Warfare

Veronica was an unexpected ally, I have to admit. I it were not for her, I would have been long dead or worse, demoted and scrubbing bathroom floors. She was there and she helped me when I needed it, under the power lines in the grey grey sun.

But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Veronica and I started as neutral parties with a tendency to disagree. I always found her quite dull and disagreeable, with her constant complaining and her debilitating inability to think strategically. She must have cost us countless lives wasted on waiting and listening, sleeping and hoping. Overtime, our relationship evolved and I grew to like her, to some extent, for a limited period of time. She was quite helpful during that time, to say the least.

Sometimes we find things we are not looking for, and then we lose them. So it was with Veronica and me. I finally grew very weary of her complaining and her shallowness and I said some things I regretted. But what is done is done, there is no point crying over, so to speak, spilt milk, so I moved on and forgot about her.

Then, one fateful night under the power lines in the grey grey sun, Veronica, or Anastasia, as I liked to call her, was there when I needed her.

“No, he is right,” she said, “And let me tell you this, he is right most of the time.”

“Well then,” said the sponsor, “I shall make him king of the gas tank. He will bask in the music of my gratitude for all time.”

And so I am indebted to Veronica/Anastasia/Heather/Susan/Charles/Maria for helping me. Let this story be my thank you, wherever you are.

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