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THE PÉTROLEUSES
The angry women crept up to the town hall, lit the cotton and threw!
Paris was ablaze, and the grey skirted women dragged the rabble towards the big guns standing on the hill, warning the workers of Montmartre. A washerwoman picked up a gun and stood on the barricades then said to the men: "You cowardly crew! Go and Fight! If I'm killed it will be because I've done some killing first!"
The other women joined her and they ran towards the soldiers, never looking back. She opened fire first, then the Molotov cocktails followed overhead.
Paris had risen.
LORELEI
The moon saw it all and cringed, I believe.
Seven tramps? Three sailors? Four drunks… they’re all the same on the slab.
I was a simple farmer who had just come to port
But I believed all that you said and refused to believe all the lies; until I saw you with my own eyes. Inside the tavern, your voice reaching out, your locks brushing over your next victim, busily plying you with more ale.
But why not me? Was I so meek? Did you only search for the louts, the … the margin walkers, the midnight drifters?
THE ONE-ARMED THIEF
The thief hid in the vestry, cowering in a corner.
The priest ushered all out of the doors and locked them and finally blew out the candles. The thief went to the statue of Mary and started to take the jewels and gold off it. Suddenly, the statue grabbed his arm.
In the morning the thief was found minus one arm. The bones are there today in the hand of Mary, but if you walk past, don’t stare too much as the ghost of the thief is always trying to tell his story and show his stump to nosey people.
MR GLANCONER
I watched him from my vegetable store on the corner. Ladies with time for afternoon tea came to sit.
He walked past then, asked if the seat next to them was free. They excitedly always said yes.
Then he leaned and only said a few words. After that, they were gone. They were his to mould. They came to his apartment in a steady stream each day.
He came to buy pears from me and always smiled but I couldn’t see why the women fell so easily, but I was not the type to be spoken to by Mr Glanconer.
ANNA AND THE WARLOCK
I met the old man and his daughter while taking my Sunday stroll along the lake.
They were taking her to the warlock to cure her crazy dreams.
“He will help.”
She was a little slow, I knew, but help? After two weeks she returned but was more distant and thinner.
Along the shoreline men fished, women pounded, children’s noses still leaked snot. Anna ran away and floated among the villages. They searched high and deep.
After two weeks they found her, naked, sleeping with the wild dogs and a smile.
Once more she was returned to the warlock’s lair.
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