Knitting Needles

Eileen sighed. Old age got the best of people. Even the most beautiful ones. So that’s why...

“Martha, why do you look trashier than my granddaughter on her way to school?”

Martha had been chatting off her ears for months. A new widower had come around and Martha staked claim. So when the proposed date had been set, Eileen promised to be wing woman. That was a good move on her part.

“Oh come on Eileen! I gotta wipe the competition with my style! You know Sasha and her gang are pinning on him too!” Martha protested.

“Sure, but it gives you no right to wear...that godawful plunging neckline and... Did your grandson do your make up? God! Have you seen a mirror today? You look like God smashed a hooker through a corset and Crayola factory.”

Martha pouted, “But Eileen! Don’t I look a little bit sexy?”

“No, not a single bit. And what you need to for? Old men look for money, youth, and a pulse. You’ve got two out of three so far, so get out of that mash make up and wear something sensible.”

Rolling her eyes, Martha went back inside to change. And thank God too. If you’d seen her, you’re eyes probably would’ve exploded from such a disgusting sight. Eileen gladly waited outside on the porch. She’d rather not touch the interior of Martha’s domain. Who knew how sticky the walls were.

In truth, Martha was a fucking rich slut. Men came by for money, the more desperate ones of course. No one would willingly please an old hag unless the money went up 6 digits. That’s when most gave in. The rest would rather die and eat their own shit.

But once again, Martha believed she found ‘true love’ and Eileen was stuck with trying to make the old hag ‘respectable’. A very impossible feat seeing that the 69-year-old bitch had a reputation of fucking around and leaving husbands. Despite this, Martha supported her family with huge deposits from time to time. It made up for her ‘reputation’. They lived far away though, far off from gossipy neighbors and Martha’s...hobbies.

After several outfit changes and make-up removal, Eileen finally deemed Martha ready to leave. It had been a very silent trip to the restaurant. Eileen made sure to take out her hearing aids before Martha began cooing over the man. At this point, she very much understood why almost all but her had been deterred by the loud-mouthed sex-hungry old beast.

“Alright remember, if you want this to last: Don’t go straight to sex. That’s not how you build a relationship. Second, act like a lady. Don’t try and make yourself seem younger that you are, he knows you’re old, but don’t make him think you’re trashy. I’ll repeat it simpler this time: Do Not Be A Hoe, Be A Lady,” Eileen instructed as soon as the car was parked.

Martha ignored her and left running. Eileen rolled her eyes. Some time tomorrow, she’d soon get a call relaying a brand-new sexual fantasy. Shuddering at the inevitable, Eileen barreled it home. Her grand children was coming over. That meant a whole new set of problems.

Five hours. That’s the time it took for all four of the Desorda siblings to their Grandma’s. Not that any of them complained, they just wanted to be there as soon as possible. So when they finally spot the old house, sighs of relief echoed through the car. Their mother kept silent. Dropping them off at the house without so much as a good-bye, she sped off without a word.

“Shitty, alcoholic piece of shit!” Eileen shouted at her daughter-in-law’s speeding car.

Grumbling, Eileen rushed her four grandchildren inside. Her son had gone on making the right choices until Cindy. Cindy was a self-proclaimed artist who complained that the world could never understand her ‘abstract art’. Eileen had no clue what drew her son to Cindy but soon, a baby was on the way and the marriage date was barely ready. After her fourth grandchild, Pesto, was born, her son soon died in a driving accident rushing to the hospital.

Watching her grandchildren lock themselves in their rooms, she sighed. Nothing had been the same since then, Cindy lost herself to alcohol after the one person who cared about her art died. And Eileen was forced to take care of the children most of the time, usually during summer break when Cindy would start bringing in her boyfriends to their house. Eileen understood that she was grieving but this had taken it too far. Cindy didn’t bother picking herself up and lived on her son’s money. It was just not right anymore, not after ten years.

Pesto lied down and stared at the ceiling. Another year at Grandma’s. It’s not like he had anything against her, he just wished their mom took time to actually connect with them other than doing the bare minimum of raising children. Out of all his siblings, he seemed to be the only one who still wanted to connect with their mom. Closing his eyes, he nearly dozed off when loud knocking disturbed him. Opening his door, he sees his grandmother holding a plate with a slice of strawberry cheesecake -his favorite.

He smiles gratefully.“Thanks, lola."

Eileen beams. All her grandchildren were wonderful. If only their mother actually cared, she sighed. She’d go take some cake to Jampi, he was the only other person who didn’t immediately fall asleep as soon as they got their rooms. Ember and Maverick were probably already asleep. She’d wake them for dinner.

“Pesto?”

Pesto looked up from his cake. “Yesh, granma?”

“...Nevermind, finish that cake and maybe I’ll make more.”

He nods sagely. “I will. I absolutely will.”

Jampi sat on the wooden desk, writing down five hundred words to say. To whom? He does not know, but they are useful. This he prescribes to the painting on the wall. Jampi hears the door creak open, but does not stop talking to the painting. He can feel eyes burning questions into his soul, still his voice never waivers in lecturing the painting. His heart and soul concentrated in educating this painting on the fine art of writing down five hundred words to say. Yes, he may be only fifteen but his words are divine to the young painting as it stares in awe at the grand professor.

Eileen stared and quietly set the cake down on the table. Jampi would get to it later once he was done with whatever he was doing. Lecturing the old painting he made in kindergarten, okay. She’ll just close the door quietly and pretend that never happened.

Meanwhile, a widower and several ladies walked out a restaurant. All were giggling, drunk as hell. Phones were ringing, but the drinks were winning. And soon an old people orgy is on the brink of existing. The sight of it made God turn away from humanity once more, and even the demons would not dare the gates of hell to be unlocked.

Unknown to the world, this orgy was going to bring about a terrible thing. And we are not talking about the live footage.

Well, that and the live footage.