Bethanie Dunstan (moonpale) wrote in reduxpitch, @ 2016-08-27 10:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | !game plot, !thread, retired character: bethanie dunstan |
Who: Bethanie Dunstan.
What: Flower Dream: A birthday narrative.
Where: Bethanie's job, Bethanie's home.
When: 7th October, 2016.
There hadn't been any owls. Bethanie hadn't really expected there to be, but she'd thought that with it being her 40th, someone might have made the effort to remember. There had been presents from work, of course. A book she'd mentioned and a box of chocolates. (She'd mentioned the book because she'd already read it, but Bethanie had smiled and said thank you and tucked it in her bag anyway. She could always send her older copy to a friend, or donate it.)
"So what are you doing to celebrate?" Carol asked, as Bethanie started packing up to go home. "Oh." Put on the spot, it came naturally for Bethanie to lie. She didn't want anyone to pity her, or to feel bad. "Just dinner with some friends," she said. Carol smiled. "Anywhere nice?" Bethanie cast her mind around for somewhere she could say she was going - somewhere that sounded appropriate to a 40th Birthday meal that she wasn't actually going to have. "It's called Dishoom," she answered. "It's a muggle place, Indian." And she'd been there a few months ago, for someone else's birthday, so she could believably talk about the food when she was asked on Monday. "Lovely," Carol said. "Enjoy it!" Bethanie nodded, smiling back. "I will, thank you. Have a nice weekend."
And with that, she left, returning to her flat. Usually, she took pleasure in her own space. She'd longed for a house of her own, and now she finally had one. She left her shoes and coat on in the rack by the front door, then changed out of her too-tight skirt and into pyjamas before sitting down on the bed. She'd bought ingredients for a nice meal, but suddenly the effort of cooking seemed too much to be bothered with. It was just a Friday night, after all. There wasn't really anything all that special about it.
She flopped back, staring up at the ceiling. She'd always wanted to live alone. When she'd imagined her dream house, she'd been the only one in it, able to do whatever she wanted without compromise. Tonight, though, she wished there was someone she could owl. Her friends would all be busy with their own lives, with their marriages and families and careers. It was her own fault, she should have organised something in advance, but she'd never been very good at organising social gatherings like that. (Besides, a small voice in her head asked, would anyone have come?) She'd bought herself a present, but even that seemed sad and pathetic.
In her quiet flat, the loneliness felt more like grief, a tide that rose and threatened to drag her down with it. Turning her face into the pillow, Bethanie tried to sob, tried to get it all out. Despite the tears that came easily, it didn't feel natural. It was just a show she was putting on, for an audience of one. After five minutes she got up, able to stop crying the moment she chose to. With a flick of her wand, she tuned the wireless to one of the new channels that focused on stories and radio plays. Voices and laughter filled the flat, and Bethanie lay back down, pulling the blankets around her.