Mistermafio
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Oh mister De'Mole
Let me tell you about a morning not too long ago,
when the roofs where covered in a tiny layer of snow.
There, outside in the freezing cold,
stood a little girl, not even that old.
Her hair was black and messy
yet with her look surprisingly sassy.
She stood before the bank of silver-Ville
in her hands a yellow bill.
And she laughed and she sighed,
and she walked right inside.
Through the large wooden door,
decorated with birds and bees and so many more,
past the guard big and strong,
who greeted her: “Howya do’ng?”
Through the hall and up the stair,
holding onto her cuddle bear.
When she finally arrived at her goal,
the office, of mister De’Mole.
She waited a while, then a while more,
at this point she almost got bored.
When out of the blue, or better the black
she felt a hand clutch onto her back.
“Hey there little girl, your not supposed to go there. “
A woman told her with a glare,
but the girl had figured that out a while before
when seeing the guard, out by the door.
Yet she couldn’t walk off
that’d be impolite.
She first had to give De’Mole a little fright.
***
Now let me quickly tell you about mister De’Mole,
as a child he was already quite the hand full.
His dearest passion, his reason for life,
didn’t consist of his family or wife.
No he spend his time getting as rich as he could
richer then most people actually should.
He could make a house out of money and still have just enough left
to insure and protect it from any kind of theft.
He was so smelly and so fat
I could fit twice in the brown leather belt he back then had.
Now you might be thinking: “Well mister storyteller, what does this have too do with a little girl holding a bill?”
And for the people that didn’t think I’d get there, trust me I will.
But then I first have to tell you what’s on that yellow piece of molten wood,
that this little girl thinks it is so good.
On that bill is a number, ten digits long
a number even larger then the days I am young.
Some have speculated what the number actually says,
a date, a time or a phone number perhaps.
But this number is much darker, it’s origin more obscure,
it’s the price De’Mole has to pay for the ultimate cure.
***
Now this girl isn’t as young as she appears to be,
she’s actually older then both you and me.
This girl is the servant of great lady day
and thus isn’t expected to just stand there and stay.
The earlier woman, secretary of mister De’Mole.
She had but one goal.
To keep visitors out of his room,
the meeting would commence all that soon.
Yet the girl walked in giving her not even a second look,
she wondered how this was handled in the book.
So she dived in her purse and fiddled around
until she heard a familiar sound,
it was the voice of mister De’Mole
playing his strict fatherly role.
Happy about a job well done honestly thinking her efforts would suffice
she walked away to get some vanilla flavoured ice.
***
“I will not give you what you want
you little annoying rant!
Trying to scam me for all I’m worth,
I don’t believe a single word!
You do not work for lady day,
there is absolutely no possible way.
So get out while you still can
before I call one of my men.”
Angry he yelled at the little girl,
who gave her dress an extra swirl.
She grinned and smiled and broke into laughter
but said the following thereafter:
“Oh mister De’Mole you low hearted fool,
you give me a reason to get out my tool.
If only you’d listened to what it is I say
maybe then I wouldn’t have to take you away.
So you won’t pay the money?
You think this’ a scam?
Are you laughing yet?
‘Cause damn well I am!”
After saying this she again burst into laughter,
a sound cramped in my ears from years thereon after.
She took out a device to small to clearly see
which she pressed on quickly.
Mister De’Mole started to gargle and scream
coming from his ear was a little trace of steam,
first he turned red, then he turned blue,
before he started to sweat as if he had the Asian flue.
He fell from his chair while clenching his neck
and struggled a while before the final crack,
after that I heard no more,
as the little girl walked out the door
down the stairs and trough the hall
past the guard which she greeted calm.
Through the wooden doors onto the street
where she mysteriously disappeared.
Never again have I heard of her or lady day,
and I hope that’ll always stay.
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