In the Style of Meursault

It has been said that all good stories begin with 'Once upon a time'. So.

Once upon a time, Mr. & Mrs. Johnston were sitting at the dinner table. They were quietly eating their dinner, the only sound in the room being that of expensive silver spoons clanking against equally expensive fine china bowls. Mr. Johnston noisily slurped at his soup from his spoon, earning him a sharp glare from his wife. He bowed his head apologetically. They finished their meal in silence.

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Mr. Johnston opened his eyes blearily and blinked a few times. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. The alarm clock read 4:45am. 15 minutes early. Mr. Johnston debated going back to sleep, but decided against it. He knew he would not be able to wake up again if he succumbed to the warmth of his bed. Instead, he rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the restroom, where he proceeded to pee, brush his teeth, shower, and shave- not necessarily in that order. His actions woke up his slumbering wife.

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Mrs. Johnston remained seated on her stool, staring fixedly at a large, busy gray spider on her ceiling. She hugged her bathrobe closer to her body in an attempt to warm her chilled body. The clock read 5:56am. A loud honk that seemed to come from the driveway broke her concentration. She looked away from the spider, somewhat reluctantly, and walked barefoot to the doorway, ignoring the cold tiles under her feet. Mr. Johnston was pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. He waved at her. Mrs. Johnston lifted her left hand in a feeble wave back. He zoomed away. Mrs. Johnston blinked and let her hand flop down to her side again. She turned and walked back inside.

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The spider was still busy, furiously working away on his elegant looking web. Mrs. Johnston was eating lunch by herself, wondering why the mayo on her sandwich made her feel so nauseous. She threw her sandwich away. What she really craved were some pickles and a pint of slow churned rocky road.

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When her husband arrived home from work, he greeted her with his customary hug and kiss before heading for the living room. He sank into their comfortably worn sofa and removed his black Rockport Ellingwoods. He reached for the remote control and began to watch ESPN. It was not particularly interesting.

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They had dinner.

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It was delicious.

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The couple sat close together, watching the nightly 9pm news. A young man had been arrested in South Dakota for assault on a police officer. Apparently, he believed the police officer to be the man whom had slept with his girlfriend. It is safe to assume that they are no longer together. Mrs. Johnston rested her head against her husband's shoulder. He glanced down at her. He liked the way her rich brown hair contrasted with his own blonde hair. When he returned his attention to the TV, he noted it was now on commercial: a small golden retriever puppy chased a roll of toilet paper in a vibrantly green meadow dotted with small pink and white and green and blue and red and yellow and purple and orange flowers. The puppy's tail wagged fervently, and his long pink tongue lolled out of his mouth.  His warm brown eyes sparkled with excitement, focused only on the toilet paper. Mr. Johnston thought he made a rather determined picture. He decided he would like to own a small golden retriever dog so that he, too, could take it to a beautiful green meadow where toilet paper commercials were shot. He would make sure to bring a fresh roll of TP. He said this aloud. What he said was: "Honey, one day I will buy us a small, determined yellow dog. I will take him to the meadow where he can roll around in the flowers and eat grass. But he won't do any of that. He'll chase toilet paper instead. And our children will chase him. It'll be like follow the leader!" Mr. Johnston finished excitedly, proud of  himself. His idea seemed like a very good one. Johnston looked down at his wife to see what she thought of his plan. He was startled and upset when he noticed her lovely brown eyes shining wetly, tears streaming down her cheeks. The flickering light of the television in the otherwise dark room made her tears look silver. It was quite beautiful, in an odd and hauntingly depressing way. Mr. Johnston opened his mouth to say something comforting, but closed it again when he realized he didn't even know why she was crying. Everyone knows you can't console anyone when you don't know the cause for their grief. He just hoped it wasn't because of anything he'd said.

So Mr. Johnston kept his eyes on the TV, listening to a news anchor give a riveting report on the progress of some court-case that had "shaken the nation". He pretended not to be aware of the fact that his hand had drifted to his wife's and was now squeezing it gently. A silent attempt at solace. His wife cried harder, but made sure to not make a sound.

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The next morning was a Saturday, which meant that the couple could sleep in. It was around 8:00am when Mr. Johnston woke up. He stretched for a moment before rolling over. His wife was missing. That was strange; she was usually a heavy sleeper, often sleeping till noon. Laying in bed, he could hear faint noises escaping the confinements of the restroom door. 'They sound like someone is throwing up', Mr. Johnston thought speculatively.

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10 minutes later, his wife emerged from the restroom. She glided over to the bed and sat down gracefully. Mr. Johnston loved her grace. He thought this was what had first attracted him to her. Mrs. Johnston stared at him for a few seconds, a peculiar expression on her face. Her lips were upturned in delicate smile. Curiosity got the better of Mr. Johnston, and he asked her "What?" in a sleep roughened voice. All this month his wife had been acting strangely, and it had begun to worry him. His wife's smile grew wider and she leaned over him to whisper in his ear. He got a wide eyed look of astonishment on his face. Her mood swings, her strange behavior...

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Mr. Johnston fainted.

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Mrs. Johnston looked at her unconscious husband fondly. She pulled the duvet around his body and slid out of bed. In the restroom, she picked up the blue box with a graphic on it that resembled a wavy sun from the sink and threw it away. It contained a little strip of paper that had turned blue. As Mrs. Johnston walked out, she decided she rather liked the name Adelina. She had had a good childhood friend named Adelina, once.

A/N: Hey guys:) this is my first time writing a short story, so if you have any advice, comments, questions, etc. please let me know! I know I'm not the best writer, but I had a lot of fun writing this story, so I want to thank you for reading it. Tell me what you think! 5/27/2013