by Diane Carlisle
Yes, I did say I was participating in the A-Z Challenge (and I am), but did you really think I could come up with a short story every day? I can't even finish the one I've been working on for the past five years! Okay, but still, I'm sharing the word
Apathy from an old post back in 2011. I will begin my stream of consciousness writing for all the days I can't seem to find a story in me. I promise!
But this one below is a story. Enjoy!
From
Dictionary.com -
apathy [ap-uh-thee] noun, plural -thies.
1. Absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement.
2. Lack of interest in or concern for things that others find moving or exciting.
Squeegee
The floating scaffold moved side to side, sloshing about the soapy water in his bucket. He whipped the squeegee downward in a quick motion, the excess fluid sprayed off into the wind like a mist. The muffled voices inside just another part of the scenery, a hundred feet in the air in front of his 15th window of the day.
The screaming on the other side seemed like a movie playing in the background. He pressed the spongy strip to the glass and made square patterns on the surface, the liquid dripping toward the bottom pane and carrying a summer’s worth of dust and pigeon shit in its stream. A green and white speck hitched a ride inside a soapy bubble the size of a nickel.
The woman threw a vase across the room, "I hate you!"
The man ducked and the fixture shattered against a closed door.
He'd witnessed this scene before in his own living room, back when Margie used to watch the Soap Operas. He would leave her alone, engrossed in her favorite episodes. Something else could occupy his time. Make a sandwich. Swat at flies. Anything.
He flipped the squeegee over to its rubber side and pulled downward, pressing hard against the glass. The water flowed quickly, gravity forcing the drips to race each other to the bottom.
In two large strides, the man closed the gap between himself and the woman, placing his hands around her neck. He looked angry.
The wind shifted the scaffold back and forth and the clean surface he just uncovered gleamed in contrast to the rest of the window. He again placed the squeegee back to the top and pulled down. A pigeon stopped in for a visit and perched itself on a side panel.
“Hello there little fellow.”
The pigeon cooed back at him.
The woman tried kicking and punching, but she looked as if she was losing in her struggle for air. Her punches and kicks slowed down and then she was still.
"People will be people, eh?" he said to the pigeon and then raised the squeegee to remove the rest of the soapy liquid before moving on to his next window.
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D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z
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