The hammock never swings as much as it used to. Even on a windy day when the trees are all smacking the life out of each other, the hammock just tends to sit there contemplatively. There are days when I look at the hammock and think I might like to lie in it, but the last time it touched skin was when you last laughed at one of my stupid jokes. So, I will just look at it, maybe get close enough to smell a trace of you. I do not know; so silly.
The pervert tree you planted is doing well. I know that is what you named it, and it made us laugh, but maybe I should call it something else. It did its job of blocking the view from his bedroom window, but since you went, he has been really nice. He called by with a gift of flowers, which were lovely, and he seemed really upset that he almost started crying. I had to give him a hug. Saying that, he might have felt my arse when I did… we can just leave the tree name as is.
This fucking grass is too green. I might invite next door’s three yappy Labradors round to piss the tint out of it. Or I could invite them round and then take your samurai sword to them; kill two birds, and three dogs, with one stone. What colour would their blood make the lawn? That is just daft. I would not do that.
Your mum came round yesterday. I heard her car pull up outside, so I watched her from behind the upstairs window blinds. She pulled up, but never got out of the car for ages, she just sat there with her head in her hands. When she finally came up the garden path I just laid down on the bed and counted how many times she knocked on the door. I figured she would give up after seven attempts, but she only tried once, and then a minute later I heard the car drive away.
There was a spider on the ceiling. Spider season is not quite upon us, so this fella was not so big, but I just watched him travel from above the door to disappear inside the ceiling rose light fitting. I still have not fixed that light, sorry.
A storm passed through today and blew an umbrella into the pervert tree, it landed upside down wedged between branches where Molly used to climb. When the storm calmed, I set the step ladders up to take it down. While I was up there, they started arguing over the fence. She was calling him disgusting and that she could not trust him anymore. They said some other stuff, but then I phased out a little thinking about when Molly used to be up there. It gave me a mind to wonder what she would see when you laid in the sun. I turned round to look down on the hammock, and for a split second you were there, in your green dress, smiling up at Molly without any disturbances from the neighbours.
But that was all it was, a split second, and all I was left with was an umbrella in a tree, no Molly, no you, an empty hammock, and the wrong shade of green.
Brief #13 Like the Prose 2021: Depression
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