She’s Scottish!

 

Reaching the end of my tether, I entered a police station and spoke to the desk sergeant. “Officer, I’m desperate.”

 

He beckoned me to a side room and spoke reassuringly. “We’re here to help, Sir.”

 

We sat each side of a table and he took my name and details.

 

“Right then,” he declared efficiently, “what’s the problem?”

 

Emotion overcame me. “She’s a witch, Officer.”

 

He placed his pen on the desk, raised his eyebrows and replied cheerily, “We burn all witches, Sir.”

 

“You don’t understand,” I sobbed, “she’s a vampire too.”

 

He looked at me askance. “Then we’ll sort her out with a stake through the heart.”

 

“But you don’t really understand,” I screamed. “She’s Scottish!”

 

His face turned ashen and he blurted, “The police have limitations… finite resources… government cutbacks. Move along now please!”

 

He manhandled me from the premises and hurled me into the gutter. I was left sprawled in a heap, while he barricaded the front door of the station.

 

In despair, I entered a church and spoke to the monsignor. “Father, I’m desperate.”

 

He beckoned me to an empty pew and advised compassionately. “Be at peace, my son.”

 

Tears welled… I spoke my soul. “She’s a witch, Father.”

 

He made the sign of the cross and raised his eyes to heaven. “I will pray for you.”

 

“You don’t understand,” I sobbed, “she’s a vampire too.”

 

He looked at me obliquely. “Then, my son, we’ll be rid of her with an exorcism.”

 

“But you don’t really understand,” I screamed. “She’s Scottish!”

 

His face turned ashen and he blurted, “The church has limitations… collections are down… shortage of holy water. Get thee hence to darkest night!”

 

He manhandled me from the premises and kicked me up my rear end. Then left me humiliated, while he nailed a large cross to the front door of the church.

 

I trudged the side streets and alleyways in the rain, eventually finding myself outside an eastern temple.

 

Removing my shoes and entering, I spoke to the Grandmaster. “Grandmaster, I’m desperate.”

 

He beckoned me to a bamboo mat and spoke serenely. “Search the inner self, Grasshopper. There you will find the truth.”

 

My body was shaking… I blubbered. “She’s a witch, Grandmaster.”

 

He spoke in a fatherly manner. “See the mosquito fell the tiger?”

 

“You don’t understand,” I sobbed, “she’s a vampire too.”

 

He moved his hand gracefully through the air. “See the butterfly survive the storm?”

 

“But you don’t really understand,” I screamed. “She’s Scottish!”

 

He clutched his breast… grasped a vessel… took a mighty swig of whisky. “Grasshopper!”

 

“Yes, Grandmaster?”

 

He took a second mighty swig. “Glasspopper!”

 

“Tell me, Grandmaster.”

 

He took a third mighty swig. “Gwassplopperrrr!”

 

“Speak to me, Grandmaster.”

 

He took a fourth mighty swig. “Goosepooooperrrrr!”

 

“I’m over here, Grandmaster.”

 

Then he sang in a beautiful, baritone voice with a pronounced Scottish accent, whilst dancing a little jig, “Roamin’ in the gloamin’ wi’ a lassie by my side.”

 

© otreasaigh 2017
Views: 237
critique and comments welcome.

Leave a Comment

4 Comments on "She’s Scottish!"

Notify of
Stormwolf
Member

Well, I very seldom venture over into prose territory but of course the title got me
I thought this was hilarious gave me a right laugh .
It’s skillfully written and laid out. I cannot imagine why nobody has committed up till now. Honestly the level of apathy I see here at times does my head in.
Good one Mick , great to see we Scots are a force to be reckoned with!
Alison x

Ionicus
Member

Glad that Alison brought this to our attention, Mick, as I too venture into prose infrequently and have therefore missed it earlier.
I like the subtle touch of humour employed in this piece.

wpDiscuz
Flag Content