what killed the cat? (nosiest) wrote in noircity, @ 2014-10-31 17:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! narrative, c: marnie duchaine |
sleep in peace when day is done.
WHO: Marnie Duchaine
WHAT: A day in the life of Marnie.
WHERE: From home → City Hall, and back.
WHEN: One particular day this month.
STATUS: Complete
WARNINGS: none
The world doesn't gently nudge Marnie toward wakefulness, not on most mornings: no, the world streams sunlight in her eyes and deposits warm, furry cats on her back and has pillows slipping off the edge of the mattress and for God's sake, it's too early to stop being dead to everything. She clings to the last traces of sleep, hoping for an extra five minutes, just five minutes! There's a breeze that takes her hat away, sends it skittering across a sidewalk that's seen more fossilized chewing gum than is usual. On the way through an intersection, an elderly gentleman nearly takes her out from the side with the front of his newly washed, newly waxed car as he's grabbing something from the glove compartment. (The squawk that erupts from inside her is thirteen shades too embarrassing; a child out offering the daily newspaper sniggers, somewhere out of sight.) Two dogs approach her on separate blocks — one small but aggressive, the other massive but docile — and attempt to choke themselves with their leashes as she passes, drawing the scent of kitten and cat food past them. A familiar soundtrack of trilling phones, hushed inside voices, laughter carried down hallways, heels clicking on linoleum, staples stapling, typewriters clacking and chiming, paper sifting. The sounds follow her, placate her, accompany her into the ladies room and into Deputy Mayor Kirby's office (Marnie likes to call him Kirby in her mind, sometimes lets it slip when they're alone, though generally he's the Deputy Mayor) with appropriate forms, papers, envelopes. Over the years, it's become a lull, so second nature that silence, even for a minute, is an unexpected blessing. Tick, tock. Undocumented time passes, and she isn't aware of how quickly she's nodding off until the clock on the wall alerts her that oh, gosh, it's time to go, where did the hours disappear and when did she forget that her feet hurt? She scoops up her aches and swallows her sighs, fluttering around the desk and outside of the deputy mayor's door with a last minute stamina she'd dug up from some deep well within. Click, snip, shuffle. But the day doesn't end with City Hall, not by a long shot, because the tasks at home are another thing entirely. Tidy, cook, feed, rinse and repeat, cook some more, tidy again. There's no audience, no one to impress, no one to rush home to but three hungry, fluffy babies who greet her with genuine excitement. |