Norman Bates (i_shower) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2008-10-14 21:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | norman bates, sam winchester, winifred burkle |
Of Painting and Pondering [Open]
Two hours of painting and Mother hadn't complained about the soft canary yellow paint that Norman was using to spruce up the outside of the motel. He'd expected that she would throw a fit about the color. Or that he was changing anything to the motel at all. But she didn't. At least, she hadn't yet. And it was always possible that she would. Mother didn't keep working hours, after all. She struck when it amused her and when she knew she could get a rouse out of poor Norman (or any other poor soul that was on her property.)
Norman didn't know if the change in color would attract more residents. He didn't even know if anyone would notice. It had taken him a while, but he had eventually noticed that he (and his motel) were distinctly less ... colorful ... than the rest of The City. In fact, he felt very monochromatic. Or perhaps it was more like bi-chromatic? All black and white with a few smattering of grays. He saw that the paint was a soft canary yellow. He just didn't know if anyone else in The City would.
A few cars full of teenagers drove by and honked at him. Norman didn't know what that meant. He couldn't tell if they were being friendly or if they were making fun of him. So he raised his hand and waved at them everytime they passed. Well, the first three times, anyhow. Then he started to get annoyed. They were interrupting his work. And he wanted to get at least the main office and the first cabin painted before the end of the day.
He started early and kept at it until about noon, drawing that brush up and down the wood-planked outer walls of the motel. Then he stopped for a bit to take some lunch. Mother had made him a bologna sandwich on white bread that morning, and he sat outside on a bench eating it (with a glass of milk,) and watching the cars go by. Not many cars drove by, but more did since he arrived in The City. Norman wasn't sure that he liked The City at first, but it was where he was supposed to be. He could feel it. Just as he could feel that painting the motel was the right thing to do.
"They'll come," he said to himself between bites. "They'll come. And everything will be right. Mother will be pleased."
He glanced up the hill towards the house and grinned. Then he took another bite of his sandwich.