One morning, the Savage woke early after a night of raucous snoring. He scuffled his way downstairs, rearranging the Witch’s throw rugs in unkempt piles with his big ugly feet. He wants to eat breakfast but the slothful Witch is still sleeping. He makes himself toast using the stove cook top as counter space (knowing the Witch hates this) because it is most convenient. His primal instincts are focused on bread and butter and he can’t slap it together hastily enough. Fill my belly, fill my belly, he chants in his head.
Unrefreshed from broken sleep, the grouchy Witch is enticed nonetheless by the smell of brewing coffee. She trips over a bunched up scatter rug and mutters something awful to herself. But the Savage heard and he cowers in his corner.
“Good morning”, the chipper Savage offers. Chipper morning people bother the Witch.
The Savage hopes the coffee he made will subdue the Witch and overrule the criminal crumbs. The Witch just looks at him, then her eyes dart to the evidence on the cook top.
“Shut that light,” mumbles the Witch as she proceeds to clean the cook top. Fluorescent lights give her migraines. And we certainly don’t want her more irritable than she already is. The Savage dutifully obeys.
The Savage trudges off to the bathroom to trim his unruly beard. He looks into the mirror and admires himself. Though past his prime, he sees a fine young specimen that the Witch does not appreciate. If she only knew how many fair maidens would be drooling over me if I were free, he thinks.
“Don’t leave beard hairs on that sink!” bellows the Witch.
The Savage mutters something awful to himself and continues shaving.
After the Witch is soothed with quiet time and coffee, she makes a fluffy omelet and beckons the Savage to join her. How could he refuse? Fill my belly, fill my belly. The Savage makes several attempts to turn on his laptop but each one is killed by the Witch’s evil glance. (The Savage feels uncomfortable without background noise. The Witch wants meals to be relational, social events.) They eat and have a somewhat civil conversation.
The Witch gets dressed and looking in the mirror, she sees a beautiful Queen who does everything perfectly; so much so, that she doesn’t want the Savage to do anything but sit there and listen to her. She saunters off to do some dreadful exercises, shoving the Savage’s weights out of her way. Then she loads her laundry basket with an avalanche of Savage laundry. She ventures down the basement stairs, nearly tripping over an assortment of big-foot Savage shoes, sneakers and slippers.
Meanwhile, the Savage sits in the breakfast nook, burping and watching YouTube videos, which of course, the Witch totally resents.
Suddenly, a gust of wind forces the side door of the Savage-Witch cottage open. Continue reading