for "mini_nanowrimo" hence no friends lock 13
i thought this one was going to be hard. like 'open' was but it all came out really easily and i actually like it.
i won't ruin it by talking about it too much. enjoy?
Her mother-in-law, Susan, is wrapping gifts, at the kitchen table, beside her. There is a lull in conversation and she stands, Spanish coffee in hand, to look out the window. She can almost see the calculated and loving moments of Susan's hands as she uses a pair of scissors to curl red and gold pieces of ribbon. The gifts are wrapped identically, they are for her twin girls, Susan's beloved granddaughters.
Right now the girls are obsessed with being the same, they are fighting their natural personalities to stay as one. She has no other siblings and cannot really understand but she sees the fear in small eyes. They will change regardless soon enough, so she indulges them. They each get a hat, scarf and mitten set. All pre-picked out by the girls, stylishly fuzzy material. She has thrown in a pair of fuzzy socks, because she worries, too much, about cold feet in the winter time.
Next is a luxurious bath set. It is for the babysitter. Scented bath oils, sea salt, foaming bath balls, soaps shaped into exaggerated Christmas cliches . . . They are already wrapped but Susan is a perfectionist and undoes the wrapping to do it herself, properly. The combination of smells, sudden and stark in the room, brings her crashing down into her aunt's house.
It is the same time of year, weeks before Christmas, she is in the bathtub. She is the same age as her girls, in the middle of childhood. She is alone and playing with plastic containers and lids as boats. They float around her and she splashes, curious about how much water it takes to make them sink. There are strange smells here, not like at home with daddy. The barren bathroom there is always cold. This is painted peach and has a cushioned, peach toilet seat. She giggles when she sits on it. The soap makes her hands smell pretty for a long time and she invents reasons for her to wash her hands. Her aunt thinks she is a very tidy little girl. The praise tingles all the way to her toes. No one ever tells her she is good. No one ever says very much to her. Even when she cleans her bedroom without being told.
"There, almost done!" Susan proclaims proudly. She startles, coffee sloshing around in the nearly empty mug.
"Good. That's very good," she praises absently.
okay, i will say, i may have gotten a little carried away with the alliteration. ...oh well, ben folds would like it.
i won't ruin it by talking about it too much. enjoy?
Her mother-in-law, Susan, is wrapping gifts, at the kitchen table, beside her. There is a lull in conversation and she stands, Spanish coffee in hand, to look out the window. She can almost see the calculated and loving moments of Susan's hands as she uses a pair of scissors to curl red and gold pieces of ribbon. The gifts are wrapped identically, they are for her twin girls, Susan's beloved granddaughters.
Right now the girls are obsessed with being the same, they are fighting their natural personalities to stay as one. She has no other siblings and cannot really understand but she sees the fear in small eyes. They will change regardless soon enough, so she indulges them. They each get a hat, scarf and mitten set. All pre-picked out by the girls, stylishly fuzzy material. She has thrown in a pair of fuzzy socks, because she worries, too much, about cold feet in the winter time.
Next is a luxurious bath set. It is for the babysitter. Scented bath oils, sea salt, foaming bath balls, soaps shaped into exaggerated Christmas cliches . . . They are already wrapped but Susan is a perfectionist and undoes the wrapping to do it herself, properly. The combination of smells, sudden and stark in the room, brings her crashing down into her aunt's house.
It is the same time of year, weeks before Christmas, she is in the bathtub. She is the same age as her girls, in the middle of childhood. She is alone and playing with plastic containers and lids as boats. They float around her and she splashes, curious about how much water it takes to make them sink. There are strange smells here, not like at home with daddy. The barren bathroom there is always cold. This is painted peach and has a cushioned, peach toilet seat. She giggles when she sits on it. The soap makes her hands smell pretty for a long time and she invents reasons for her to wash her hands. Her aunt thinks she is a very tidy little girl. The praise tingles all the way to her toes. No one ever tells her she is good. No one ever says very much to her. Even when she cleans her bedroom without being told.
"There, almost done!" Susan proclaims proudly. She startles, coffee sloshing around in the nearly empty mug.
"Good. That's very good," she praises absently.
okay, i will say, i may have gotten a little carried away with the alliteration. ...oh well, ben folds would like it.