Door Bell

I handed him flowers on the day of our anniversary, in hopes that it'd smooth out all wrinkles and wash out all stains that had risen on the fabric of our relationship along the years. They were beautiful chrysanthemums. They smelled wonderful, those ornamental flowers, and I couldn't wait to put them in a vase.

I tapped my knuckles on his wooden door and awaited the shriek of the doors hinges that were so familiar to the likes of me. I smiled briskly in silence. When no one responded to my knocking, I rang the doorbell. I never touched the button before and the way the sound of the bell seemed to echo in the house and seep out of the door and the way the ring of the bell seemed to endlessly linger in my mind scared me.

As these thoughts ran in my mind, the door hinges yelled for grease and I was finally calmed. My boyfriend, Waylon, stood at the door with nothing but a robe on. His eyes were grim and hung ridiculously low with sleep. His mouth was slightly ajar and most likely stunk with stale morning-breath.

"Iris," He murmured my name tiredly, "Have you any idea as to what hour of the morning you chose to stop by? What is it that you want?"

I smiled briefly then held the flowers up to my face, snickering with glee, "I bought you some lovely chrysanthemums!"

"I loathe flowers. I loathe them so much."

"What? Why? They're so lovely!" My grin faded as quickly as the sky at twilight.

"Why?!" Waylon crossed his arms smugly. "Well, flowers are only as sweet as the soil and dirt that nurtured them! And soil is not pleasant in the least, is it?" I heard him snicker under his breath. Then just to make matters worse, I heard a voice come from inside the house. Waylon's tired face changed into an expression of panic and fear. A figure emerged from the darkness within his house.

"Waylon, darling, come back inside..." A familiar voice of a woman sang sweetly into Waylon's ears. His face was still frozen and his eyes were stuck on me. I still couldn't see her.

"Who's there, dear?" The woman scoffed with curious anger. I blinked in trepidation when I saw her face finally come out from inside. Her eyes widened when she saw my face contort into a glare of utter disgust. I could hear the shrill of the door bell in my ears again. I snapped out of my stupor, ignoring the rising rings in my head, and found the courage to say something.

"M-Mother?!"

Author's Note

This story is an... *unrelated*... prequel to my other story, "Viking Star". This is just a story I wrote for fun though...

Reviews

[T. W. Hirsch]

Adds some strange background to Waylon when you know the story of Viking Star... You can infer that other than wanting to become a Viking, Waylon was regretful while he was standing on the ledge. Well, this is some excellent work.

[Honor'd]

Yea, that's what I intended... Thanks so much, Tristie