The "addiction" challenge is now closed.

This week's prompt is "two people in a dark room."

Standing in for Lee again. Last time, I promise.

Written in about five minutes, just for the laughs.
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"Ow, fuck, what the--"

"Honey?"

"I’m over here."

"Okay, great. Man, it’s dark, I can’t see a thing."

"Look, just stand still and I will come over--damnit!"

"What?"

"Nothing, just this fucking coffee table."

"Ooh, I hate that. Look, just move really slowly."

"Nah, I thought I’d sprint. Oh, motherfu--"

"What?"

"Nothing, just going to die. A roller skate? When did we even get roller skates?"

"Baby, I haven’t owned roller skates since 1985."

"Well, something’s on--damnit!"

"Honey?"

"Look, I’m just going to stop moving, all right?"

"All right. Here, I think I have…ohh, the lights!"

"Jesus wept."

I like that, Ailleann!

Here's mine, going for the most obvious interpretation of the topic....

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“Ahh, Rebecca...”

She loves her name in his accent.

Joel always called her Becky--Joel who was alive this morning. Tomorrow she’ll despise herself, but she cannot bear to weep alone when she can assuage her grief in this man’s arms.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

He goes absolutely still. “Don’t you...you do know who I am?”

“I mean your Christian name--no one ever uses it, and I’ve forgotten. I cannot call you ‘General’ here!”

Amusement ripples through him. “You could.”

“You’d like that!” she accuses.

He laughs and tells her his name. But she wishes she hadn’t spoken, because this isn’t only grief now--it’s this man, and this moment, and knowing she’s wanted this since the day she met him.

Drabbles! Awesome, ladies.

Wow! This is good stuff.

Housewarming

The mattress was lumpy under her cheek. It smelled vaguely like vomit and urine, although she'd washed it when she'd moved into the room. Her first piece of furniture.

She kept her face pressed resolutely into the futon. The hiss of a zipper presaged the clank of a belt buckle. Then, a rustle as a t-shirt was donned. The door opened and closed.

Tears trickled over her nose as she reached down to the cookie jar to feel the bills she'd placed there earlier. She'd made more in half an hour than a whole day panhandling at the parking garage.

Sail, your cookie jar is frigging amazing! God, I love this.

I'm having a great time writing these, but it's getting difficult to keep track of my timeline. I think I'm going to have to print them all out so I can arrange them and have them at hand to figure out where each new one fits.

You're going to wind up with a novel!

I can't seem to do anything but totally frivolous or over the top dark:

Never lonely

I miss him every way there is to miss somebody, smell, taste, caress, breath and heart. I remember all the reasons he was dear to me, and all the reasons he was unbearable. I remember the drinking and the dark sarcasm that flowed from him in an endless stream when he was drunk. I remember the day his angry words turned into angry actions, and I stopped his blows with a fish knife.

Nobody thinks it anything but self-defense - not even me. But I loved and killed him; in the dark I'll never be alone, never free of him.