Word Count: 305
She gets up from the couch and goes upstairs to dig out a sweater. Resists the urge to change cutoffs to long jeans. Makes the bed to avoid creeping back in there and pulling the covers up over her head.
Settled back on the sofa, feeling the CPU heat of her laptop through the lap robe she’s thrown over her legs, she starts yawning. Odd since she slept two hours later than normal. The morning sun in September usually comes up while she’s pouring her second cup.
She tries to avoid thinking crisp autumn weather because it sounds so cliche. But the rustle of wind touching leaves and the curtain tips dancing in the barely open windows are unmistakeable signs.
The yawning is near constant. She doesn’t bother to cover her mouth anymore. Her eyelids are aching to close. Before ten a.m. she has finished a large egg and toast breakfast, a sandwich and two bowls of soup.
By late afternoon she has allowed herself several naps, finally finding a dark corner behind the chair in the den. She has pulled a mountain of pillows atop her to block out the sun.
When he comes home before dinner he calls out her name. She thinks she is dreaming, not sure so she doesn’t think to answer his search. It takes her a while to slip from the grip of deep sleep but she opens her eyes as he finds her.
What are you doing down there? he laughs, reaching down to help pull her up. I’m hungry, he says, what’s for dinner?
She doesn’t accept the hand that he’s offered. Growls low, annoyed at being awakened. Glares at his long meaty arms, his nice rounded belly. Thinks to herself, I’m hungry too. It’ll be a long winter. Then leaps up and snaps at his throat.
