I... NoOOOoooOooo
It's a oneshot... but like... 'oF aN oLd mAn' bc I felt like writing something sad and wholesome (ToT)
~~~~~#itsunfinishedbutitdoesntmatter~~~~~~
....
The window frame shudders, and the leaves are heavy against the brick walls of the home. Red paint chipped and puckered as the sharp ferns knick at the whitewash of the border. The raindrops fell like hail down the veins of the maple ashes that crowded the small cottage, attacking the big brown door that held the storm away from the lonely man inside.
The chimney had gone cold, the smoke long dwindled by the weather. The knolls are large, and thick with the tears of the sky. So green as the man stared out of his window, wirey frames amongst the plane of his nose. Stubble ruff as he lifted his mug, and gently sipped the chamomile tea that he'd make every night before he went off to his chamber.
His dog is perched on the wooden dip in the mounting, ears down, and tongue trapped between his lips as he pouts his head; dipping his eyes as he peers at the clouds. As angry as they were, they cried amongst the grasslands, and they made the dog mewl in distress. The dachshund let out a small whine as lightning fled through the air, the distant trees bending, and the branches groaning as they snapped unceremoniously.
Quietly, The man watched. Comforted by the cushioned armrest under his wrist, and the rocking chair that he continued to sway back and forth on. The wood groaned under his weight as he kicked off the floor pliantly when he came back forward.
The cupholder was filled with a collage of pictures, ones he took with his deceased wife. Her name was Micah. She was A beautiful blonde in her twenties and had blue eyes that never lost their luminescent gaze, even as she was dug six feet under.
He gulps as his eyes peer at t he paper, frown lines clutching to his face like a parasite. He tries to ignore the yearning in his gut. Even after all this time. He missed her smile, and he always will. He was in love.
Veering back forty years ago, I was a teen. Making my way through university with a large struggle on my shoulders. Family issues that were long forgotten, but were persistent at that time.
I'd met her in my second year of college. She was gorgeous then, but I didn't notice it.
It was when we took after-school classes for 'bright future scholarships' that she had tapped on my shoulder, face all bright and beaming. Her lips were thin, and her hair messy but petite. She wasn't tall, at that time. She was a British girl–had come all the way from Doncaster to become successful here.
She was what the entirety of the campus was talking about at the time.
"Hey," She'd said, voice thick. A little bit of Irish was noticeable. "Do you happen to have a new brush?" She held a brush, the roots stained with a pale white that had gone numb from lack of use and the palpacity of the air fresheners placed beyond the thresholds. "Mine got.." She peered at the bristles, pale knuckles red. "Stiff."
I'd blinked; I remember it clearly. I had sat there, looking at her like she was an alien who asked to abduct me. She was so pretty, that I couldn't form words. It was as if cotton balls were stuffed in my mouth, along with one of those plastic things that hold your jaw open for better or for worse.
But I'd said something, of course. I couldn't keep properly quiet for that amount of time.
"Um, no, I do not," I said, looking over at the table I was sitting at. "But.. there's a few spares in that plastic bin if I'm correct."
She'd nodded, the piercing on her eyebrow bright against her olive skin. A leaf tucked in the dip behind her ear. A smile peeked out of her rosy lips, and a gentle– "Thanks." Echoed into his ears like a tidal wave. He'd watched her walk away, lazy tilt in her shoulders and her teeth nibbling over her knuckle as she peered at the brush choices. Tapping her foot to the quiet drums in the room down the hallway.
