Short Story/poem: Penny Lumpwig
Sweet Penny Lumpwig dreamed that a man would one day love her. They never did. They dabbled but they never stayed faithful and Penny was always left high and dry with the poison of their deception running through her veins.
Penny Lumpwig had this perception that she was “weird” and that people would always think of her as being this “weirdo”. She was right, they did, there was no other word that fitted her, no need for any pretense.
Penny Lumpwig thought the movie world would open up for her and embrace her talents. It didn’t she barely made it past the casting couch, the lusty leer of a second rate director.
Penny Lumpwig thought she could control her emotions. She couldn’t they were too overwhelming.
Penny Lumpwig took pleasure in pain and expected others to share the same passion. They didn’t; she just freaked them out as she stepped over the boundaries.
Penny Lumpwig was a demoness, whose life was spinning out of control.
Penny Lumpwig was a loner, a loser, lost somewhere in the quagmire of modern day life.
Penny Lumpwig was both victim, a villain, a tumultuous tragedy.
Penny Lumpwig had expected her breasts to grow during her pubescent years. They had remained flat and unshapely, testimony to another unfulfilment.
Penny Lumpwig expected people’s comprehension and compassion, she never got it. Her aspirations were tainted and tarnished. She realized she couldn’t place her trust in others.
Penny Lumpwig saw no God, saw no future , saw no happiness in her desolate world.
Penny Lumpwig thought she could make the blind see, the deaf hear fine overtures from great composers. She couldn’t her efforts fell flat, where she thought she could create joy, only misery prevailed.
Penny Lumpwig thought she could scale mountains, break the rules of nature, and science, she couldn’t such things remained locked in the confines her vivid imaginations.
Penny Lumpwig lived on the periphery of life. She went unnoticed, unheralded, she was born to be an outsider.
Penny Lumpwig thought she had met the love of her life. She hadn’t. Though he had shown a passing interest in her, his attentions were soon drawn to a less complicated person, a floozy in Penny Lumpwig’s eyes, a lesser mortal. She had arrived at his doorstep, one evening unannounced and had felt their complicity. She had tried to make them feel as much discomfort as she could marshal, so their union would be corrupted. She would do her worst to prize them apart, so no happiness could come of their relationship. Another disappointment had evolved, another pang of disillusion, to weigh on her heavy mind.
Penny Lumpwig would do things her way. Break the rules of normality. Eradicate those who had deceived her, those who had offered themselves to her, then hurt her with their treachery. She would reign supreme, if only for the time before the Police would arrive to take her away in handcuffs, to be judged and sentenced and castigated for her crimes.
Francis H Powell recently published Flight of Destiny, a book of short stories. (Find out more here.)
Born in 1961, in Reading, England, Powell studied Art, receiving a degree in painting and an MA in printmaking. In 1995, he moved to Austria, teaching English as a foreign language while pursuing his varied artistic interests and adding music and writing.
He currently lives in Paris, songwriting, doing concerts, and writing both prose and poetry.