Still writing

I have been able to squeeze in some fic writing, amongst everything else going on. This one sort of started out a long time ago, but I’ve been pushing it aside for more relevant texts for this long. It still lives in my Lost Ideas folder, but time will tell if it moves to root. It promises to be something darker than my usual cups of tea (really? idk) because it deals with properly damaged people and I’m not getting into any of that here, it’s still only in a state of concept, but there’s something on the proverbial paper.

He opened the cupboard over the sink and grabbed a black mug that had a bit missing on the rim, setting it on the table and tossing in a bag of Tetley’s he took out of a tin that had a double decker bus on the lid. Whatever had possessed Michelle to buy one of those touristy boxes with shitty tea in it, was beyond him and when he’d asked her, she’d just laughed so hard he thought she’d burst and told him to suck it up. He sighed, stroking the lid on the box for a while and then pushed it back to its place. He still missed her something terrible, especially in the mornings. It all seemed so quiet without her banging her pots and pans just to piss him off and sometimes managing to put a decent breakfast on the table in the process. –Stop being a sentimental old biddy, he snorted to himself and opened the fridge door only to find that there was no milk. –Fucking fuck.

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