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Rated: ASR · Other · Other · #1725101
A 500 word, or less, Flash Fiction story for a class.
Beep, Beep, Beep.

Jeanie dreamt of normality. She entered her shower, letting out a sigh when the water slid over her sore shoulders and down year-worn back, relaxing muscles she didn’t know were tense. Herbal Essences, while not able to whisk her away to remote jungle waterfalls, cleaned her hair and left behind the pleasant scent of flowers.

She dressed for work and headed to the kitchen, the smell of coffee and eggs enticing her as she drifted through the halls. Entering the empty kitchen, Jeanie wondered who had made her breakfast, but then…wasn’t it lunch on the counter? And the aroma in the air was the roast beef cooking in the oven. The mashed potatoes were on the stove, and the beans that had been canned months ago just needed re-heating.

Beep, Beep, Beep.

Moving around her red and white kitchen, Jeanie prepared her house for the evening. Dishes put away, floor swept, mopped, and sparkling brightly. The counters had a few spots, so she took the disinfecting spray and wiped down the counters until they were clean enough to eat off.

In the Living room, she tidied up. Magazines were placed on the coffee table, the coasters replaced in their holder, and the floors needed vacuuming because her two cats, Frisky and Bedlam, had molted small fur balls during playtime. She dusted the mantle with care, moving the picture of her deceased husband, Marty, out of danger before moving on to the silver urn.

Beep, Beep, Beep.

Rushing through the house, Jeanie made sure that everything was in its place and there was nothing to be ashamed of when company arrived.

Everything was as it should be.

Beep, Beep, Beep.

The doorbell gave a ding and Jeanie rushed towards the front door, dropping her apron off in the kitchen on her way by. Her feet sailed across the brown carpeting that her husband had loved so much and to the entryway that was filled with trinkets from their life. Sliding the lock out of place, she turned the knob and opened the door.

Standing before her was Marty, dressed in a grey suit, matching pants, slanted fedora, a cigarette drooping from his lips, and a dozen red roses clutched in his arms. 

Beep, Beep, Beep.

“Sorry I’m late for dinner, J.” He drawled in his Yonkers tone of voice. “This jack-hole ran me off the road and … it was a mess, but I’m glad I’m home.”

Jeanie wiped her eyes and smiled at her man. “It’s alright.” She breathed. “You came home in the end.” Marty stepped through and embraced the women he’d married sixty years before, and for the first time since his death Jeanie felt at peace. Happy.

© Copyright 2010 Deanna Isaacs (shyousetsuka at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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