Alive for two hundred years and the prospects of getting a job were as slim as they were when women couldn’t vote. Angeline had taken to circling vacancies with red circles so they became easier to stab at when the inevitable email came telling her the position had been filled by someone, anyone, but her. By now the kitchen table was peppered with pricks from the knife’s ends. Now, at ten in the morning with a failed phone interview, Angeline was standing by the kettle with her hands upon its metal belly. It only took forever to boil when she was close to tears.

The first century had been relatively chipper spare several years in the mid 1880’s that were particularly awkward. The tea had been sweeter than the one she brewed in an old IKEA mug, slamming it on the the coaster and watching undisturbed as half of it flooded over. Angeline remembered lavish balls and food dripping with fat and sugar; playing croquet with Marie Antoinette and giggling as each ball fell into the lake and each dry servant went to fetch it. They were the worst of times for women  and yet she made the very best of them.

There was a crone shouting from beyond her cracked window, the infamous neighbour who was once again accusing an innocent passerby of peering into her home. Angeline tapped her nails along the ceramic mug. The breeze ran hot through the house despite a dusty fan doing its very best. Nothing in this society was ever good enough. She pushed the newspaper off the table and watched it spread quietly along the tiles. It seemed laughably pitiful where she was now. From the great Austrian Empire to the backstreets of Brisbane, Queensland. Needless to say the new millennium hadn’t treated her well. Now with two hundred years of life experience the local supermarket wouldn’t get back to her.

Angeline wouldn’t call this unfair. Unfair was the needless deaths of her long lost friends forcing out a child while killing themselves. Such things barely happened today. Their deaths were avoidable and yet always it happened until only she was left, publicly ostracised from her lack of a husband and next of kin. This was merely a bee sting, a particularly nasty skin rash, losing all her gold coins in a vending machine. Nevertheless those things were dreadfully annoying and somewhat embarrassing.

To be expanded.

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