(no subject)
Who: Amelia Wright (Goldilocks) and Neil McLaughlin (Caterpillar).
Where: Amelia's apartment.
What: A much needed chat and slight intervention.
When: 4:15 PM
Rating: TBD
The corners, floors, kitchen, and various other rooms, not including Eleanor’s, had been cleaned to such a state of spotlessness that dirt itself feared being found in such a place. The living room, which had been cleared of all things minus the sofa, television, coffee table and the potted house plant Cassie had dumped on her the day prior (with a note that read: Come to work before you are better and I will kill you.) had bore the brunt of the latest hour of intense cleaning. Jennifer, the forlorn Doberman, could be found curled in the corner, keeping a weary eye on the contents of the room, mainly her master, ears perked to catch the sounds of any dangerous sounds, namely coughs. Amelia herself was draped haphazardly across the three chewed up cushions of the couch, trying to catch her breath, the smell of bleach doing nothing to help her pneumonia.
Amelia would have to grab the Febreeze before Neil got there and do a once over in the place, so he didn’t sniff out the chemicals and explain to her the various amounts of damage cleaning products could do to her while she was sick. Propping herself onto her feet, Amelia coughed once into her hand before working her way to the kitchen to grab the air freshener, ignoring her dog’s whine when the first coughed turned into a second then a third.
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the recent development or her sudden willingness to mention to Neil that she had a sister a long, long time ago. Could she blame the admittance on the illness? Likely, but he would still want an explanation of why she didn’t sleep well at night. A strong wave of sadness hit her as she reached the sink, hand resting lightly around the Febreeze bottle, making her stop and stare at the counter in blank thought. Could she even tell him that tomorrow, somewhere around dinner time, would be the twenty-ninth anniversary of her sister’s death? It was not an event or memory she often indulged to others, only the select few who had known her for years and had managed to remain her friends. The recollection, or lack thereof, was always too painful to finish.
Where: Amelia's apartment.
What: A much needed chat and slight intervention.
When: 4:15 PM
Rating: TBD
The corners, floors, kitchen, and various other rooms, not including Eleanor’s, had been cleaned to such a state of spotlessness that dirt itself feared being found in such a place. The living room, which had been cleared of all things minus the sofa, television, coffee table and the potted house plant Cassie had dumped on her the day prior (with a note that read: Come to work before you are better and I will kill you.) had bore the brunt of the latest hour of intense cleaning. Jennifer, the forlorn Doberman, could be found curled in the corner, keeping a weary eye on the contents of the room, mainly her master, ears perked to catch the sounds of any dangerous sounds, namely coughs. Amelia herself was draped haphazardly across the three chewed up cushions of the couch, trying to catch her breath, the smell of bleach doing nothing to help her pneumonia.
Amelia would have to grab the Febreeze before Neil got there and do a once over in the place, so he didn’t sniff out the chemicals and explain to her the various amounts of damage cleaning products could do to her while she was sick. Propping herself onto her feet, Amelia coughed once into her hand before working her way to the kitchen to grab the air freshener, ignoring her dog’s whine when the first coughed turned into a second then a third.
She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the recent development or her sudden willingness to mention to Neil that she had a sister a long, long time ago. Could she blame the admittance on the illness? Likely, but he would still want an explanation of why she didn’t sleep well at night. A strong wave of sadness hit her as she reached the sink, hand resting lightly around the Febreeze bottle, making her stop and stare at the counter in blank thought. Could she even tell him that tomorrow, somewhere around dinner time, would be the twenty-ninth anniversary of her sister’s death? It was not an event or memory she often indulged to others, only the select few who had known her for years and had managed to remain her friends. The recollection, or lack thereof, was always too painful to finish.