500 words based on a sentence selected by Dive.
This week’s sentence is from Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone: The Thursday night passed, and nothing happened.
“Dad! Wake up. Mom says dinner’s almost ready.”
Jarvis opened one eye and found himself lying on a sofa, television blaring, adolescent boy glowering. The boy seemed familiar, but many years younger than Jarvis expected, a couple of decades at least. And something about this room was odd. His vision was blurred, his mouth dry.
“What day is it?” Jarvis croaked, not fully awake. He hoped it wasn’t a Thursday. Bad things happened to him on Thursdays. It had been weeks since the Thursday night passed and nothing happened.
“It’s Thursday. You had your test this morning, remember?” said Timmy. “Jeez, Dad. Get a grip.”
“We’ll be eating soon. You must be starving,” said Roz, leaving the table she’d been setting. Something was off with her as well. She seemed dowdy, ordinary. Where was the smoldering femme fatale who’d ravished him so thoroughly?
“Roz?,” asked Jarvis, slowly sitting up, one hand clutching the television’s remote, the other rubbing his face and hair. “What’s going on? You were up on the ship with Timmy and Doctor Richmond and me. No, Timmy was Doctor Richmond and I was so cold, and there was a beaver and robots and space aliens and Mulder! I talked to Mulder…”
“Ok, Greg. No more X-Files marathon for you today,” said Roz as she took the remote from him and turned off the TV. “You’re still groggy from the sedative and not eating anything solid the last few days.”
Jarvis shook a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table and lit it with the Godzilla table lighter standing sentry next to the ashtray.
“He’s such a dork,” said Timmy. “And does he have to smoke in the house? It’s frackin’ gross!”
“Timmy, go easy on your dad,” said Roz, “and watch your language. Everyone’s upset by their first colonoscopy. Let’s hope by the time you’re old enough for one there won’t be any need for cancer screenings.”
“Or at least they won’t have to go up your butt with a camera.”
“Enough!” said Roz. “Timmy, finish setting the table for me. Greg, go wash up.”
Jarvis heaved himself to his feet, rubbed his eyes like a little kid and wobbled from the room, steadying himself on the furniture as he passed.
“What’s that music?” he asked, pausing, hand on the wall, nodding towards the kitchen where a radio played to the empty room. “I can’t get it out of my head.”
“The station’s doing a psychedelic flashback thing this week.” Roz said. “Whenever they play the end of White Rabbit you’re supposed to call in to win a prize. I can change the station if you don’t like it.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Jarvis, turning back toward the bathroom. “Dinner smells good. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Behind him, Roz and Timmy exchanged a glance, a spark jumping from Timmy’s hand to hers as she passed him the silverware for the table. Their eyes glowed red as they nodded to each other in silent affirmation.
copyright (c) 2010 Lulubelle B