Playing House

Sorry it’s been so long. I honestly haven’t been doing that much writing. And… I haven’t worked on the next episode of 108.3. I’ll probably work on that tomorrow (or today, technically, I guess). There’s an “extra step” of sorts that I needed to take before really beginning it, but that is (mostly) taken care of now.

So anyway, about this story. Can’t really remember when I thought of it, but I refined it a bit then wrote it in the past couple days (mostly today). I think it’s pretty “whole”, in a way.

Unsurprisingly, I’m studying Abnormal Psychology in college right now. That didn’t exactly inspire this, but it probably did so at a subconscious level, and certainly helped it along in any case.

For music… I may have used this album before, but it’s this really fantastic dark ambient jazz sort of thing, very mood-setting.


“Alright, I’m the mommy and you’re the daddy,” Susan said to her brother. She had a baby doll cradled in her arms, rocking slightly from side to side.
Peter stood in front of her with his normal expression of “spaced-out”, till he came back to reality and nodded. “Sure,” he said, and walked off to a corner of the room and started shuffling through some paper.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked, still rocking the doll.
“I’m at work right now.”
“All right.”
She walked over to a chair and sat in it, looking at the doll lovingly and brushing back its hair, then later sat the doll in a chair and went off to cook with some toy pots. Peter continued shuffling around papers, then got up and walked over to the table Sarah was at. They reenacted eating a meal, then decided it was time to go to bed.
A couple minutes later it was morning again and Peter returned to work. He flipped through pages angrily, tore a few out and threw them away as crumpled balls of paper. Sarah gave the doll a bottle of milk.
When Peter returned home for the evening a minute later, he threw down his nonexistent briefcase.
“Work didn’t go well?” Sarah said, mirroring the words she had seen her mother say to her father when he arrived in a similar state.
“Hell no,” Peter said in a growl. Sarah, surprised out of her character, covered her mouth with her hand and looked around to see if their mom heard. She evidently didn’t. “You shouldn’t say that, Peter,” she said in a whisper, still looking over her shoulder. “Dad said that adults like him can say it but not children.”
Peter didn’t acknowledge her words. He sat at the couch – the table, that is – and began waiting silently for dinner. Sarah was irked by his manner, but put on her mitten-potholders and carried the meal to the table. Peter looked from the food to her and back againn. “What’s this shit?” he demanded.
Sarah visibly jumped this time, leaned to look around the corner of the room, but it still seemed like they hadn’t caught anyone’s attention. “Peter, you shouldn’t…”
He got up from the couch and stood over her intimidatingly. “I told you I wanted steak!”
Sarah had instinctively lifted one her hands in defense over her face and he brought his hand down to smack it away. “Peter, please…” she pleaded.
He took hold of her shoulders and shoved her against the wall. She was holding the doll and he hit it out of her arms. The plastic clattered against the floor. He pulled his fist back and threw it forward at her face. Pain flooded through Sarah and she pulled her hands up again. “Please, Peter, we don’t need to play house any more if you don’t want to…”
“Maybe if you actually took care of the house while I was at work,” he said, his eyes focused at her but… Not at her, through her. He was looking at something else, but there was only wall behind her. “I work my ass off all day, and I come back and you’ve done nothing here.”
“Peter, I don’t want to play any more, let’s do something else…”
He was holding her by the shoulders and shaking her slightly, her head spinning from the constant motion. He was still looking past her, eyes dull and distant. They focused more than they had been suddenly, a snarl twisted his face, and he slid his hands up from her shoulders up to her throat. He began squeezing, blocking her from taking a breath.
“You’re the cause of this all, you bitch. I’m sick of taking all your shit, I’m gonna take care of this for once and for all.”
“Ple… Pete… I don’t…”
His small hands tightened on her smaller, weak neck, and her head was beginning to jerk back and forth slightly. Then suddenly his eyes returned to how they normally looked, and he let go of her neck and looked from his hands to her and back again in horror.
Their mother came into the room. Sarah looked up at her, still rubbing her neck. “Mom, Peter…”
She interrupted them, idly rubbing her own neck. Sher voice was choked slightly. “Guys, mommy needs to talk you you about Daddy…”


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