Categories > Original > Drama
Scottish Rain
0 reviewsA simple one-shot of my boyfriend and myself many nights of being a parent. Please remember, this is set in the future.
0Unrated
It was a quiet evening in a small farming community nestled in the vibrant green hills of Scotland. The sky was a dark gray, clouds forming a thick, rainy ceiling above the heads and roofs of this small town. Waves of the grey sea crashed against the rocks of the shores. The good folks of this majestic place settled down for supper as the day grew to a close.
One large house in particular, had finished their meal. A family of four. The good husband and wife had made themselves comfy on the couch in the living room, snuggled together for the warmth, listening to the rain hit the ceiling. Not more than a few years ago, the husband had put these walls together with his own two hands. Sitting off to the side of the comfy, red couch was a white bassinet containing two small bundles.
The wife sighed a content sigh, listening to the beats of her husband’s heart, watching the bassinet as her eyes slowly closed, the two bundles making a quick movement every now and then. Her eyes fell closed, shutting of her blue windows to the world around her. His heartbeat was her lullaby. She felt her own eyelashes sweep against her the tops of cheek bones. Her eye lids rolled up like those of old shades in the cartoons. Her husband sat her up genteelly and moved to the end of the couch.
The screams of a tiny baby flooded her ears. She watched as he sat up from the couch and moved towards the bassinet, silently. He leaned in and came up with the blue bundle. She sinked lower into the sofa and sighed another content sigh. Owen. She leaned her head against the arm of the sofa as he placed the baby’s head on his shoulder. A tiny arm and hand poked through the thick, light blue blanket and gripped the father’s shirt. A natural warmth came over her.
“No, no, don’t cry,” he said in his thick Scottish brood. Chills ran down the wife’s spine, her fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. “Ssh, ssh, why are you crying?”
She watched as he sat back down, moving the small boy into a cradling position, he dug through the blanket and came back up with a pacifier. He placed the security item into the child’s mouth. Only whimpers now and a smile grew on his face. Those quiet moments never last with a small baby. The pacifier was out of the mouth in a blink of the eye and the screams continued. He turned to his wife, “Hun, could you grab me his bottle?”
She nodded and got up from the couch. He watched as she moved into the kitchen and swept open the refrigerator door. She was small framed, surprising him and the doctors that she could carry twins. She about her old figure back, either she was lucky or she did it out of spite. She found the light blue bottle and snaked back to the couch where she handed the bottle to her husband. The chill of the cold milk filled bottle cooled his warm hands. He eased the bottle into the boy’s mouth.
It’s what he wanted, sucking eagerly and looking up at his father with big expressive blue eyes. He stood up and took the child upstairs. She grabbed the pink bundle, their daughter, and headed upstairs as well. The little girl was so tiny, even being Owen’s twin. She walked into the nursery and saw her husband sitting in the rocking chair, placed in the corner. She gave him a smile and placed the baby girl into the crib. She kissed the baby on the forehead and then turned to kiss her husband.
As she left, she heard the whines and fussing of Owen telling daddy he needed to be burped. She walked into their bedroom and threw on her pajamas. She sat on the bed and allowed her eyes to graze across her 1,000 horror films before picking out an old favorite, Hit and Run. She placed the disc in the DVD player and fell back on the many pillows after hitting play. She noticed her husband walking into the bedroom. He quickly took his shirt off and threw it in the hamper, “Ugh, he threw up on me. Boy drinks to fast.”
After he changed into only his boxers, he climbed into bed, pulling his wife close to him. The beating of his heart and the screams of the movie allowed her to drift to sleep, only to be awoken what seemed only a few moments later. A baby was fussing, Owen again. Her husband searched for his glasses on the nightstand and he yawned. He walked off towards the nursery and picked his son up.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry, no, papa’s here,” he cooed with his thick accent. He began to rock the boy, “/Rock a by baby, in the tree-/”
He only got so far when Owen’s screams became louder than his own singing. Soon, another cry joined in, Cindy’s. He peered into the crib and softly cooed at his daughter, “Ohh, what’s wrong wee lassie?”
He picked up and cradled the twins as they both screamed. He tried everything to calm the screaming babies down, he bounced his arms and kept cooing at them, until Cindy dropped the hint. Her screams became shaky. That was her hunger cry. He smiled, “Does my wee lil’ lassie want her bottle?” His face turned to Owen, “Papa has to set you down.”
He placed Owen in the car seat, which he had left near the rocking chair. Owen screamed louder after leaving the warmth and safety of his daddy’s arms. He kissed him on the head, “Papa will be right back.”
Owen shoved his arms out and made the classic grabbing motion with his chubby little hands. He looked back at the form of his sleeping wife. “Owen, you don’t wanna wake mommy do you?”
Leaving the screaming Owen, he took the screaming Cindy downstairs to get her bottle, finding the pink bottle, he grabbed the light blue one for Owen. With a feeding for Cindy, he knew Owen’s next feeding wasn’t far off. He eased the bottle into Cindy’s mouth. He made his way upstairs and into the nursery, where he sat down, placing Owen’s bottle on the dresser next to the rocking chair. With his foot, he turned the car seat around, so while he fed Cindy, he could see his son.
He sat in the rocking chair, rocking Cindy as she sucked on the bottle. Having to tap the bottom of the bottle when she would start to drift off to sleep. He kept rocking Owen in the car seat with his foot. Owen continued to scream louder and louder. It was becoming a wonder how his wife was sleeping through their son’s banshee like cries. He kept smiling at Owen, when those rare times, he would allow his blue eyes to see his father.
Soon, Owen’s cries became known as hunger as he began to burp Cindy, this time using a burping towel. He cradled her again, asleep instantly. He gingerly placed his daughter back into the crib and wound the mobile up. The twinkling tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star floated through the nursery. He picked up Owen and the bottle and sat right back down, placing the bottle into his son’s mouth. He sucked eagerly and fast at the milk.
He removed the bottle and started up the cries again. He bounced Owen in the crook of his arm, “You gotta slow down laddie, you spit up on papa last time.”
He allowed Owen to eat again, removing the bottle when necessary. The bottle soon ran dry, Owen placed his hands on the bottle, trying to force more milk out. He shoved it away from his mouth and continued to cry. He placed Owen’s face on his shoulder and began to pat him on his back. After hearing a small hiccup, he placed Owen next to his sister in the crib and rewound the mobile.
He walked back into the bedroom and looked at the clock. 4:50. Only ten more minutes of sleep before he’d have to get up and start the work on the farm. He placed his glasses on the nightstand and got back into the warm bed. As if she knew, his wife, snuggled up to him, letting out another content sigh. He smiled as he held his wife while listening to the patter of the Scottish rain on the window.
One large house in particular, had finished their meal. A family of four. The good husband and wife had made themselves comfy on the couch in the living room, snuggled together for the warmth, listening to the rain hit the ceiling. Not more than a few years ago, the husband had put these walls together with his own two hands. Sitting off to the side of the comfy, red couch was a white bassinet containing two small bundles.
The wife sighed a content sigh, listening to the beats of her husband’s heart, watching the bassinet as her eyes slowly closed, the two bundles making a quick movement every now and then. Her eyes fell closed, shutting of her blue windows to the world around her. His heartbeat was her lullaby. She felt her own eyelashes sweep against her the tops of cheek bones. Her eye lids rolled up like those of old shades in the cartoons. Her husband sat her up genteelly and moved to the end of the couch.
The screams of a tiny baby flooded her ears. She watched as he sat up from the couch and moved towards the bassinet, silently. He leaned in and came up with the blue bundle. She sinked lower into the sofa and sighed another content sigh. Owen. She leaned her head against the arm of the sofa as he placed the baby’s head on his shoulder. A tiny arm and hand poked through the thick, light blue blanket and gripped the father’s shirt. A natural warmth came over her.
“No, no, don’t cry,” he said in his thick Scottish brood. Chills ran down the wife’s spine, her fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. “Ssh, ssh, why are you crying?”
She watched as he sat back down, moving the small boy into a cradling position, he dug through the blanket and came back up with a pacifier. He placed the security item into the child’s mouth. Only whimpers now and a smile grew on his face. Those quiet moments never last with a small baby. The pacifier was out of the mouth in a blink of the eye and the screams continued. He turned to his wife, “Hun, could you grab me his bottle?”
She nodded and got up from the couch. He watched as she moved into the kitchen and swept open the refrigerator door. She was small framed, surprising him and the doctors that she could carry twins. She about her old figure back, either she was lucky or she did it out of spite. She found the light blue bottle and snaked back to the couch where she handed the bottle to her husband. The chill of the cold milk filled bottle cooled his warm hands. He eased the bottle into the boy’s mouth.
It’s what he wanted, sucking eagerly and looking up at his father with big expressive blue eyes. He stood up and took the child upstairs. She grabbed the pink bundle, their daughter, and headed upstairs as well. The little girl was so tiny, even being Owen’s twin. She walked into the nursery and saw her husband sitting in the rocking chair, placed in the corner. She gave him a smile and placed the baby girl into the crib. She kissed the baby on the forehead and then turned to kiss her husband.
As she left, she heard the whines and fussing of Owen telling daddy he needed to be burped. She walked into their bedroom and threw on her pajamas. She sat on the bed and allowed her eyes to graze across her 1,000 horror films before picking out an old favorite, Hit and Run. She placed the disc in the DVD player and fell back on the many pillows after hitting play. She noticed her husband walking into the bedroom. He quickly took his shirt off and threw it in the hamper, “Ugh, he threw up on me. Boy drinks to fast.”
After he changed into only his boxers, he climbed into bed, pulling his wife close to him. The beating of his heart and the screams of the movie allowed her to drift to sleep, only to be awoken what seemed only a few moments later. A baby was fussing, Owen again. Her husband searched for his glasses on the nightstand and he yawned. He walked off towards the nursery and picked his son up.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry, no, papa’s here,” he cooed with his thick accent. He began to rock the boy, “/Rock a by baby, in the tree-/”
He only got so far when Owen’s screams became louder than his own singing. Soon, another cry joined in, Cindy’s. He peered into the crib and softly cooed at his daughter, “Ohh, what’s wrong wee lassie?”
He picked up and cradled the twins as they both screamed. He tried everything to calm the screaming babies down, he bounced his arms and kept cooing at them, until Cindy dropped the hint. Her screams became shaky. That was her hunger cry. He smiled, “Does my wee lil’ lassie want her bottle?” His face turned to Owen, “Papa has to set you down.”
He placed Owen in the car seat, which he had left near the rocking chair. Owen screamed louder after leaving the warmth and safety of his daddy’s arms. He kissed him on the head, “Papa will be right back.”
Owen shoved his arms out and made the classic grabbing motion with his chubby little hands. He looked back at the form of his sleeping wife. “Owen, you don’t wanna wake mommy do you?”
Leaving the screaming Owen, he took the screaming Cindy downstairs to get her bottle, finding the pink bottle, he grabbed the light blue one for Owen. With a feeding for Cindy, he knew Owen’s next feeding wasn’t far off. He eased the bottle into Cindy’s mouth. He made his way upstairs and into the nursery, where he sat down, placing Owen’s bottle on the dresser next to the rocking chair. With his foot, he turned the car seat around, so while he fed Cindy, he could see his son.
He sat in the rocking chair, rocking Cindy as she sucked on the bottle. Having to tap the bottom of the bottle when she would start to drift off to sleep. He kept rocking Owen in the car seat with his foot. Owen continued to scream louder and louder. It was becoming a wonder how his wife was sleeping through their son’s banshee like cries. He kept smiling at Owen, when those rare times, he would allow his blue eyes to see his father.
Soon, Owen’s cries became known as hunger as he began to burp Cindy, this time using a burping towel. He cradled her again, asleep instantly. He gingerly placed his daughter back into the crib and wound the mobile up. The twinkling tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star floated through the nursery. He picked up Owen and the bottle and sat right back down, placing the bottle into his son’s mouth. He sucked eagerly and fast at the milk.
He removed the bottle and started up the cries again. He bounced Owen in the crook of his arm, “You gotta slow down laddie, you spit up on papa last time.”
He allowed Owen to eat again, removing the bottle when necessary. The bottle soon ran dry, Owen placed his hands on the bottle, trying to force more milk out. He shoved it away from his mouth and continued to cry. He placed Owen’s face on his shoulder and began to pat him on his back. After hearing a small hiccup, he placed Owen next to his sister in the crib and rewound the mobile.
He walked back into the bedroom and looked at the clock. 4:50. Only ten more minutes of sleep before he’d have to get up and start the work on the farm. He placed his glasses on the nightstand and got back into the warm bed. As if she knew, his wife, snuggled up to him, letting out another content sigh. He smiled as he held his wife while listening to the patter of the Scottish rain on the window.
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