Thanks to Varla for permission to use her lovely, whimsical image, "I Miss You..."!
Melliken puffed
on his pipe as he leaned back against the deep windowsill. The candle burned
low in the votive glass, flickering the golden light to lead her home. Burning
with the sadness that pressed on his heart. He tugged on the fringe of the red
plaid scarf she had made and wrapped around his neck, his claws pushed through
the fringe and retracted, a half-hearted nest treading motion.
He pulled his black
and gray striped bushy tail up and began to groom it between his forepaws,
remembering.
“Hey there,
handsome,” she said, crouched down low and holding out her hand as he hung by
the bushes, caution warring with curiosity, loneliness, and hunger. She stood
and walked away. When she returned with tuna, he wasted no time, eating his
fill of the small can and then jumping in her lap and curling up, purring. He’d
followed her all the way home.
“I can’t take you
with me,” she said, apology in her voice, as she packed her suitcase and kept
lifting him out of it. “Mary’s going to take good care of you while I’m gone.”
Sure. Mary was
nice enough, as roommates went. She never gave him tuna though. And she didn’t
pet him when he jumped up on the couch or her bed.
“Here you go,”
she wrapped her favorite scarf around his neck, tucking in the ends. “It’s got
my scent, so you won’t forget me.” As if.
Mary lit the
candle every night. Melliken always sat in the windowsill, fogging up the glass
and watching people, dogs, birds…
One thing he
would say for Mary. She never complained when he smoked his pipe in the window.
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Dogs
in house
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Houdini, Buddy
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Time
writing:
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20 minutes, interrupted
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November
word count:
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25,930
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Prompt: A light in the window, waiting for you
ReplyDeleteA car drove by, splashing up from the puddle a wall of water a good head-high on Spirit. She hissed in frustration and darted back underneath the doorstep where she had spent most of the recent rainstorm. She _hated_ water.
There were no more headlights either way on the street. She stepped out cautiously again, resisting the urge to shake and lick each paw as it trod on the damp cement. Rollos was back at home, probably curled up all snug with a pipe and book. Spirit had expected to be home by now; she hated travelling out in the city where anyone who looked at her saw just a common housecat.
They did not know – and could never know – that it was only reports from those like her and Rollos that let the humans continue to live their tiny lives on this tiny planet. She picked up a trot. The rain had stopped for now, but there was no guarantee the sky would not divest itself of more moisture at any moment.
Spirit stopped short a mental tirade against weather. Lots of creatures liked planets, and thought stationers like her were odd for desiring constant unchanging conditions. And the more time she spent in the field, the more she was appreciating the concept of seasons and how some variation might actually be positive. But not water falling from the sky. That was just barbaric.
She was in sight of home. A candle light flickered in the attic window. She bolted for the garden, leaping the front wall without touching down on its top and skidding around the back of the house. A light meant a message from above.
Time writing: 15 minutes
Oh, yes! Love it! Great world building and characterization and small touches! Well done :)
DeleteOh, how sad. Very good melancholy feel. And interesting end. Opens up possibilities -- why does one have a pipe-smoking cat, and what does Mary think of that?
ReplyDeleteThanks. I was actually dissatisfied with it, and I might give it another go sometime...You know how you have a good idea, and then when you start writing it down, it sort of fizzles on you? Argh.
Delete