100 Words: Outside the door

She wakes in the familiar, unfamiliar bed, and is already aching for it, needing, and soon, bare feet are slapping the cold floor

(he stops in the kitchen, holds perfectly still)

as she staggers to the bathroom, hitting her knees before the cold porcelain, bowing her head,

(he sets the knife down, wipes off his hands, pulls the pan off the burner, leaves his cigarette to ash)

hiccupping low and deep, and hunching again, gripping the bowl,

(he stands outside the door)

but when the door opens, she doesn’t shy away when he leans down to hold back her hair.

No tags for this post.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Flash. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 100 Words: Outside the door

  1. Lindy says:

    I don’t know why, but I love this one

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.