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A new drabble for Andrew and Dawn, set in the near future of Anywhere Out of This World.
Everyone Has One
Lying on the bed together, their heads on propped elbows, Dawn asks, “What is your great fear?”
Without hesitation, he answers: “Loneliness.”
She rolls onto her back. Thinks about that. Places it beside her own fear and compares.
“Mine’s spiders,” she says, a touch contrite. She decides, “Loneliness is much, much worse.”
Andrew rolls onto his back too, and now they’re watching the ceiling, with its pattern of whorls and cracks
that look to her like an old woman’s face, to him like a road map tacked to a wall.
“I dunno,” he offers. “You could be alone with spiders.”
Maybe
Dawn brought her lips to his. She held them there, waiting for his response.
After several breathless seconds, she opened her eyes to find his closed. His body seemed paralyzed –
stiffened, as it were – and utterly still.
“Andrew?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she felt she had erred to the highest degree. Maybe she’d misread their banter.
Maybe it was nervous banter. Maybe it was just banter banter, and she’d just veered of course with it, and
he was so stunned, so furious it was all he could do to keep from slapping her as she’d once slapped him for the
same offense.
A moan escaped his lips. Dawn backpedaled mentally, prepared to profusely apologize.
Andrew opened his eyes. He said, “Do that again.”
Two Linked Drabbles, One for Andrew and One for Dawn. Although, they're really both for Andrew.
Child’s Play
Dawn in PJs and knee socks. Pillow fights. Digital camera. Ticklish spots. And laughter. Lots and lots of
laughter. Eating peanut butter from a spoon. Maps drawn on her body with his fingers. Dividing her up,
conquering...
Games of Life, Risk, Monopoly lasting for days until she caved because he had all the money and land, and she
was sure he’d cheated anyway.
He hadn’t cheated. On his honor, he hadn’t.
There’d been a time when he never considered kissing those full lips. Then another when he couldn’t imagine
not kissing them; the sorrow made more beautiful in their loss.
Territory
“Stop it,” he begged. “You don’t know how hard this has been.”
Dawn said, “It’s been hard for me too. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. Not with us.”
Andrew couldn’t be sure what things she meant. The things before, when they were together. Or the things
now. The after.
They were older, now. Only a matter of days, really, but older in their innocence spoiled. He had no desire for
games or toys. No first-person narratives of Andrew Wells.
He loved her. That was the thing.
How could he walk away, when the boundaries were just being drawn?
Everyone Has One
Lying on the bed together, their heads on propped elbows, Dawn asks, “What is your great fear?”
Without hesitation, he answers: “Loneliness.”
She rolls onto her back. Thinks about that. Places it beside her own fear and compares.
“Mine’s spiders,” she says, a touch contrite. She decides, “Loneliness is much, much worse.”
Andrew rolls onto his back too, and now they’re watching the ceiling, with its pattern of whorls and cracks
that look to her like an old woman’s face, to him like a road map tacked to a wall.
“I dunno,” he offers. “You could be alone with spiders.”
Maybe
Dawn brought her lips to his. She held them there, waiting for his response.
After several breathless seconds, she opened her eyes to find his closed. His body seemed paralyzed –
stiffened, as it were – and utterly still.
“Andrew?” she asked.
When he didn’t answer, she felt she had erred to the highest degree. Maybe she’d misread their banter.
Maybe it was nervous banter. Maybe it was just banter banter, and she’d just veered of course with it, and
he was so stunned, so furious it was all he could do to keep from slapping her as she’d once slapped him for the
same offense.
A moan escaped his lips. Dawn backpedaled mentally, prepared to profusely apologize.
Andrew opened his eyes. He said, “Do that again.”
Two Linked Drabbles, One for Andrew and One for Dawn. Although, they're really both for Andrew.
Child’s Play
Dawn in PJs and knee socks. Pillow fights. Digital camera. Ticklish spots. And laughter. Lots and lots of
laughter. Eating peanut butter from a spoon. Maps drawn on her body with his fingers. Dividing her up,
conquering...
Games of Life, Risk, Monopoly lasting for days until she caved because he had all the money and land, and she
was sure he’d cheated anyway.
He hadn’t cheated. On his honor, he hadn’t.
There’d been a time when he never considered kissing those full lips. Then another when he couldn’t imagine
not kissing them; the sorrow made more beautiful in their loss.
Territory
“Stop it,” he begged. “You don’t know how hard this has been.”
Dawn said, “It’s been hard for me too. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. Not with us.”
Andrew couldn’t be sure what things she meant. The things before, when they were together. Or the things
now. The after.
They were older, now. Only a matter of days, really, but older in their innocence spoiled. He had no desire for
games or toys. No first-person narratives of Andrew Wells.
He loved her. That was the thing.
How could he walk away, when the boundaries were just being drawn?