It didn’t rain; it poured

Some free-style 30 minute fiction writing…

When Julia wasn’t cleaning dishes, she could usually be found staring out the kitchen window over the sink anyway. She would dry her hands slowly with a red-checked dishtowel, even though they weren’t wet. It was a habit. She noticed that the backyard never looked the same. One day a fine crystalline sheen would cover the grass and the kids’ shoes would crunch across it. The next, squirrels would turn up small piles of dark chocolate dirt while looking for buried nuts. And today, brown puddles spread across the yard as the rain continued to fall.

She heard the back door slam open, then slam closed.

“What’re you doing?”

Julia stopped drying her hands. She laid the towel down. She folded it.

“Drying dishes,” she said over her shoulder to Marcus, her second husband. She didn’t turn around.

“Bullshit. Dishes are done. I can see that,” he said.

Julia inhaled Marcus’ musty smell. The wind had brought it in when he walked through the door. Now it was trapped inside the kitchen and she desperately needed fresh air.

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like much is gettin’ done in here right now,” Marcus said from behind her left ear. “Where’re the kids?”

Julia let her hands drop to her sides as Marcus slid his arms around her waist. She closed her eyes, listening to the rain stabbing the metal roof even harder. Marcus leaned his head in and kissed her neck.

“They’re at the Miller’s until 5,” Julia whispered.

“Oh then, there’s plenty of time for dishes, hon,” he said, pulling her firmly away from the window and the sink and the backyard overflowing with brown puddles.


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