Phoebe woke up in a fantastic mood. She felt refreshed and rested and revived and she was just bursting with energy, ready and eager to take on the day.  Or at least that was what she tried telling herself as she rolled out of bed around noon and blinked in the too-bright sunlight flooding her room. She was absolutely not in the mood to feel bad or down or depressed or anything like that today though, therefore she simply decided that she would not.  She put on her robe and went downstairs and helped herself to the coffee she found already brewed in the kitchen. The house was silent, still, and she wondered where everyone was. Her parents were nowhere around and she did not hear the usual bustling of the cook or the quite mutterings of the maid. She glanced out the window at the rolling hills of lush, fertile ground her family owned and frowned. She supposed her father was probably out in the fields fawning over his grapes, cooing to them or whatever. Her mother could be any number of places, but shopping in San Francisco seemed most likely.

She supposed she should do something today since that was probably a big part of being refreshed and revitalized and all that, but she couldn’t think of one single thing that she wanted to do. She only had the most vague impression that she wanted to do something…productive.  She meditated on what being productive might actually entail until she got bored with the whole concept and decided she would call Zach instead.  The sun was momentarily obscured by a cloud and darkness filled the kitchen. The grey light seemed to seep into Phoebe and she felt a sudden, piercing chill right down to her bone. She shivered, the cold and the darkness wrapping themselves around her like a suffocating cocoon and she wanted to struggle, to fight, there was nothing to rally against. She was alone in the kitchen and the very next instant the sun shone again. The cold remained though, settled deep into her body and Phoebe rubbed her arms trying to warm herself.

She took a sip of her coffee, but gagged on the ice-cold and disgusting liquid. She tossed the remains into the sink with a scowl. “Shower,” she decided aloud, trying to shake off the icky feeling that clung to her along with the cold. “Nice, hot shower.”  The concept sounded nice, though the words sounded hollow and small in the empty room.  She hastily left the kitchen, hoping to leave the cold behind, her thoughts on the wonderful shower she would have when the doorbell rang.





Posted July 15, 2011 by demlaura33 in Uncategorized


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  1. And?… waiting for the doorbell to ring!

  2. good start would love to read more .

  3. knew you when you were rosedelight you were hot then still are

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