Marge Simpson Novels & Stories

If only I could obtain that medication. The kitchen exuded warmth and welcome, with aromas of herbs and bread baking. Marge, the chef, was present, singing softly while slicing vegetables. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked up at my entrance. "Hello, how are you?" She greeted me with a subtle grin on her face. "Seeking a way to unwind?" I agreed without speaking, unable to trust myself to communicate even telepathically. Marge had a certain quality that made me feel vulnerable, as if she could easily see past the mask I put on.

My room was in the basement, next to the water heater. The kitchen entrance was around back. I slipped through the door into the familiar organized chaos. "There you are!" Margaret looked up from where she was chopping the vegetables. She was a round, plump woman in her fifties, with gray-streaked hair always pulled back in a bun and flour perpetually dusting her apron. The closest thing to a mother I'd ever had. "I thought you'd forgotten." "Sorry," I mumbled, grabbing an apron from the hook. "Got held up."

Harve explained, "Marge cleaned her up and got her some clothes and underwear. She only had that raggy dress thing on. Marge did her hair, too." "Jack?" I looked up from my phone into my sister's eyes, "Jade?"

‎Marge suddenly stepped onto the small wooden stage in the corner, holding a spoon against an empty glass. ‎CLINK. CLINK. CLINK. ‎The lively chatter in the diner quieted down as heads turned toward the counter. ‎"Alright, you cold-weather survivors!" Marge announced, her voice booming over the low murmur of the room. "We've got the stove hot, the beer cold, and Father Samuel already picked out his favorite bluegrass fiddle tunes. But before he takes the bow, I think it's time we hear from someone new." ‎Marge turned her sharp, affectionate eyes directly toward Kat's booth, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“Are you here?” I hear a small cough of exclamation, and a few moments later, Marge emerges. I’ve only been gone a few weeks, but to my dismay she seems older somehow. She walks with a cane, more hunched over than before; whether from aches or the physical loss of Alby, I don’t know. But she gets to the desk and beams at me, the lines in her face creasing deeply as she does so. “Luna Select!” She says warmly, her eyes bulging like a bug behind her thick lenses. She adjusts her glasses.

MILAGROS Cordova was in her late fifties with thick salt and pepper hair and was the resident doctor of their family since time immemorial. The latter had slowly deteriorated in appearance, still, it didn't affect her ability as much as one would think. She was just incredibly dedicated to working at hand; even doing long hours of duty on weekends. "How is she?" Ira politely asked her. "Well, she's stable. Nothing serious, so don't be a worrywart." Doctor Cordova said to him as if that made it any better.

Wisnu's directive should be like that. "Yes, miss Amel! Pak Maman went upstairs to change the lamp, uh, there was Mr.kusuma fainted on the floor. Pak Maman couldn't lift him up!" said pak Maman like a real panic. Turns out he's good at acting too. "What!? fainted? Wow, could it be a relapse of high blood pressure! I saw Mr.kusuma were massaging his head. Come on, let's look up! He might have a stroke, you know. Wow, that's bad!" shouted Bik Inah as if she had just entered the house and was shocked to hear all that.

I turn white with fear when I see the person pushing the heavy-laden cart is Martha, the only person that loves and cares for me in this world. Martha is of African-American descent. The seventy-six-year-old maid has been asked to retire due to a hip injury that happened as a result of a bad fall but she outrightly refused to because of me. She was afraid I would one day be beaten to death if she was no longer around to watch over me and plead on my behalf

she burst out into laughter again. Her manager raised an eyebrow, surprised by Mia's unusual enthusiasm, whispering to herself, “Maybe today is a lucky day,” However, in the Simpsons residence, Grandma May sat in her bedroom, having just finished her afternoon medication. She adjusted her glasses and grabbed her walking stick, preferring to use it for support despite being able to walk independently.

"I get it now. My mother was an actress, and she was the best, winning every Best Actress award there was. On the other hand, your mom has never accomplished anything. I guess she didn't pass on any good genes to you?" "Summer, you're being disrespectful!" Marge shouted. "Mrs. Dunn, I'm just using the same logic as your son. He kept calling my mother out just for being an actress, but you never corrected him. And now, you suddenly want to lecture me?" Summer shot back without any hesitation. Marge was so angry that her face turned red. "I refuse to believe you scored that high!" Joe shouted. "Joe, we don't have to waste our time talking to cheaters. Let's go!" Marge was both embarrassed and