Ficlet: Souvenir
Jun. 6th, 2008 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rebcakeTitle: Souvenir
Rating: R (for bodily fluids)
Word Count: 290
Prompt: 069 - Band Candy (for the![[info]](https://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
still_grrr community)
Character: Joyce
Joyce started the dishwasher and wiped her hands as she surveyed the kitchen. Spic and span. She looked over the dining room, Everything was properly stowed. She peeked into the living room, and sighed at the rumpled afghan heaped on the couch and the lone water glass leaving a ring on the coffee table. She folded the blanket, put it away, and wiped up the ring, which, on further inspection, didn’t seem too bad. “That’s a blessing,” she thought.
It was Friday. Buffy had called out as she left the house, “Patrol, Bronze, mini-patrol. Don’t wait up!” She poured herself a finger of the good scotch and rummaged around for the new Artweek before heading up the stairs. A bath might be nice.
She went into her closet: “Just to grab my robe,” as she always told herself on Friday nights. As always, the robe remained on its hook inside the door. There, behind the wool coats that were only worn during a couple of weeks in February, was another coat, even more impractical.
She had briefly considered returning it to the shop, really she had. Instead, she’d just added the cost to the anonymous money order she’d sent to cover the broken window. But really, returning it had always been out of the question. She couldn’t, not with the little tear under the arm, where she’d stretched herself too far over the hood of the police car. Not with the tiny dot of melted chocolate, just there. Or with the stains that were smeared across the back, inside, above the hem. Those wouldn’t come out, and there was no washing it anyway, not with those ridiculous feathers everywhere. Joyce shivered, and smiled happily. Friday nights were sort of fun.
Rating: R (for bodily fluids)
Word Count: 290
Prompt: 069 - Band Candy (for the
still_grrr community)Character: Joyce
Joyce started the dishwasher and wiped her hands as she surveyed the kitchen. Spic and span. She looked over the dining room, Everything was properly stowed. She peeked into the living room, and sighed at the rumpled afghan heaped on the couch and the lone water glass leaving a ring on the coffee table. She folded the blanket, put it away, and wiped up the ring, which, on further inspection, didn’t seem too bad. “That’s a blessing,” she thought.
It was Friday. Buffy had called out as she left the house, “Patrol, Bronze, mini-patrol. Don’t wait up!” She poured herself a finger of the good scotch and rummaged around for the new Artweek before heading up the stairs. A bath might be nice.
She went into her closet: “Just to grab my robe,” as she always told herself on Friday nights. As always, the robe remained on its hook inside the door. There, behind the wool coats that were only worn during a couple of weeks in February, was another coat, even more impractical.
She had briefly considered returning it to the shop, really she had. Instead, she’d just added the cost to the anonymous money order she’d sent to cover the broken window. But really, returning it had always been out of the question. She couldn’t, not with the little tear under the arm, where she’d stretched herself too far over the hood of the police car. Not with the tiny dot of melted chocolate, just there. Or with the stains that were smeared across the back, inside, above the hem. Those wouldn’t come out, and there was no washing it anyway, not with those ridiculous feathers everywhere. Joyce shivered, and smiled happily. Friday nights were sort of fun.