A Khaki Day
First writings for 6teen; I figured I'd write something most will like before I raise a little hell. Four 100 word drabbles. I do not own 6teen. If I did, it'd be The Ron Show, featuring the Adventures of Judy. But that's another tale. Here you go! These drabbles (c)NovaGirl, 2006.
Morning
This was what mornings were all about.
A morning was about light coming through your curtains far too early, about shining off the dust on the photographs of the gang, and of them, and of feeling the necklace tighten as you swallow. It was about not knowing where your next job was, but not particularly caring, either. It was about practicing grins in the mirror with toothpaste still in your mouth, and spitting it out with a scowl. It was about wasting good weather outside for a gorgeous smile inside. Her smile.
Mornings were anticipation, and Jonesy loved anticipating her.
Afternoon
What a typical afternoon this was.
Friends shouldn't snicker quite so loud at the way his eyes stay glued to her. She shouldn't roll her eyes that way—she should be bored by the Clones, but not the Jonesy. But maybe he should watch her expression more than listen to her constant, caustic words. Maybe he should spend more time at his job du jour and less time being riveted. Maybe he should just focus on making her laugh instead of worry.
And he should definitely try not to look too delighted at the notion of her calling him tonight.
Evening
"Jonesy, you're not acting yourself."
He smiles and shrugs it off to his family. Tries to, because they all know better, not least of all his step-sister. The sky is blush red tonight.
It would be easy, to play Xbox, watch a baseball game, mess around with the brothers. If this were any other night. And it isn't. He looks at the far too silent phone.
It rings. He dives.
"Hello?"
"Jonesy? It's me." Of course it's her. He smiles.
"Hey, me," He greets, and the rest of the day is lost as the sun sets to her voice.
Night
He doesn't like sleeping, wasting all those hours he could be doing something.
But he likes to dream.
Some of the dreams stain his sheets, and while he enjoys them, his favourite dreams are the ones he doesn't understand but desperately wants to.
He likes his dreams like her, unattainable but his all the same.
The gang will part eventually. Scholarships, luck, hard work will pull them apart, to universities, futures and families.
He doesn't want to think of how Nikki will leave him. He tries not to as he drifts off, thinking not of the darkness, just tomorrow's sun.