Thin little lines pulling tightly, closing in The floss that grazes the skin separating it The sound of teeth separating the natural lines of food(more…)
Tag: first draft
Dr. Daniel Stewart left his home on the morning of February 2nd and headed to work. He wasn’t going in to see patients, just had to pick up a few files from his office and check in with the part-time bookkeeper, part-time receptionist, Ana. She had been doing an incredible job, he was hoping she would change her mind about doing only part-time work and take on a full time position as office manager. She seem reluctant every time he mentioned it. He had a feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t push it. As long as she kept doing the caliber of work she was doing he could deal. Dr. Daniel was in and out of the office in an hour and forty-five. He was right on schedule for his next stop. Running into the watch shop on Main Street, Dr. Daniel noticed a beautiful woman admiring a rather stunning necklace in the window. The woman blushed as he nodded his head at her and entered the store. He quickly picked out a name brand watch – purchased three of them – and the necklace the woman had been eyeing as he arrived. In his mind it was always good to keep a nice piece of jewelry on hand.
Sometimes Lucile could ask for, or just, accept help. Most of the time Lucile wanted to scream and put her fist through a wall. But that would mean she was able to do something perfectly right, so naturally at best Lucile would end up with a broken hand and not a broken wall. Unfortunately for Lucile’s left hand she learned this in her early twenties. She felt if she didn’t take a step back she was going to have to relearn how less than perfect she was at the cost of her right hand.
The flour had dried out her hands. It had worked its way deep into the shallow lines that ran across her palms, and up through her fingers. She loved the texture of the flour embedded into her skin. It was part of the reason she always made the dough the day before and left it to refrigerate when doing her sugar cookies. Today she was pulling out chunks, flouring the table, flouring the dough ball, rolling out the dough, flouring the cookie cutters, and then cutting out the festive shapes. Fifteen gingerbread men, fifteen snowmen, fifteen stockings, fifteen candy canes, and fifteen stars. All politely waiting on the floured parameter of the table for the batch ahead to be taken out from the oven. Then each group would be placed on the cookie sheet and put in the oven for nine minutes. And so the pattern continued: sticky dough, flour, flour, flour, sticky dough, flour, flour, flour, oven mit, repeat.
Amanda hadn’t been seeing Tom for very long. In fact, they hadn’t really even been seeing each other in the conventional sense. But they had been doing what worked for them. Casual dates, a slower pace, adventures around every corner. There was none of this standard date night bullshit. No social media shout outs, tagged posts, or nauseating “look how much we like each other” pictures plastered together over a pink and red background with a name-blended hashtag to match. But they had been seeing each other, and it felt good. Tom gave Amanda something others hadn’t, he gave her encouragement to follow her dreams, kind words that showed how much he believed in her to do more with her life, amazing sex that she didn’t “get through” to have gotten some.
The lights would come and go at no particular interval. It was as though every morning someone deliberately spun the dial on a timer so that it was never actually set properly. Sometimes there wasn’t a real light in her dark corner, but only a glow from a nearby place. Sometimes there was no glow at all. Those were the days she decided that instead of a game of “Spin the Light,” it was “Kill the Lights.” No matter what the circumstances or environment Ali never lost her mind, she just waited patiently until she was freed to go home. That was her ultimate want, to return home.