Good morning and happy Friday. Since I passed most of yesterday thinking it was Wednesday, this morning’s realization that it was Friday was extra fun. It is one of those weeks where the weekend just seems like a good idea. Still there is Friday to get through first. So shall we kick it off with the morning writing prompt? excellent. Anyone writing along, set your timers for fifteen minutes and off we go…
I like this one. I am going to have to think through the situation a bit more but I like the thought of killing time with home renovation. i might use that elsewhere actually. But not bad for a Friday writing prompt.
Friday, January 27th: Mice could be heard scurrying through the walls.
Mice could be heard scurrying through the walls. Their arrival caused panic in a kingdom that belonged to the rodents for a long time. The scent in the hallway proved that. The hose smelled like mice. Everywhere she looked there were signs that they were not normally confined to the walls but only sought refuge in the face of invading humans.
There were gnaw marks on the furniture, books with their covers and pages chewed. Even some of the edges of the doors showed signs of being chewed on. The furniture was out of date, moldy, dusty and as far as she was concerned, no great loss.
The loss of any book troubled her deeply, but as these were fat with moisture, pages disintegrating into pulp, the writing all but gone she had to concede the mice were welcome to those as well. Despite the strong scent of mouse, of mold and rotting furnishings, the house had a pleasing atmosphere. It was well laid out to catch the sun no matter what time of day and to allow breezes to flow through well.
The roof had leaked at some point and would need repair as would whatever damage the leak had allowed to happen. Most of the structural elements were still intact and under the scree of dust she could see that the carvings were well done.
While it would need work it was over all, not a bad place to wait out her time. ‘And the repairs will give me something to do.’ She thought.
She knew that if left on her own with no project to occupy her she would worry. Worry would do no good. She presented all of her reports, her findings and her evidence. Now it was someone else’s turn to deliberate. She knew that for that group, deliberation meant several months minimum of hemming and hawing. Then someone might venture a few thoughts on the report. Whoever it was who ventured first would be pounced upon by the pothers, the first tentative sentences shredded with verbal razor blades. It would be brutal but it would get the conversation started between them. All in all she expected she would have at least a year’s wait before a decision was made.
After turning in the last of her files she was told to await a decision. The phrase meant that she was supposed to find something to do with herself until they were ready to call her.
‘This certainly qualifies as something to do with myself,’ she decided.
The house stood on a large piece of land. When she purchased it, she had vague thoughts of using the land for some project or another. It also seemed like a good investment. The land was located near enough to an ever expanding city and was in decent enough condition that she figured at some point someone might want to purchase it. At the time she bought it, the land was cheap and the fact that there was a house on the property barely registered a blip.
It was only when she needed something to do with herself that she recalled it existed.
Ten til Midnight 