Snortlestink [For Britwitch and PennySludt]

[Lochem]

Everyone knows you shouldn’t blow bubbles in your milk. We’ve all been taught that way from childhood, for generations. It’s been carried over from parent to child for so long, that no one even remembers why. No matter how seductively delicious it looks, no matter how much your heart yearns to create even one or two bubbles, you must never, never-ever blow bubbles in your milk.

Snortlestink!

That had been Emily’s exact thoughts while looking at the glass of milk with the straw. The milk had been strawberry flavoured, her favourite flavour because it reminded her of chasing butterflies in the sun while wearing her beautiful pink sundress. How she wished she could turn back time and resist the deliciously naughty urge to blow bubbles in her glass of milk. Her life would be so much simpler.

That had been last week.

Emily got up from her homework and walked as quietly as she could to the closet at the other side of her room. She wanted to take another peek, but she had to be quiet. If her mother heard her footsteps they would come crashing in and she would have to listen to a speech on how important it is for young girls to do their homework. “You don’t want to become a factory paint scraper do you?” Her mom always asked her that question. When she had turned seven she had found the courage to ask her mom what it actually means.

“Young girls who misbehave have no future other than working in factories as paint scrapers.” Her mom had said with a devilish smile.

“Yes, but what do factory paint scrapers do?” Emily had asked, annoyed at not getting a straight answer from her mother.

“Oh, it’s a dreadful job for a girl. It’s very unladylike.” She had said knowingly.

“OK, but mom, what do they DO?”

“Hmpf. Well, for starters they aren’t allowed to wear any sundresses. Only old, greasy jeans and overalls.”

That had sounded awful to young Emily. She loved sundresses and hated jeans, her legs were meant to move freely, to run, skip and jump, chasing butterflies and climbing trees, another thing her mom said was very unladylike.

“Also, they give them a rusty pallet knife. That is the only possession that they own. And they travel from factory to factory, scraping off old layers of paint from the walls of factories”

That had not sounded too bad to her. She loved the idea of scraping off a layer of sky blue paint, to discover it had been painted grass green before that, and underneath the green, it had been painted marshmallow pink. Layer on layer, each coming off in long, curling strips with a pallet knife.

When Emily reached the closet she carefully pulled it open, just big enough for her hand to slip in. She fumbled around inside the closet, her fingers touching different textures until it felt the smooth, cool glass of the repurposed jam jar.

She pulled the jar out quietly and stared at her creation, trapped inside. The little blobby creature made entirely from milky pink bubbles stare back at her, it’s three tiny eyes squinting from the bright sunlight.

“What am I going to do with you?” Emily whispered.

“Bluwhoppity?” The creature answered in small squeaky voice causing Emily to giggle briefly before covering her mouth with her free hand.

She couldn’t keep it, she knew that. Her mom wouldn’t allow it. It would be a shameful thing for a young lady to own a bubbly, pink, crawling blob for a pet. The only thing that could have made it worse was if it had been bubblegum flavoured milk. Her mom always said: “Emily, girls don’t like blue!” But she couldn’t get rid of it either. It was hers. She had made this, from her own breath and soul. It belonged to her.

“Emily?” Her mother’s voice rang from the kitchen.

Emily got a fright and the jam jar slipped from her hands, shattering on the floor.

“Emily?!” The voice sounded angrier than it sounded concerned. “What is going on in your room?!”

Emily frantically scanned the floor, looking for the creature that had been in the jar moments ago. “N- Nothing mother!” She couldn’t find the creature.

Footsteps came crashing towards her door and it swung open without a knock. Her mother stood in the door, a scowl on her face while she drank in the scene before her. “Emily! Have you been catching those dreadful garden insects again? I’ve warned you that they carry diseases, and I won’t have them in my house!”

“No mom, I haven’t been catching any more butterflies. I promise” It was a lie. Emily had caught two butterflies earlier that morning.

“Explain!” It wasn’t a question. It was a command. Just the one word. Emily knew her mother didn’t want to know how the bottle broke, that was obvious, she wanted to know why she had an empty jam har in her room.

“I wanted to smell autumn.” Emily blurted out.

Her mother’s brow furrowed, and it was a clear warning that she didn’t have the patience to drag the explanation out of Emily.

“I- I caught some Autumn air in the bottle, and I wanted to smell the colours.” Emily lied again

“Mmmm. Yes. That does sound like something a silly, naughty girl would do. I worry for you, Emily. Why can’t you be normal? Do you know what happens to girls who aren’t ladylike? They end up with no husband and silly jobs!”

Something in Emily snapped. Perhaps it was the rebellious hormones that she was still getting used to, or maybe it was the years and years of trying and failing to be a good, sweet, ladylike girl all squeezed and folded together like air in a compressed air can.

“Is that why you don’t have a husband?” Emily asked defiantly. She regretted it the moment she said it. She could see the brief moment of pain on her moms face before the anger came rushing over it.

“Emily! How dare- EMILY!” She shouted. Her mom’s hands balled into fists as she took a step towards Emily. Fear shot through Emily. She had never seen her mother this angry. Her mother’s arms flailed in the air from frustration before she spun around and stormed out of Emily’s room, slamming the door behind her hard enough to make her windows vibrate.

Emily fell to her knees amongst the broken pieces of glass and started sobbing quietly.

She felt the warm wetness against her leg and initially thought it was her own tears. When she looked down, she saw it was actually her bubble creature, trying to hug her. She wasn’t sure. For all she knew it was actually trying to devour her skin.

“Ploppityblu.” the creature squeaked.

Emily gently touched the blob of a  creature for the first time. It felt wet, but not slimy, and the pressure from her touch moved the bubbles around but wasn’t popping them.

“You can’t stay here.” Emily whispered. She stared at the creatures tiny eyes through her own tear filled eyes. She folded her hand around the blob, holding it firmly as she stood up. “And neither can I.” She said to herself.

“Snortlestink.” Emily thought as she stared at the thing in her hands. I’m going to call you Snortlestink.

This story is for PennySludt and Britwitch. I felt I had to write some eye bleach for Britwich after she read and removed my other story about a ghoul who tricks a village into crowning him king and making the villagers chop off their children’s fingers to feed it to him, but mainly it’s for PennySludt who inspired the whole story about a girl who wasn’t allowed to blow bubbles in her milk[/]