Day 2

Andrea rolled over. "Hon, are you awake?" Deborah was awake and kept silent, playing possum to avoid her girlfriend's daily small talk and questions about what she'd do today or what groceries they were lacking. Accepting D's apparent sleep Andrea got out of bed and into the bathroom, taking a shower and preparing for the day. She always took her time, so Deborah opened her eyes and sat up slowly. She felt hungover in a guilty way. Andrea was so full of energy, owning that coffee shop and keeping it successful. Perhaps she was a demon, perhaps she had sucked out all Deborah's own energy. Perhaps Deborah really just felt guiltily hungover because she had yet to tell A about her non-existing new book, which was due what felt like ten minutes ago.

D scratched her neck and looked out the window and was reminded how she used to be able to write a short story about anything as common as looking out the window at other people's lives. The couple in the apartment opposite to her own who looked like they'd be in for a divorce anytime, the boy in the yard playing football with his friends, or the old man sweeping the pavement at any given moment. There used to be stories in that stuff but now they created one or two great sentences in her head at best and then disappeared. 

"Oh, you are awake!" Andrea stood in the doorway between the bedroom and the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair. "I haven't wiped the shower yet, in case you wanted to get up early today?" She sat down on their bed and put on some dark leggings, always caring about how much of a barista she looked like.

"Sure, sure. I'll be up in a few, the room's just very cold this morning, don't you think? Beds are too comfy too." said Deborah with a curved smile, trying to draw the time. "You're terribly lucky, you know that? Being a writer, being able to get out of bed whenever you feel like i- Oh, look at the time. I've got to go if I don't want my employees ruining the espresso machine." Andrea leaned over at pecked her on the cheek. "I'll do the shopping today, I'll be home at five. Write something for me today, hm? You know your little note-it poems turns my legs to jelly." As she rushed out the room, the tiny enstance hall and eventually the door, Deborah sank down under the covers once again. Not only was she in deep waters, she was also alone. 

Reviews

[Chris]

Art is life ...literally in some eyes. Reality is the fiction. Shame Day 3 is unpublished.

[Chris]

Art is life... literally in some eyes. Reality is the fiction.