The Rough Draft

It's late. It's 1.35am in OK. My husband is tentatively sleeping next to me. Sometimes he rolls over if I bump something, sometimes he'll just snore a little. I think it's kind of cute. ;)

But now as I sit here, adjusting the keyboard straddling my legs, I decide.. OK. Time for 8.

It's kind of strange, seeing this new blog background. I've grown familiar with the other one, and this one is alien to me. But I'm exhilarated by trying something new and it's just so pretty. Cool? Neat-o? Eh. Whatever.

This probably won't be long. My supply of caffeine has run out unless I make a fridge run. Which I'm not. I could make coffee, but I really don't want to be up all night.


New readers and old.. here we go.

*****

David was staanding at the sink. He'd accumulated another two sink fulls of dishes in the day. His mind was wandering, a lilting stroll that meandered from thought to thought.

Wow, those are a lot of dishes for one guy in one day.

Eh, so what if I didn't rinse EVERY glass? I wanted to get a new one instead.

Tabs would be chewing my butt out if she saw this mess. There's a pizza box around the living room somewhere.. how did I lose it?

Oh, Tabs...

He washed the glass in his hand again for the third or fourth time. He rinsed it, and set it in the container to drain.The dish washer needed repairs, and Tab was "going to call it in," he finished, speaking aloud.

I wonder if she'll...

"David."

A saucer fell to his feet. He jumped back, his shoulder bumping into the refridgerator.

"How... ho.... how'd you get in here so quietly?" he asked.

"I have my ways." She answered, the slightest smirk appearing on her lips. "Are you ready?"

"Sure, just let me finish up here." He turned back to the sink and dumped the saucer he'd dropped into the water. Another good thing about Tabitha, she didn't trust anyone to use the good china.

"No. We must leave now." Her fingers gripped his arm, the nails digging slightly into his arm. They were sharp, razor sharp. He thought, although his mind recognized this as ridiculous, that if she wanted to, she could slice him open with just a finger. His arm bruised under her hand.

"Ow! Okay, okay. We'll leave now."

She released him, and he rubbed his arm, expecting to feel the slick, slimy grease of blood on his skin. All he could feel was skin, a little dry. I should drink more water, the thought crossing and leaving his mind as quickly as a non-stop subway train passes a station. As quickly as the razor blade nails had entered and exited as well.

He grabbed his coat and they left, the sink was still three-fourths full of water, soapy suds refracting the artificial light throughout the room. The door slammed shut and four of the bubbles sitting complacently on the water popped.

"Why the rush, Skye?" David asked, expecting her to not answer.

"I'm not a day person, David." She said, looking back over her shoulder as they stepped into the elevator. "I prefer to do my hunting at night."

"What do you mean- hunting?" He asked again.

He could see her face reflected in the steel elevator walls. It was contorted, an unperfect image that seemed more accurate than the look in her face. She was sedate, calm, almost laughable, the way her eyes had crinckled up, like she was having a laugh at his expense.

But her eyes were stone hard, frozen cold in an expression rife with hate or rage. Maybe madness.

She caught him still staring at her. He could tell her mind was somewhere else and had come back suddenly, as though whipped back to conscious thought by a muscle toting guard. She glared at him, the image of her eyes flaring red stuck in his mind, but only for a few seconds.

The moment of tenseness passed and he briefed a sigh of relief when the elevator doors open. He ducked out quickly, leaving her a few steps behind.

****

Okay, wow, I know that is ultra short. I'll write more first thing in the morning after two cups of coffee and some toast.