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Week 1 is off with a bang, and the first topic is an intersection, where I write alongside and inspired by a partner. My partner for this first week is the wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
barrelofrain, whose link is here! You can read either thread first, I am curious to see if people who read mine first get a different impression than people who flip-flop it.
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"It's got a great porch," you murmur as you lean a little harder into the sliding glass door: it sticks. The interested couple trails you slowly, ducklings following their mother, as you step out onto the back porch and breathe in the sticky-bun warmth of an early summer morning. It's cloying and humid and you can't get enough of it. "We recently stained it, so you shouldn't have to." The husband makes an apropos noise in the back of his throat and his wife "hem hem"s in agreement. They meander toward the steps down into the yard and you clutch the banister on the steps for support. The memories here, now? You haven't thought of her in days ...
The soft swish of a hammock gliding back and forth, gently rocking its occupants. A clicking noise as a croquet ball drifts across the grass before connecting with another. Laughter ringing from around the grill as she holds the spatula aloft, proclaiming herself the Goddess of the Barbecue You wrap your arms around her and kiss her like in that World War II poster where the girl kicks her heel up, and so does she, and you both giggle as she not-so-soberly announces that you are God of the Lawnmower.
"Oh, is that a dog house?" The wife exclaims, and it's the first shred of emotion you've seen her express all morning. "Yes ma'am, just repainted it last week." She grips her husband by the arm and half-drags him away, yammering about how they can finally get that puppy they've wanted for so long!
The top to a bottle of ketchup collides with the toe of your sandal, and as you stoop to pick it up, an empty beer can collides with the crown of your head. She shrieks at you, her mouth moving but words don't seem to be coming out. She is drunk and you are far, far too sober for this conversation, but you can't seem to convince her otherwise. Please, no, you think. Not this, not now, not after all I have done for you. But you can't do anything right, it seems, and in this moment she turns on her bright blue stiletto heel and storms off into the house with the puppy tucked neatly under her arm like a Christmas parcel.
"I think we might just take it!" the husband smiles brightly and shakes your hand, and you grip him back and smile also, hoping it's a convincing enough return. Some business cards are exchanged, some realtor's phone numbers, and the pair slips out through the side gate, gripping hands and swaying a bit in rediscovered marital bliss on the way to the car. You lock the gate and turn to go back inside, twisting anxiously at your wedding ring. One of these days, you'll find the strength to take it off.
barrelofrain, whose link is here! You can read either thread first, I am curious to see if people who read mine first get a different impression than people who flip-flop it.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"It's got a great porch," you murmur as you lean a little harder into the sliding glass door: it sticks. The interested couple trails you slowly, ducklings following their mother, as you step out onto the back porch and breathe in the sticky-bun warmth of an early summer morning. It's cloying and humid and you can't get enough of it. "We recently stained it, so you shouldn't have to." The husband makes an apropos noise in the back of his throat and his wife "hem hem"s in agreement. They meander toward the steps down into the yard and you clutch the banister on the steps for support. The memories here, now? You haven't thought of her in days ...
The soft swish of a hammock gliding back and forth, gently rocking its occupants. A clicking noise as a croquet ball drifts across the grass before connecting with another. Laughter ringing from around the grill as she holds the spatula aloft, proclaiming herself the Goddess of the Barbecue You wrap your arms around her and kiss her like in that World War II poster where the girl kicks her heel up, and so does she, and you both giggle as she not-so-soberly announces that you are God of the Lawnmower.
"Oh, is that a dog house?" The wife exclaims, and it's the first shred of emotion you've seen her express all morning. "Yes ma'am, just repainted it last week." She grips her husband by the arm and half-drags him away, yammering about how they can finally get that puppy they've wanted for so long!
The top to a bottle of ketchup collides with the toe of your sandal, and as you stoop to pick it up, an empty beer can collides with the crown of your head. She shrieks at you, her mouth moving but words don't seem to be coming out. She is drunk and you are far, far too sober for this conversation, but you can't seem to convince her otherwise. Please, no, you think. Not this, not now, not after all I have done for you. But you can't do anything right, it seems, and in this moment she turns on her bright blue stiletto heel and storms off into the house with the puppy tucked neatly under her arm like a Christmas parcel.
"I think we might just take it!" the husband smiles brightly and shakes your hand, and you grip him back and smile also, hoping it's a convincing enough return. Some business cards are exchanged, some realtor's phone numbers, and the pair slips out through the side gate, gripping hands and swaying a bit in rediscovered marital bliss on the way to the car. You lock the gate and turn to go back inside, twisting anxiously at your wedding ring. One of these days, you'll find the strength to take it off.
