Near 500 words: TW ends his day

Episode 11 of The Writer.

Cat jumped up onto the table and trod across the postcards. She approached TW (aka The Writer) and rubbed her head against his. Then a purr and then a meow. She was hungry.

TW sighed. “Okay, let’s eat.”

He left the postcards and headed into the kitchen. Pouring out Cat’s food, he realized he was famished. After he fed and watered Cat, he went back to the postcards. He gathered them up and stacked them neatly back in the box, then put them away on the top shelf of the closet.

He would come back to the postcards the next weekend when he had more time to study them and get a handle on what they were telling him. Right then he had to clear his mind and prepare himself for the next day.

He went into the kitchen, pulled out a steak to let it breathe, then boiled potatoes, throwing in milk and butter for mashed potatoes. He took a bag of broccoli out of the freezer. Setting the timer on the stove for thirty minutes, he left the steak and went into the living room and plopped himself into his chair in front of the TV and clicked on the remote. He rushed through the guide and realized there wasn’t much on. Maybe he would watch a movie.

He went through his DVDs and came across just the thing. Humphrey Bogart and William Holden and Audrey Hepburn. “Sabrina” was one of his favorites. Nothing like Audrey Hepburn to get his mind off his troubles. He could make up his mind what his next move with the postcards would be later. They had waited this long. There was no harm to waiting a little longer. And maybe, just maybe, Sylvia’s yearly postcard would arrive in the coming week.

The steak and the broccoli and the mashed potatoes were served with a glass of red wine. TW finished the dishes, then returned to his movie. He fell asleep about three-fourths through the movie.

He snapped awake to the sound of a tree branch tap-tap-tapping against one of his front windows. Outside there was a rain storm passing through. Thunder, then lightning. The clock read midnight.

He reached for the remote. It wasn’t on the table beside his chair. He searched the chair and underneath the chair. He looked all around the living room and finally found it underneath the couch across the room.

Then a whishing noise came from the back yard. He ran through the kitchen and out the back door. Standing in the dark on the back porch, a streak of light crossed the sky, then the rain stopped.

TK’s body went weak and he slumped onto the cement floor and he passed out.