Peter and I Like Rainy Days, part 1 (Xara POV)
Peter and I Like Rainy Days, part 1
Decembers in Georgia are not snowy and below freezing. The temperature is usually 40ish degrees outside, and it usually just rains. Peter and I like it this way. We love the fact that it is dreary outside, too. It adds a nice touch to our days of not having to go outside and do stuff. The pitter patter of the rain calmed Peter and me. On this particular day, a wall of water was falling out of the sky. It cascaded with the gray sky.
His father, Jamie, was sitting in his wheelchair without leg rests and watching the local news. He was a simple man who used to install dry wall for a living until he retired 15 years ago. Of course, he did not fully enjoy his retirement for too long because he broke his right hip shortly after he retired. He was a very nice guy who spoke slowly. He had light grayish blond curls and green eyes that hid behind thin-rimmed glasses.
His mother, Godiva, was sitting in the chair next to the couch where Peter was wrapped in a baby blue blanket that managed to cocoon his 7'4" body. Godiva was the caretaker of the house. She took care of Jamie and spoiled Peter. She had spunky gray hair on top of her head. Her leopard-print glasses covered bright blue eyes. She was sewing a Christmas gift for someone (probably Peter).
Peter was a beanstalk with luscious brown curls who also dressed his bluish green eyes with leopard print glasses. He is a drywall installer/finisher who works for the company his father started. He is also working on his second novel, Artie Wonderbloom and The Yellow Brick Road.
Artie Wonderbloom and the Yellow Brick Road is a sequel to his first novel, Artie Wonderbloom and The Green Gobbler. He is in the process of publishing the first novel, which was about this 12-year-old girl named Eileen who tragically lost her brother and had surreal dreams based on the trauma of losing him. She befriended Artie and attempted to save the innocence of the youth of America from the Green Gobbler who was secretly in cahoots with the reptilian race who actually rule the world. Her grandfather was a double agent with the CIA who worked for the United Nations, an organization that is secretly run by the Abominable Snowman. (If you haven’t read his novel in real life, I loosely described it as to not give away the premise of the ACTUAL novel. It’s Writer’s Code, and I don’t hate him that much. JUST ENOUGH TO BE SEETHINGLY JEALOUS OF HIS AMAZING TALENT THAT I WILL PROBABLY NEVER HAVE BECAUSE HE STOLE IT ALL BEFORE I WAS EVEN BORN. Jerk off.)
Meanwhile, in Artie Wonderbloom and the Yellow Brick Road, Artie somehow gets stuck in Kansas and meets his old friends from the first novel all over again: a marionette, a teddy bear, and Eileen (the now 15-year-old girl). These four characters travel along a Yellow Brick Road and confront the Wicked Witch of the DollHouse. Pretty much, they end up back where they started, but the environment around them changed completely into something unrecognizable (sort of like The Wizard of Oz, but more deranged). (In real life, he hasn’t even begun to write that novel. I have begun to write five stories in total, but not him. He insists on focusing on just ONE novel at a time. How dare he actually do things correctly! I can’t stand how perfect he is. Seriously, it’s fucking annoying for those of us who aren’t. Again, he’s a jerk off.)
He was a porn star for 20 years before he went back home to help take care of his father. His father’s medical bills have been so high that Peter spent all of his porn money on getting his parents out of medical debt, so he is now forced to work as a drywall installation professional just to pay the bills. Well, he could work at a profession where he just holds signs, but he didn’t like my idea of doing that.
Peter was absent-mindedly watching the news in his little baby blue cocoon. He didn’t feel like working more on his novels today. In fact, he didn’t feel like doing anything today.
Tug, his basenji, was lying next to him on the couch. He placed his head on Peter’s lap and also watched the news.
I was dust mopping the floor as usual. It seemed like a comfortable rainy day to me. It was one of those peaceful moments when no one felt the urge to talk.
Normally, Peter and I argue non-stop. We argue about everything: writing, religion, our jobs, President Trump, our sanity or lack thereof, racism, and even his cousin, Paul. I assume Peter was just tired. His bluish green eyes looked heavy. I assume Peter is an insomniac because he always looks exhausted. I was glad he was a little cocoon today.
When I was finished dust mopping, I sat down next to Tug and the cocoon boy. (He acted very boyish despite being 54 years old. He looked like one sometimes, too.) It was very serene to sit next to them. I know I was technically supposed to be mopping the floor, but Nature was telling me to sit next to them. To tell the truth, I was also very tired. It is amazing how much energy the rain could drain out of you just by merely existing. I assume that the lack of vitamin D outside was the reason for my lack of energy.
Tug let out a whine and looked at me. I pet Tug softly. Peter slipped a large hand from under his cocoon to also pet Tug. We were petting Tug and sometimes, our hands brushed up against each other. Tug dug his face more into Peter’s lap. He was scratching Tug, and I was softly scratching Peter’s hand.
After a while, Peter and I were holding hands as we were sitting on the couch. We were watching the news, which unfortunately included Donald Trump. Peter and I sighed.
Godiva and Jamie had their eyes peeled to the TV to view what their “great” President was going to say next. They were Trump supporters for some reason. I guess because they’re in their eighties. Peter and I definitely didn’t understand, and Tug probably didn’t either.
When Donald Trump’s face was on the screen, Peter and I let out a whiny moan of disgust.
“Oh God now what?” Peter asked as he rolled his eyes.
Decembers in Georgia are not snowy and below freezing. The temperature is usually 40ish degrees outside, and it usually just rains. Peter and I like it this way. We love the fact that it is dreary outside, too. It adds a nice touch to our days of not having to go outside and do stuff. The pitter patter of the rain calmed Peter and me. On this particular day, a wall of water was falling out of the sky. It cascaded with the gray sky.
His father, Jamie, was sitting in his wheelchair without leg rests and watching the local news. He was a simple man who used to install dry wall for a living until he retired 15 years ago. Of course, he did not fully enjoy his retirement for too long because he broke his right hip shortly after he retired. He was a very nice guy who spoke slowly. He had light grayish blond curls and green eyes that hid behind thin-rimmed glasses.
His mother, Godiva, was sitting in the chair next to the couch where Peter was wrapped in a baby blue blanket that managed to cocoon his 7'4" body. Godiva was the caretaker of the house. She took care of Jamie and spoiled Peter. She had spunky gray hair on top of her head. Her leopard-print glasses covered bright blue eyes. She was sewing a Christmas gift for someone (probably Peter).
Peter was a beanstalk with luscious brown curls who also dressed his bluish green eyes with leopard print glasses. He is a drywall installer/finisher who works for the company his father started. He is also working on his second novel, Artie Wonderbloom and The Yellow Brick Road.
Artie Wonderbloom and the Yellow Brick Road is a sequel to his first novel, Artie Wonderbloom and The Green Gobbler. He is in the process of publishing the first novel, which was about this 12-year-old girl named Eileen who tragically lost her brother and had surreal dreams based on the trauma of losing him. She befriended Artie and attempted to save the innocence of the youth of America from the Green Gobbler who was secretly in cahoots with the reptilian race who actually rule the world. Her grandfather was a double agent with the CIA who worked for the United Nations, an organization that is secretly run by the Abominable Snowman. (If you haven’t read his novel in real life, I loosely described it as to not give away the premise of the ACTUAL novel. It’s Writer’s Code, and I don’t hate him that much. JUST ENOUGH TO BE SEETHINGLY JEALOUS OF HIS AMAZING TALENT THAT I WILL PROBABLY NEVER HAVE BECAUSE HE STOLE IT ALL BEFORE I WAS EVEN BORN. Jerk off.)
Meanwhile, in Artie Wonderbloom and the Yellow Brick Road, Artie somehow gets stuck in Kansas and meets his old friends from the first novel all over again: a marionette, a teddy bear, and Eileen (the now 15-year-old girl). These four characters travel along a Yellow Brick Road and confront the Wicked Witch of the DollHouse. Pretty much, they end up back where they started, but the environment around them changed completely into something unrecognizable (sort of like The Wizard of Oz, but more deranged). (In real life, he hasn’t even begun to write that novel. I have begun to write five stories in total, but not him. He insists on focusing on just ONE novel at a time. How dare he actually do things correctly! I can’t stand how perfect he is. Seriously, it’s fucking annoying for those of us who aren’t. Again, he’s a jerk off.)
He was a porn star for 20 years before he went back home to help take care of his father. His father’s medical bills have been so high that Peter spent all of his porn money on getting his parents out of medical debt, so he is now forced to work as a drywall installation professional just to pay the bills. Well, he could work at a profession where he just holds signs, but he didn’t like my idea of doing that.
Peter was absent-mindedly watching the news in his little baby blue cocoon. He didn’t feel like working more on his novels today. In fact, he didn’t feel like doing anything today.
Tug, his basenji, was lying next to him on the couch. He placed his head on Peter’s lap and also watched the news.
I was dust mopping the floor as usual. It seemed like a comfortable rainy day to me. It was one of those peaceful moments when no one felt the urge to talk.
Normally, Peter and I argue non-stop. We argue about everything: writing, religion, our jobs, President Trump, our sanity or lack thereof, racism, and even his cousin, Paul. I assume Peter was just tired. His bluish green eyes looked heavy. I assume Peter is an insomniac because he always looks exhausted. I was glad he was a little cocoon today.
When I was finished dust mopping, I sat down next to Tug and the cocoon boy. (He acted very boyish despite being 54 years old. He looked like one sometimes, too.) It was very serene to sit next to them. I know I was technically supposed to be mopping the floor, but Nature was telling me to sit next to them. To tell the truth, I was also very tired. It is amazing how much energy the rain could drain out of you just by merely existing. I assume that the lack of vitamin D outside was the reason for my lack of energy.
Tug let out a whine and looked at me. I pet Tug softly. Peter slipped a large hand from under his cocoon to also pet Tug. We were petting Tug and sometimes, our hands brushed up against each other. Tug dug his face more into Peter’s lap. He was scratching Tug, and I was softly scratching Peter’s hand.
After a while, Peter and I were holding hands as we were sitting on the couch. We were watching the news, which unfortunately included Donald Trump. Peter and I sighed.
Godiva and Jamie had their eyes peeled to the TV to view what their “great” President was going to say next. They were Trump supporters for some reason. I guess because they’re in their eighties. Peter and I definitely didn’t understand, and Tug probably didn’t either.
When Donald Trump’s face was on the screen, Peter and I let out a whiny moan of disgust.
“Oh God now what?” Peter asked as he rolled his eyes.