A fragment which may become a longer story. What do you think?
She wakes and feels the fog around her already.
Her thighs smack together loudly as she walks out to get the clothes off the line. She wears only a towel. It blows around in the wind. Her wet hair drips water down her back. She goes inside and dresses herself.
The train lumbers through the just-lit neighbourhoods and she wonders if he is just waking. She tries to hold onto the metal bars of the train but her hands are sweaty and they slip. She hates the quiet of a crowded train, so many people but so little noise.
The house is still there when she gets home. No lights are on. She walks around it and turns the lights and heaters and radios on. Her fingers itch for buttons and switches. For light and heat and noise. Her bed is made and she sits on it for a while looking at the mirror and watching the mobile spin. He isn't there.
2 years ago