AN: Kind of inspired by Oh Stacey Look What You've Done by the Zutons, set probably during Series 1, when they're still at the pink house. Hope you enjoy!
Anna Sawyer sat down at the kitchen table, mug of tea in hand. Not that she could drink it, what with food and beverages generally being limited to the living. And Mitchell, judging by the amount of Corn Flakes he'd gone through in the last couple of days. She sighed somewhat dramatically before glancing up at the clock: half past three; only two and a half hours 'til he'd be home. Perhaps she could pay a visit this evening, see how Owen was getting on without her.
The sudden poison rushing through her blood reminded her that he was probably fine.
Soon the tea was cold and Annie got up to have a look at the timetable stuck on the fridge. George would be home at 7, Mitchell at 8.30. Only a few hours to wait then, and what were a few hours when an eternity was waiting before her eyes? Still, no use brooding about it. She was dead.
"Dead, dead, dead, dead, DEAD," she repeated, not caring how loud her voice was. After all, who would be able to hear her?
Annie spent the rest of the afternoon taking full advantage of this by swearing at the top of her voice and smashing more than the odd bit of crockery. In fact, she was in the middle of a particularly enjoyable rant about her junior school Geography teacher when the front door clicked open.
"What was that last bit about a palette knife?" George asked as he dropped his keys on the table.
"Keys on the hook plea-what?"
"I'm certain I heard you yelling something that seemed to include, unless I'm very much mistaken, Mrs. Judd and a palette knife. Or was it a spatula?" he continued, stuffing a Jaffa cake in his mouth and spraying crumbs everywhere.
"So you heard me then!" Annie exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her face.
George turned from the kettle to reply: "Of course I did, I'm surprised we couldn't hear you at work! Still, it's good to see you're not wasting your free time."
His friend responded by chucking a couple of measuring spoons at his head.
"Anyway," said George, rubbing his forehead, "I've really got to go- I'm meeting Nina in the pub. Mitchell should be in in a bit." The last of his words faded away as the front door closed behind him.
"'Bye then," muttered Annie. "I'll just sit here and fester for a few decades while you go and get laid."
After a while, she stopped shouting, and the last of an impressive list of late 20th century swear words died on her lips as the inevitable tears spilled down Annie's cheeks. It was bloody annoying, this crying business, particularly considering she couldn't eat, drink or sleep.
"Nope, not even a custard cream for me," she whispered aloud as the Sun fell out of the sky.
Night was drawing in and Mitchell still wasn't back; two not entirely unusual events, but Annie wasn't bothered about their regularity. She was completely alone in the house where she died and he was possibly the one person in existence that could make her feel better.