Drip…Drip…

This is a paper I wrote in Creative Writing. It had to be about a sound/sounds.

Enjoy.

Drip… Drip….

The old man lies on his back. His fingers, worn and wrinkled, lightly tap his chest. He’s thinking.

Drip… Drip….

He slowly turns his head to the clock on his nightstand. 2:48 AM. His head returns, eyes fixed back on the ceiling.

 

Drip… Drip….  

He’s finally convinced. With a sigh, he draws the covers off of him, instantly feeling the chill of the night. He begins to sit up.

Drip… Drip….  

He sits on the edge of his bed. On one hand, the dripping took his mind off of things. On the other hand, it was annoying as hell. He rubs his forehead, then stands up.

Drip… Drip….  

He makes his way across the room. The cracking of his joints breaks the silence of the night as he wobbles over to the doorway. He peers out into the long dark hallway. The quest for the faucet begins.

Drip… Drip…. 

He passes the computer room on the left. This is where Eloise had done her Sudoku every morning. The computer hadn’t been touched in days. Dust was accumulating on the desk.

Drip… Drip…. 

He passes the guest room on his right. Eloise had marked the heights of the growing grand-children on the doorframe ever since little Jessica had been born. Toys were scattered on the carpet and the sheets were a mess.

Drip… Drip…. 

He passes the laundry room on the left. Eloise had gotten the mustard stain out of his favorite shirt. The red and black flannel button-up was on a hanger over the washtub. Jeans were folded neatly on the dryer.

Drip… Drip….

He now stood in the doorway of the bathroom. The sink was a mere three steps away. He stood and watched the little droplets plummet to their death.

Drip… Drip…. 

He steps foot into the bathroom. The cold tile against his bare feet sends a chill up his spine. Another step. He turns on the light. Blinding at first, but his eyes quickly settle. He looks around at the plain white room. White walls. White tile. White countertop.

Drip… Drip….

The final step. He stands before the faucet, the object responsible for his late-night trip. He places his hands on the porcelain countertop and looks down. The red of blood stood out against the otherwise pure white sink. Eloise had spent her last few minutes on Earth suffering here. The blood from her coughs was a sour reminder of her death.

Drip… Drip….

The damn faucet was still dripping. He turns the hot water handle; it’s as tight as it can go. He turns the cold; same. His attempt at shutting off the sound had proved to be futile. He hangs his head in disappointment.

Drip… Drip….

He looks up to the mirror. His reflection stares back. “What a mess”, he thought. “What would Eloise say if she saw you like this?” She’d be disappointed. There was no way around it. What was the point in staying in bed all day? It wasn’t going to bring her back. His eyes begin to well up.

Drip… Drip….

His body slowly begins shaking. A tear slowly rolls down his cheek. It falls from his face to the sink and joins the rhythm of the dripping faucet. He hangs his head and begins to sob aloud.

Drip… Drip….

The tears slow down. He looks up at his reflection again. He looked like even more of a mess. And yet, he felt refreshed.

Drip… Drip….

He turns the water on. The glorious liquid comes pouring out. He cups his hands under it and washes his face. He feels pure. Renewed. He shuts both valves off and dries his face with a towel. He looks into the mirror, and smiles at the new image.

Drip… Drip….

Water was still dripping out. But now, it wasn’t as big of a deal. He turns around, shuts off the light, and begins his walk back to bed.

Drip… Drip….

His favorite shirt was hanging above the wash tub. He would wear it tomorrow and wash his pajamas while he was at it.

Drip… Drip….

The guestroom was cluttered with toys. Perhaps tomorrow he could clean it up and invite the grandkids over for a nice supper and ask them to spend the night.

Drip… Drip….

The computer was still humming. He would start off tomorrow morning with a coffee and a Sudoku. Maybe afterwards he’d dust off the desk.

Drip… Drip….

He’s back in his room. He crawls under the covers and gets settled in. His hands cross his chest as he stares up at the ceiling.

Drip… Drip….

He would need a good night’s sleep tonight. Because tomorrow was going to be a busy day. He had finally got himself together, now it was time to get the house in good shape.

Drip… Drip….

And after the house was clean and he had a full stomach…

Drip… Drip….

…he’d go into the garage…

Drip… Drip….

…find the monkey wrench…

Drip… Drip….

…open up the cupboard under the sink…

Drip… Drip….

…and fix the damn faucet.

Drip.

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