(original) windbreaker
(for pulped_fictions : winter pulpympics: snow drabble #3)
314 words. G. sequel to hello, goodbye
It was high time for Lily-Ann to grow up.
I can’t take my eyes off you,
I can’t take my eyes off you -
(Damien Rice: The Blower’s Daughter)
Lily-Ann dives for a carton of milk, closing the fridge door just a bit too loud. Her teeth clenched, she stretches for a bowl. That’s exactly when Donovan decides to propose - while she’s balancing precariously on the tip of her toes.
“I - I need to talk to you.”
Her voice is more urgent than she intended.
“Could we meet?”
So it begins.
Rick says yes instantly, without thinking - that’s so not him. Only after hanging up he sits down in his favourite rickety chair, and allows himself the time to come to terms with the consequences. There will be none, he thinks; he should know better.
He spends too long rummaging through his clothes. He doesn’t own too many anyway; unlike Donovan, always smart in his expensive casual suits. Rick can boast with an impressive collection of shirts, though, and that’s exactly what he’ll wear: a shirt. It’s a checked shirt, perfect for those touched by a Wild West nostalgia.
She circles her car without saying a word.
Rick would think it’s tiring to follow, if she weren’t Lily-Ann. He leans against his car, for a change - they look like the protagonists of a mob job gone soft.
“He’s asking me to marry him.”
Present continuous. It’s a good sign.
“He’s asking me to marry him while you lean on your car, oblivious.”
She pauses; not for effect. If Rick could see her face, he’d notice the shattered eyes.
“This - this is overwhelming. Rick.” (The sound of his name on her lips hits him hard.) “It keeps coming.” She suddenly turns around, facing him. Her eyes have grown wide, her lips have turned pale. There’s determination in the way she’s clenching her fists - determination, and something else. “It’s like a storm; strong; invincible.”
They stop for coffee at a drive-by.
Rick would have never thought there were so many meanings of the word windbreaker.
314 words. G. sequel to hello, goodbye
It was high time for Lily-Ann to grow up.
I can’t take my eyes off you,
I can’t take my eyes off you -
(Damien Rice: The Blower’s Daughter)
Lily-Ann dives for a carton of milk, closing the fridge door just a bit too loud. Her teeth clenched, she stretches for a bowl. That’s exactly when Donovan decides to propose - while she’s balancing precariously on the tip of her toes.
“I - I need to talk to you.”
Her voice is more urgent than she intended.
“Could we meet?”
So it begins.
Rick says yes instantly, without thinking - that’s so not him. Only after hanging up he sits down in his favourite rickety chair, and allows himself the time to come to terms with the consequences. There will be none, he thinks; he should know better.
He spends too long rummaging through his clothes. He doesn’t own too many anyway; unlike Donovan, always smart in his expensive casual suits. Rick can boast with an impressive collection of shirts, though, and that’s exactly what he’ll wear: a shirt. It’s a checked shirt, perfect for those touched by a Wild West nostalgia.
She circles her car without saying a word.
Rick would think it’s tiring to follow, if she weren’t Lily-Ann. He leans against his car, for a change - they look like the protagonists of a mob job gone soft.
“He’s asking me to marry him.”
Present continuous. It’s a good sign.
“He’s asking me to marry him while you lean on your car, oblivious.”
She pauses; not for effect. If Rick could see her face, he’d notice the shattered eyes.
“This - this is overwhelming. Rick.” (The sound of his name on her lips hits him hard.) “It keeps coming.” She suddenly turns around, facing him. Her eyes have grown wide, her lips have turned pale. There’s determination in the way she’s clenching her fists - determination, and something else. “It’s like a storm; strong; invincible.”
They stop for coffee at a drive-by.
Rick would have never thought there were so many meanings of the word windbreaker.