Sunday 30 October 2011

True Love Spurned !




It was still dark outside, a thin shard of a paler shade of black was beginning to creep round the edge of the curtains drawn across the window. Not long now, and he would be with me. Snug under my covers, I could hear him move about in the room next door, the room where he spent his afternoons and evenings. Sometimes, of course, he left the house altogether, leaving me to snooze, idle and unwanted; without him I had no life, no life at all. It was he who tickled me into being, it was he who could awaken the song in my heart, every fibre of my body vibrating, wave after wave of happiness ringing out in delight, filling my soul with joy, shuddering to an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction when he finally came to a halt many hours later.

Yes, I looked forward to our regular meetings, when he concentrated fully on me and my needs. The whole morning belonged to me, I had his undivided attention. Knowing how lucky I was I never stopped being grateful, served him well, taking hardly any time off. Very rarely did I suffer from any kind of illness, but when it happened, he wrapped me up tenderly and carried me to a hospital, where I sat on a bench while somebody else's rough hands poked about in my innards, dripping grease over my sinews and adjusting my muscles. I disliked being touched by anyone but him, but his pleasure at having me all to himself again, back home, after an episode of absence, made up for the indignity.

Finally, I heard the door open and he came over to where I sat, still hidden from view. I could feel his hands lifting the covers, folding them back carefully, slowly exposing me to his full gaze. I shivered a little as he ran his fingers delicately over my keys. Contrary to his usual custom, he did not sit down in front of me, but stood poised above me, looking at me with troubled eyes.

For the first time in our long and mutually satisfying relationship I had no idea what was coming next.

"Well, old girl," he said, "It'll break my heart. You have seen me through many a difficult birth. Sitting here, stroking you, pounding you for so many years, and releasing my creative energies into you has brought me success and recognition. But let's face it, " he continued, "you have grown old in my service, your smooth bodywork and efficient rhythms have become rough and unreliable. It's time to replace you with one of the new-fangled machines, which, I hear, even tell me when I get the spelling wrong. Admit it, you never did that. "

He patted me on the head. "I'll always appreciate your stalwart nature and true heart and I'll never love anyone as I have loved you. Believe me, and I mean this most sincerely, it's not you, it's me."

I was shocked rigid. My keys sat stiff and unmoving; a small tinkle, like a funeral bell, rang out when he picked me up with both hands and deposited me unceremoniously on the bottom shelf of his bookcase, and covered me up again.

Here I've been sitting for weeks now, drying up and silent. I heard the usurper being lifted into my rightful place. Apparently the upstart needs a lot of juice delivered via electric cables and something called a provider to get him going; he is clearly a lot less accommodating than I was. Heartless, I would say.

As for him, my lord and master, the one whom I helped to create deathless prose? I know he is not happy now, not nearly as happy as he was with me. I have heard him shout and swear in frustration. Far be it from me to gloat, but I know for a fact, that the upstart has managed to lose a whole chapter of the new book.

I have to admit to a little frisson of Schadenfreude.



49 comments:

  1. If typewriters could speak. Wonderful. You always come up with such clever and unique responses to these images.

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  2. Terrific stuff. I love it. Your stories are never typecast - always different.

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  3. This tale is a classic, rife with
    ambiguity, sensuality, blind love,
    and containing the infamous
    Friko twist at its conclusion.
    I knew something was up, but
    at first I thought "she" might
    be the corpse of his dead wife.
    Tomorrow weighs heavily on
    my imagination.

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  4. awww...sad that the old type writer gets the shaft...i miss the sound of her keys and the the bell at the end of each line...

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  5. Excellent read. Now I know how my old Olivetti must be feeling. She's been shut up in a case for the past 20 years!

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  6. (snicker) I was at first curious, then wondering... and of course the new computer has become fickle and demanding. What did he expect? Love the story, I'm smiling at the computer as I type this with my affectionate keys under my fingers. :-)

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  7. What an unexpected treat this was. Thanks for letting non-paying strangers read such fine examples of your imaginativeness and intelligence coming to life on a screen.

    Lucy

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  8. There is no reward for long and loyal service. Things and people are carelessly replaced and swiftly forgotten.

    Anna

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  9. Wonderful, Friko. A perfect personification of a typewriter, anthropomorphism at its very best. At first I was thinking "cat" but of course "sat on a bench while somebody else's rough hands poked about in my innards, dripping grease over my sinews" didn't seem right, and the word "piano" came to me briefly because I had forgotten the photo prompt because I was so busy reading.
    Writing should take the reader's mind away from everything but the words, and your writing certainly does that.
    Bravo, Friko.

    Kay, Alberta, Canada
    An Unfittie’s Guide to Adventurous Travel

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  10. I still remember the typewriter that I received as I went off to college. It was a cheap piece of junk and never reliable. But I was right at the start of the tech revolution as the need for slide rules suddenly disappeared and computer terminals were showing up on the college campus, learning Fortran, before there were PC's. I think I still have that old typewriter, but then again I have most of my old computers and film cameras as well.

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  11. Poor old thing . Still , I don't suppose she's there on her own . The Tipp-ex and carbon paper are probably perched next to her .
    Men are so fickle !

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  12. This reminded me of when I learned to type at secretarial college and there were 2 'brand-new' electronic typewriters in the classroom and we had to go on a rota to use them. We got so excited when it was our turn!

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  13. Friko, I took incredible delight in this. Absolutely magnificent!

    (At first, despite the prompt, I thought 'she' was a piano.)

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  14. Friko--I know your talent too well to have assumed this was a straightforward tale. I loved that it was a typewriter that was his first love...Well done!

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  15. I can relate to Anna at the Doll Houses comment and i still have my portable Olympic typewriter which now resides in the wardrobe :-).

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  16. I am revelling in your vocabulary of "gloat" and "snooze" and "sinews" and the like.

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  17. Friko, that was perfect! I loved the suspense; despite the photo, I was picturing all sorts of other contraptions!

    You have such a way of weaving the story, bringing it to such a satisfying conclusion.

    I so fondly remember my portable typewriter. REading this post makes me sad that, in a fit of clearing out, I got rid of it.

    Great story!

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  18. There is apart of me that misses typewriters, especially the way the words imprinted on the paper's surface. But my typewriter was unforgiving of my mistakes, that's for sure, and if it could have abandoned me before I abandoned it, I'm sure it would have.

    My son, on the other hand, has an antique typewriter on which he composes love letters to his girl friend. What a happy machine that must be!

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  19. Totally delightful, Friko! I kind of feel guilty that my old Brother electronic typewriter lies stuffed in a box somewhere in the attic. I'll have to look in on him when I bring down the tree for Xmas!!

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  20. I didn't know where you were leading then with the stroking and tickling! Very well written, you had me going for a few paragraphs :-)
    THANKS
    DI
    x

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  21. A very creative tale – a little tease at first, but a delight by the end.

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  22. You've done it again! This is a fine tale!

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  23. this is a concept that demanded to be expressed - and you have given it peace. Brilliant and somehow deeply true!


    Aloha from Honolulu

    Comfort Spiral

    > < } } ( ° >

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  24. Wonderful! As always! And, as always, tinged with a bit of melancholy. I don't mind that, though.

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  25. Frissons are the last things a computer inspires! Hehehe! You made us all feel sorry for the typewriter...

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  26. Dear Friko: Finally caught on about this tryst and it was too late, caught between the keys and somewhere in Florida! Creative! Love the word-play. Very lucid! And two new words too! "frisson of Schadenfreude" Love it! :)

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  27. You bring new life to the old chestnut - A day in the life of........ Always quirky and original. Thank you.

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  28. THANKS FRIKO FOR SHARING THIS BEAUTIFUL POST

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  29. I bet he misses pushing that smooth carriage and hearing her grateful bell.
    XO
    WWW

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  30. And during the next power outage, MME T got her revenge, I say.

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  31. This is so excellent!! Being from the old school of typists - white correction fluid and all...

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  32. Another well-spun tale but no self-respecting female, machine or otherwise, should devote herself entirely to one man;-)

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  33. Have not had time to read your post which seems to have pleased your growing fan club, but wanted to respond to your comments on my blog. The photo is a monitor lizard in the zoo reptile house. It was underexposed so I added the teeth and all the red stuff since I seem to be sitting for long periods of time. Thanks for stopping by.

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  34. Bravo Friko. Letting the NHS work on your innards has brought out a great tale. You had me fooled.

    At first I wanted to tell this woman she needed to find a life, they I realized that my Mom's old typewriter must have felt this way when she died. I don't even know what happened to it. Dianne

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  35. Magnificently told! Ah, how we have discarded the loved and loyal only to move forward into an age of technology and frustration.

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  36. You write all of these without any overweening need for applause(there is, eh, some of that in blogs)...they are just GOOD. I feel like I want to comfort the typewriter. ~Mary

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  37. Much more his type Friko - loved the story - brilliant :)

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  38. At first, you tricked me - I started to worry :) I really miss old-fashioned things. Especially the ones that will certainly never return into our daily life.

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  39. Oh, let me count the ways in which I love this one! First off, as we were reduced, over here, to life without electrical power for many, many hours, I longed for the days when everything didn't plug in! Where is my typewriter, where is my quill pen, where is my real (vs. Kindle) book? Beyond that, when in college, I had to come up with an original-research history paper for my degree. The topic? Typists and Stenographers from 1880-1910. This happened to be the era of the dawn of the typewriter and the accompanying female typist. Out of that, I have an abiding affection for the typewriter. Yet, sigh, at the same time, I don't own one anymore and haven't for a long, long time.

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  40. nicht nur eine schöne, spannende und verblüffende Geschichte, sondern auch, auf alle Fälle für mich, steckt doch hinter Deinem Schreiben eine grossartige durchdringende Sicht auf das Leben an sich...! Wirklich grossartig!
    Einen wunderbar harmonisch guten Tag wünscht Dir Renée

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  41. Friko, your imagination never ceases to amaze and confound me. Your writing astounds me.

    Peace as ever and always.

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  42. Friko -- this is wonderful! So sly!

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  43. If anyone could infuse titillation into the workings of a typewriter, it would be you! Well done!

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  44. Excellent take on the image... Ah, new loves taking the place of old loves and the perils of new technology!

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  45. A well told tale. But I wondered whether the amount of detail in the opening paras gives too many clues as to the ending? On the other hand, the picture prompt is a bit of a giveaway? The schadenfreude is a neat touch.

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  46. Friko, you talked nicely on behalf of poor old typewriters. They’d be glad to hear your story. I feel sorry for my Olivetti’s which was trashed away recently. Computer’s longevity is short-lived in spite of “vaccination”, they misbehave occasionally and only with a few of water it goes completely silent. I think there are many people who like the simplicity of the old typewriters but choose computers for numerous functions living in this digital world.

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  47. Oh, you made me sad. I need to go 'round my house right now and assure everything in it that I still love it as much as the day it first came into my life. Perhaps I'll start with my husband.

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  48. I fell for it. It didn't start dawning on me that you were not talking about a person until in the second verse write "dripping grease"... Very fun read!

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