'If an idea is worth having once, it's worth having twice.'
Tom Stoppard
Harvey sat there with his pen in his mouth idly copying figures onto his computer. But it was an automatic action as is mind wasn't there. He was thinking of his wife. He was thinking about what a sour-faced old hag she'd become over the past year or two.
They used to be such a tactile couple, always holding hands as they walked along the crowded pavements of town on brisk Saturday mornings in Winter, sneaking kisses whenever they passed each other in the hall. They once would lounge over each other while watching something rubbish on television while their feet mingled and he could be gently taken into the soft arms of sleep.
Now things were different, they no longer spooned in bed. In fact, there was always a frosty resistance to his questing hand under the eiderdown even if it was for nothing more that a basic connection of his hand on her skin. She would shift away minutely but noticeably. They greeted each other like strangers from different ends of the room, even the house on occasion, there voices drifting briefly through the barren rooms between. They might not even see each other until bed and sometimes not even then if she sneaked in after he was asleep. He would be left to sidle out of the room and look blankly and the rise and fall of her covered back as she slept on.
It wasn't his idea that had got together in the first place. It was his mate Ben's. He had fancied her, loved her and he had definitely wanted to marry her but now...
Perhaps Ben had some more bright ideas.
Time up.
I decided to get a quote, randomly from the Internet, today and take inspiration from that.
I have to say that starting a new job at the same time as tasking myself to do this challenge isn't easy but at least I AM writing despite my semi-conscious brain.
Tom Stoppard
Harvey sat there with his pen in his mouth idly copying figures onto his computer. But it was an automatic action as is mind wasn't there. He was thinking of his wife. He was thinking about what a sour-faced old hag she'd become over the past year or two.
They used to be such a tactile couple, always holding hands as they walked along the crowded pavements of town on brisk Saturday mornings in Winter, sneaking kisses whenever they passed each other in the hall. They once would lounge over each other while watching something rubbish on television while their feet mingled and he could be gently taken into the soft arms of sleep.
Now things were different, they no longer spooned in bed. In fact, there was always a frosty resistance to his questing hand under the eiderdown even if it was for nothing more that a basic connection of his hand on her skin. She would shift away minutely but noticeably. They greeted each other like strangers from different ends of the room, even the house on occasion, there voices drifting briefly through the barren rooms between. They might not even see each other until bed and sometimes not even then if she sneaked in after he was asleep. He would be left to sidle out of the room and look blankly and the rise and fall of her covered back as she slept on.
It wasn't his idea that had got together in the first place. It was his mate Ben's. He had fancied her, loved her and he had definitely wanted to marry her but now...
Perhaps Ben had some more bright ideas.
Time up.
I decided to get a quote, randomly from the Internet, today and take inspiration from that.
I have to say that starting a new job at the same time as tasking myself to do this challenge isn't easy but at least I AM writing despite my semi-conscious brain.
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I would really welcome constructive comments or perhaps even some inspiration. To be honest , I would settle for some encouragement.