Weekend Freewrite #6

This is my entry for the Weekend Freewrite #6 hosted by @mariannewest.

The weekend freewrite, is a writing exercise, in which we are given the first sentence of a prompt for writing, we write for 5 minutes without stopping, or editing, move on to the second writing prompt, and the final twist for the last 5 minutes of writing.

In the end we will have a complete story that consists of all 3- 5 minutes freewrites.

If you would like to join the freewrite, or read more stories like this one, search the #weekendfreewrite, and #freewrite tags.

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Jansen Fenstermacher

On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds, better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that. Especailly since she told me earlier that she hated the oranges with the seeds because once as a child she had choked on an orange seed.

But Margaret spoke this way often. She was suffering from the orange fever, a fever that makes a person talk without remembering what they said.

She was better now, but still far from being normal again. The only thing that helped this illness was the vitamin C in the oranges. Since this was the only fruit she could digest, I have been buying a lot of oranges.

Each day I wake up and make her fresh orange juice. Then for lunch I cut the oranges up for her to eat. In the evenings I give her the orange, and allow her to peel off the skin. She makes quite a mess doing this, but it keeps her quiet most evenings.

It was nice when she wasn’t talking, but it never lasted long enough for me.

Any other time Margaret found a way to get under my nerves with her constant complaining and nit-picking. Most days I had no idea what she was talking about. I knew it was the fever.

They were all the same, I decided. Still I listened to Margaret list the numerous reasons that the oranges with the seeds were far more superior than the ones I had bought for her; as if I had a choice in the oranges provided at the store.

Many times during this fever I have thought about growing my own orange tree, but the thought often passed right by. This time a vision of burying Margaret’s body under that orange tree.

It would be very easy to do. There has been many of the neighbors staying away since the fever broke. They assumed it was contagious, but I knew better. She got the fever because she was ill when she was younger, and her immune system couldn’t fight the infection she caught during the winter.

The thought was horrible. How could I think of killing my own sister? I felt bad, but the constant pressure of caring for an ungrateful and often times, down-right belligerent person was starting to unravel my normally centered and peaceful thoughts.

After supper, I cleaned up the lemon sherbet that melted all over the counter. I had though we would try a new flavor this evening, but the lemon only made Margaret sick. She immediately began to vomit, leaving her bowl of sherbet behind as she raced off towards the bathroom.

I’m not sure why she couldn’t eat any flavor other than oranges. I told her repeatedly that the flavor didn’t matter, it was the vitamin C that she needed, and that she could get the vitamin with other fruits such as lemon and apple. But, no she couldn’t stomach any other fruit.

Some days I think she did this to upset me; as if I didn’t have any other goal in my life but to watch over her, and make sure she had the right oranges. But this is how it went day in and day out. Every day arguing over the oranges. Oranges for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Oranges for a drink; oranges for a snack. Nothin in my life but oranges.

But today was different. I had not heard a peep from Margaret all day. My afternoon was peaceful, as I stared out at my blossoming orange tree in the front yard.

I sure will miss Margaret.

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