[Drabble]
Player: wormtailzerimar
Subject: Tommy and his nightly routine on his days off.
Table: B
Promt: 26. Writer's Choice
Notes: Yay repetition? o.O and a cyber-cookie to whoever guesses paid him a visit in his dream at 3 AM xP
Tommy went to bed at nine-thirty.
Drawn into his familiar couch by too much reality TV and bad talk shows with overweight white trash, ranting about who was the father of whose son.
Tommy woke up at eleven-thirty.
Charlie wanted to go outside, but when Tommy opened the door the dog trotted out, made a circle and then came right back in.
Tommy woke up at twelve-forty-five.
Panting, in a cold sweat and stared at a dark apartment that he was starting to hate. His nose still held the scent of fire and brimstone, he looked at his hand which was scalded in his dream when he had tried to reach for a door knob locking him out from his children.
Tommy woke up at one-thirty.
Charlie had once again joined Tom on the couch and was using his right arm as a pillow. He shoved him off, but the annoying tingling sensation that ran through his long finger tips discomfort left him awake for a little while.
Tommy woke up at one-fifty-five.
Just to roll over and go back to sleep.
Tommy woke up at three o’clock.
Some had laughed too much. Someone shot someone. Someone was screaming, and it made him scream and sit straight up in the couch.
Tommy couldn’t go to sleep at three-fifteen.
He got dressed and went outside his apartment, walked the streets aimlessly until he came to a bridge and stopped to watch the sun rise and settle in the morning sky.
Tommy went to breakfast at nine forty-five in the morning, and sat there for an hour drinking coffee.
Subject: Tommy and his nightly routine on his days off.
Table: B
Promt: 26. Writer's Choice
Notes: Yay repetition? o.O and a cyber-cookie to whoever guesses paid him a visit in his dream at 3 AM xP
Tommy went to bed at nine-thirty.
Drawn into his familiar couch by too much reality TV and bad talk shows with overweight white trash, ranting about who was the father of whose son.
Tommy woke up at eleven-thirty.
Charlie wanted to go outside, but when Tommy opened the door the dog trotted out, made a circle and then came right back in.
Tommy woke up at twelve-forty-five.
Panting, in a cold sweat and stared at a dark apartment that he was starting to hate. His nose still held the scent of fire and brimstone, he looked at his hand which was scalded in his dream when he had tried to reach for a door knob locking him out from his children.
Tommy woke up at one-thirty.
Charlie had once again joined Tom on the couch and was using his right arm as a pillow. He shoved him off, but the annoying tingling sensation that ran through his long finger tips discomfort left him awake for a little while.
Tommy woke up at one-fifty-five.
Just to roll over and go back to sleep.
Tommy woke up at three o’clock.
Some had laughed too much. Someone shot someone. Someone was screaming, and it made him scream and sit straight up in the couch.
Tommy couldn’t go to sleep at three-fifteen.
He got dressed and went outside his apartment, walked the streets aimlessly until he came to a bridge and stopped to watch the sun rise and settle in the morning sky.
Tommy went to breakfast at nine forty-five in the morning, and sat there for an hour drinking coffee.