Categories > Original > Drama
When The Sun Comes Out
0 reviewsA conversation between a man and a women (who have obviously been married for a long time) after a long day.
0Unrated
Author's Note: I don't have anything to say about the following text. I just hope you enjoy it, and even if you don't, please leave me some feedback.
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The scrubbed wooden table shone in the late afternoon sun, and I had to shield my eyes before taking a seat opposite the window. She carefully wrapped her long fingers around a single coffee cup, deftly took the coffee pot, and very slowly and poured me a cup of coffee. She then placed the cup in front of me. In the middle. It took her a few tries to get it exactly posited were she found acceptable.
"How was work?" She said, letting her tiredness seep through in her voice.
"The usual."
She lit a cigarette.
"Busy?"
"Not very."
I lit a cigarette.
"That's a shame."
She labored over positioning her cigarette between her index finger and middle finger.
"What'd you do?"
"Oh. Not much." She said vaguely, waving her hand around a bit, "Went shopping, vacuumed, talked with Sally."
There was a long pause.
"How is Sally?"
"Fine."
Her hand began to shake as she took a drag.
"Your hand is shaking."
"I know it." She snapped.
I took a sip of my coffee.
"Where's the ashtray?" I finally said.
"It broke."
"How'd it brake?"
"I threw it at Sally."
"Oh. I see."
Pause.
"Aren't you gonna to ask why I threw it at Sally?"
"I don't care. Do you want me to?"
"YES!" She screamed.
"Why'd you throw the ashtray at Sally, then?"
"She's a idiot."
"That's a rather lackluster explanation."
"She's a nincompoop, then."
"Eh?"
I ground my cigarette into the table, and ashes danced across the table. Her left eye twitched watching them.
"Yes. Sally's a nincompoop and a spinster."
"Well then."
"You don't care."
"Do you want me to care?"
She took a long drag on her cigarette and stared at me.
"I only want you to care if you want to."
"Well I don't care."
"Fine."
She fiddled her with hair.
"We need a new ashtray, then."
"Logic dictates that, yes."
"Isn't there one in the bedroom?"
"No. Not anymore."
"Sally is that bad, eh?"
"Even worse."
I took another sip.
"Shall I run over to the five and dime before dinner or do you want to?"
"We can go together." She said. "I'm out of ciggies anyways.
She stood up, straightened her faded blue house dress, and walked out of the room. I could hear her rummaging in her room for her handbag and shoes.
Soon enough, she reappeared, looking expectantly at me with anxious eyes. I slowly stood up.
"Let's go then, Franny."
She grabbed my arm, and flashed me a rare smile. "Okay."
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The scrubbed wooden table shone in the late afternoon sun, and I had to shield my eyes before taking a seat opposite the window. She carefully wrapped her long fingers around a single coffee cup, deftly took the coffee pot, and very slowly and poured me a cup of coffee. She then placed the cup in front of me. In the middle. It took her a few tries to get it exactly posited were she found acceptable.
"How was work?" She said, letting her tiredness seep through in her voice.
"The usual."
She lit a cigarette.
"Busy?"
"Not very."
I lit a cigarette.
"That's a shame."
She labored over positioning her cigarette between her index finger and middle finger.
"What'd you do?"
"Oh. Not much." She said vaguely, waving her hand around a bit, "Went shopping, vacuumed, talked with Sally."
There was a long pause.
"How is Sally?"
"Fine."
Her hand began to shake as she took a drag.
"Your hand is shaking."
"I know it." She snapped.
I took a sip of my coffee.
"Where's the ashtray?" I finally said.
"It broke."
"How'd it brake?"
"I threw it at Sally."
"Oh. I see."
Pause.
"Aren't you gonna to ask why I threw it at Sally?"
"I don't care. Do you want me to?"
"YES!" She screamed.
"Why'd you throw the ashtray at Sally, then?"
"She's a idiot."
"That's a rather lackluster explanation."
"She's a nincompoop, then."
"Eh?"
I ground my cigarette into the table, and ashes danced across the table. Her left eye twitched watching them.
"Yes. Sally's a nincompoop and a spinster."
"Well then."
"You don't care."
"Do you want me to care?"
She took a long drag on her cigarette and stared at me.
"I only want you to care if you want to."
"Well I don't care."
"Fine."
She fiddled her with hair.
"We need a new ashtray, then."
"Logic dictates that, yes."
"Isn't there one in the bedroom?"
"No. Not anymore."
"Sally is that bad, eh?"
"Even worse."
I took another sip.
"Shall I run over to the five and dime before dinner or do you want to?"
"We can go together." She said. "I'm out of ciggies anyways.
She stood up, straightened her faded blue house dress, and walked out of the room. I could hear her rummaging in her room for her handbag and shoes.
Soon enough, she reappeared, looking expectantly at me with anxious eyes. I slowly stood up.
"Let's go then, Franny."
She grabbed my arm, and flashed me a rare smile. "Okay."
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