Hope

In my Creative Writing class, we had to come up with a lengthy piece that had no dialogue. This is my go at it :)

She pursed her lips, dragging the cloth over the counter back and forth, back and forth. She did this as well in the sink with each dish. 

The shuffling in the living room, caused her to turn her head, glancing down the stairs. Swiftly, she finished the dish in her hand and moved cautiously to the bedroom. He bumps into the railing on either side of the staircase, taking his time to reach the top. Moving into the kitchen, he takes the newly cleaned dishes and flings them at the wall. He sees that they are plastic, frowns and reaches for the refrigerator door handle. 

She, hearing that he is searching through the fridge, moves on tip toes into the room of her 4 year old’s room. Cautiously, she locks it from the inside and climbs out the window to the roof as the boy is soundly in slumber. 

He hears a window shut, and he slumps down the hall to his 4 year old’s room grunting and fidgeting with the handle. It was not enough to wake the child from his sleep. As she shuffles across the roof and slides in the window emerging into her 6 year old’s room, she shuts the window behind her and slips out of the room into the hall.  A cry emerges from the child’s lips. Hastily she pulls the door closed, locks it from the inside, crawls into bed with her child and pours kisses all over her face. Never saying anything but pulling the child nearer to her. As the cries turn into the rise and falling of her child’s chest and sleep consumes her, she gets out of the bed and opens the door once again, locking the door and entering the dark hallway.

He leaves the 4 year old’s door, and moves back down the stairs, thumping and groaning, knocking over everything in his path. He clicks the T.V on, a hockey game emerges as he collapses on the couch, lighting a cigarette and refilling his mug with whiskey.

She, scales the hallway and moves into the next room. Her 14 year old is up, back pack on, with bed-head and a cell phone stuffed in her pocket. As she gets the nod from her mother, the teenager slides out the window and climbs down a vine that hugs the house, fleeing to a parked car awaiting her at a stop sign. 

THUMP, she knocks over 3 textbooks off of her 14 year old’s dresser, and scrambles to pick them up. He hears this from the living room and starts moving quickly now,  but the screeching of car tires draw him to the window and he watches as the car takes off into the darkness, unaware that his 14 year old daughter rides shotgun. Unaware that every other night she flees to the refuge his very own brother. 

She leaves her child’s room and moves towards the living room approaching the figure at the window. She grabs a lamp off of the table, removing the shade and unplugging the cord, her cheeks are growing red, her tears falling fast. As he turns she is about to swing, and then she loses confidence dropping the lamp on the floor. He is now facing her wide-eyed, dropping both his cigarette and emotion. 

She flings into him. Sobbing, stroking his greasy hairy face. She tries to kiss him but he refuses and falls backward slightly. She approaches again, desperate to awaken him from this bewitched state. She slaps his face as hysteria leaves her lips. He still has no response. Silence. He turns and sits on the couch again, reaching for his glass,eyes wandering back to the glowing screen portraying the hockey game. She screams, and throws the lamp at him, missing his head, and he turns to give her a hatred look. He arrises and moves slowly toward her, now with no look of recognition or sympathy. With animal-like snarls, he inches moreso to prolong the suspense and anguish in her heart. Stepping slowly, eyes focused on her. Not a sound from the T.V or a children’s cry can avert him from her. Her heart pounds and ringing arises in her ears from the deathly silence that seems to envelope her surroundings.

Suddenly bolting, she flees down the hallway, as he stumbles after her rambling about things she doesn’t understand. Into her bedroom she goes and moves onto the roof. Once again after slipping into her 4 year old’s room again, she locks the window. She locks her bedroom door. She gets in bed and cradles her baby as he grows closer to the door. Moving her lips she mouths the prayer she says every night. For a moment, her gaze is stolen at the sight of her 4 year old’s innocent face. She strokes his cheeks, his hair and picks at the little bit of chocolate in the corner of his mouth that his bath didn’t get. She is brought back to reality as the sound of the man in the house fidgeting with every door handle in the hall. First he tries his 14 year old’s room. The door is open and he walks in to find it empty. Scratching his head in confusion he picks up the phone and rambles nonsense into it even before the rings reach a voicemail on the other end. He sets the phone down, neglecting to place it back on the set. So now the simultaneous beeping fills the house and the cries of a 6 year old emerge from the next room. Hearing this he moves towards the next handle. The cries continue, growing to wailing. The man grunts at his failure to open them and finally just collapses with drink in hand. The cries still go on. So she climbs out of bed, onto the roof, shuffles to the next window and retrieves her 6 year old. 

Now in one room, she falls asleep covering her four year old’s ears, careful not to bother him with crying or complaints of his sister. And she strokes her 6 year old’s face, consoling. And finally when both her children fall asleep, she silently weeps as the clock strikes twelve.