Short Stories: The Handkerchief

[TheCapybara 1803]

Short Stories by Fersen

 

“The Urge of Anger” by Elizabeth von Edger 

Written by Christine Beatrix Fersen

The 3rd of Jula ag Piov of 504 E.S.

My sage-colored eyes examined my surroundings as I woke up from my slumber. I would notice fellow ladies of high society checking for my well-being, all of the ladies appearing to be overwhelmed with bliss as I woke up from my deep slumber. I began to yawn, stretching my arms as I noticed the eldest of the gentlewomen having a face of concern. This is where I finally asked these gentlewomen of society, particularly the eldest of the group, how did I go from the dazzling ballroom of the palace to here, on a grandiloquent armchair. At the moment my questions were spoken out aloud, the ladies' once blissful faces became ones of concern, a sense of hesitance. For a minute, all of the women gave each other hushed whispers till the eldest, the one who never appeared to be lively of my awakening, walked forward, standing in front of all the women. There the eldest in a disappointed tone began to describe what had occurred.

 

The eldest began to illustrate the ballroom, how the walls appeared so cozy though being gilded with gold leaf, appearing to also be lavish in appearance. These large walls had been painted with portrayals of the cosmos and the ceiling above had an enormous chandler that emulated the sun. While guests spoke among themselves, it was told to me that I stood in the corner, conversing with the hostess about the current social affair which had been going on. Among the hostess and I, was the daughter of the hostess and the husband of the hostess. While we conversed among ourselves, we appeared to be happy from the view of the elderly gentlewoman. That was until a gentleman of a reputable lineage walked forward to the hostess's household and I. This is where I ultimately remembered what had transpired and who was the reason for my current circumstance. 

 

I was in utter shock when he presented himself to the hostess and her daughter. There he asked if he may take the hand of her daughter for a dance. He asked with a rotten stench coming from somewhere on his body, though, besides the problem of personal hygiene he also maintained an unkept beard. This disgusted me, so I voiced my opinion. Suggesting that he either groom himself at this moment in the powder room or at least shave. Not clean-shaven, but clean up his beard. After my suggestion was shut down, I began to demand that he do so. I even got the hostess to agree with me. While I begged with the hostess for this ill-mannered gentleman to clean himself, a sweat formed and trickled down my forehead. The gentleman, being a polite man of society, offered his Handkerchief. Though, this was the moment I had lost my senses. This Handkerchief was overly greasy. The Handkerchief presented to me by this gentleman was utterly repulsive. Causing me to faint, the reason for my recent condition.

 

As my memories came back to me, I stood up from my armchair and hurried back to the ballroom, noticing that it had only been five minutes since I fainted. As I rushed back to the ballroom the hostess was about to give the filthy but surprisingly polite gentleman permission to dance with her daughter. I, as any proper woman. Oppose this proposition. How dare this fatty gentleman dance with a proper lady of society? At this point, the lord of the manor, the spouse of the hostess, silenced me with his thunderous voice. There he explained to me and all the guests that one mustn't judge someone for their appearance and hygiene. The hostess added to his lecture for the party-goers. Persuading the guest that while one must not judge someone by appearance or smell, that it is equally important to take the steps to properly groom themselves. At this moment, I frowned. The guilt had begun to set in but had not fully set in as I knew I was in the right till the hostess explained that it was this greasy and smelly gentleman who had picked me up and placed me on the armchair. It was he who cared for me despite my ruthless scolding and bullying. 

 

Then, the guilt fully set in. I rushed over towards the greasy gent who had kindly brought me over to the armchair and asked for forgiveness. As I had known that no one should be judged despite their flaws. He quickly forgave me, telling me that I had been partly right as a proper person of high society. No, but all civilization should have proper hygiene. As it is both viewed positively among the people and good for one's overall health. With that, the hostess's daughter and the gentleman began their dance and I had a new understanding of the world. No one should be judged for their imperfections, though that does not indicate that their flaws can be worked on. In the end, we have more resemblances to a handkerchief. Before a handkerchief could be used, it must be clean. Before we can critique others, we must be capable of critiquing ourselves and seeing our faults.

[Cheese 2307]

Liridona Amador clears her throat awkwardly…..

 

((Cant put this on a spoiler bc of mobile but great story!! love it LOL))

[Melpomenne 1553]

The Princess Mischa, one who recently too fainted after being given a greasy handkerchief by a man who wished to dance with her niece, the daughter of the hostess, blotted her tears away.

 

"This is art. Truly relatable and has involved every emotion."

[critter 2470]

Henrik Amador blinks as he prepares the most recent publication for archiving. 
 

He decides he doesn’t know anyone it could be about. Lovely prose, though.