Writing prompt for the day
Why did Peter lose his temper with Joanna?
Where did he go after he stormed out?
What happened to him when he got there?
"You never understand me!" Peter screamed, the muscles in his neck taut, the blood in his ears pumping like a piston.
Joanna smirked and inspected her acrylic nails. The warm sun pulsated into the room and a lonely fly buzzed around the room.
The sound of the door banging shut caused the delicate vase on the lounge table to shiver. Joanna looked up, raised an eyebrow and picked up her half-finished book.
Outside in the garden, Peter stormed across the gravel path. His hands were sunk deep into his pockets, his jaws clenched and his eyes glistened.
The greenhouse was hot. The lingering and stuffy smell of roses and honeybush was soporific. Peter savagely picked a rose, sat down and began plucking off each petal one by one. Once all the petals were off, he began tearing each petal into even smaller and smaller pieces.
He sat there, his hands cupped full of rose petal fragments. The hot anger and searing hurt had passed. He sat there like a freshly born soul. Joanna didn't get him. He began to smirk. She never had and probably never would. Their annual fight was over. Peter sat back and stared at the petal pieces in his hand. Maybe this was the time for a deep philosophical reflection on the ridiculousness of the situation- fighting the same fight with the same person about the same issue every year. But no philosophical thought came.
Instead, a low growl from his tummy reminded him that it was time for lunch.
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