’s how we wound up at the ‘deliverance ministry’,
better known as the cult that destroyed my faith in Jesus.
Because grandma heard mom going off on my brother from the
crime of being a teenager, and countered by calling c. p. s.
She’s in a nursing home or something now.
And she was the cruellest, most evil person I know.
My mother slowly turned into her, a picture-perfect copy.
Yet despite that, I always saw grandma as a source of strength.
Her ability to get her way, and her ability to trick anyone,
so sneaky. I hate her so. And she doesn’t know she taught me well.
I guess my grandma is my role model. Should I be afraid?