Theme 46: An Empty Picture Frame
Today's theme:
An Empty Picture Frame1. Submit your drabble that fits this theme as a comment to this post. It should be between 100-300 words, if you go over/under a bit that's fine! If it's longer than say 400 words, I ask that you post on your journal or fanfiction.net and then submit the link to this post. If you find that your story is going ( Read more... )
An Empty Picture Frame1. Submit your drabble that fits this theme as a comment to this post. It should be between 100-300 words, if you go over/under a bit that's fine! If it's longer than say 400 words, I ask that you post on your journal or fanfiction.net and then submit the link to this post. If you find that your story is going ( Read more... )
Claim: fandom
Rating: PG
Drabbles completed so far: 19/100
It's a Tuesday.
Another ordinary, boring Tuesday. Brian is out God knows where, probably drinking, and Loren is at home, still. She hasn't left since her doctor's appointment on Friday.
She hasn't told him yet, either. She's frightened of what he'll do. Might hit her. Might threaten to leave, might threaten to kick her out, might follow through if she doesn't get rid of the child she already loves. And maybe that's not such a bad thing because he's not the man she married and she isn't sure what's changed. Maybe she needs to be rid of him.
But it's the principle of the thing. She pledged her life to this man, for better or for worse, till death do them part. And there's something about this house, something she can't quite put a finger on, but she doesn't want to leave.
So instead she cleans, because Brian isn't going to and she has nothing better to do. She starts in the den. Vacuums the carpet and sofa cushions, polishes the coffee table, dusts the mantelpiece. As she lifts the frame on the left end (previously half-hidden by the obligatory wedding photo) she notices with a start that it's empty.
Frowning, she turns it over and pries open the frame, reading the caption scrawled on the back of the photo in her own handwriting.
Al Fangor
Yosemite
'82
Just last year, then. She hasn't been to Yosemite in ages. And she doesn't know anyone named Al Fangor, though the name brings about a flicker of recognition she can't quite place.
She turns the frame over again, and on the blank background she catches just a glimpse of what should be there, something wonderful and forbidden. Just for a heartbeat and then it's gone.
Disturbed, she closes the frame up again and puts it back behind the wedding photo. It's nothing but a blank photograph but somehow she feels like it deserves a place on the mantelpiece, not quite on display.
She steps back and wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans before retrieving the duster and continuing her task.
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