Comedy Scene 4

The nuns were nowhere in sight, and that’s the way I liked them. Gone.

Sometimes the billow of their black and white habit material looked beautiful; looked natural blowing in a strong spring wind, like your mother’d hung big black and white sheets to dry on the clothesline in the back yard and you could almost hear the sheeting sound with the wind whipping them dry in the warm, and smell the clean sheet smell in the air. But then the billows would turn on the spot, and there they’d be; crappy nun faces poking out from the material, a stern and inspecting ruination of any natural billow.

I hated the fucking nuns. There was nothing natural about them. They were dried up in ways that didn’t have one damn thing to do with being hung out to dry on a nice backyard clothesline under a warm summer sun. Anything wet or even damply human was hidden by them on purpose, in the dark, under their habits. They pretended they didn’t have bodies at all, not that anybody’d wanna see them feeling the damp between their legs in their beds in their nunnery late at night.

When I walked out of school for the last time on the last day, I was happy as hell to be rid of those holier-than-thou billowy bitches until I remembered I forgot some stuff in my desk. I ran fast up the steps and did my grabbing in the empty classroom with no nuns bothering me, but when I got out to the hall for my final escape, this one old bat was standing there, her pruned-up boobs squashed underneath her folded arms, giving me her stern stare.

We stood stock still in the otherwise empty third floor hall, eyeing each other like two gunslingers. I was planning on winning the staring contest until this Western movie soundtrack started playing in my head. Then I lost it.

--Robin S.