The sound was comforting. A light drizzle, nothing remarkable, just rain. But the sound of it brought back memories of an old home, of how things used to be in another time and another place. Things do change over time, and life has no patience for things standing still, but some things do make the memories return. Sometimes happy, sometimes melancholy, sometimes just a simple marvel of rediscovering. Memories come in shapes and sizes.
This drizzle. It was hard to determine just what emotional memory it resurfaced, except this fleeting but necessary sense of comfort.
It seemed a good idea to linger for a while.
At the bottom of the box, there was an MP3 player. An old-style, physical, single purpose MP3 player, which did nothing but play the files stored upon it. It had been years since she last saw the thing, and curiosity (combined with a slight weariness of the spring cleaning process) made her take a moment to rediscover what was on it.
Turns out, it was a mixtape she had made for a friend. All the best post-breakup songs her younger self could muster, in one single package. The friend had made up with the whomever, way back when, so there had been no reason to gift the mixtape at the time. However, at present, it would be more useful than she really wanted to admit.
She returned to the work at hand.
He looked at the portrait. Despite his efforts, something was off. A single nuance of color off, to be precise. He could not tell exactly what, but something was not what it was supposed to be. Even though everything was ostensibly as it should – every object was in its proper place, and the portrait looked like the person it was supposed to depict – something was still irking him.
Even though the client probably would not notice, he had to find out what it was. So he set out to paint another portrait. His restless worry would allow nothing else.
She stared at the words and the empty box below it, her mind blank. Some time, somehow, she had picked a password for this website, but she could not for the life of her remember what it was. The password had to be something, but just what was a mystery. What could her past self been thinking when signing up for this thing?
Without really knowing why, she entered “bepis” into the box and pressed enter. For some reason, it worked.
One day, she and her past self would have to have words about this. Just not today.
Today was Pancake Day. The delight this fact caused was both evident and, to use the one word which most aptly described the situation, loud. With the hardened affection that could only be the attribute of a parent of small children, he made pancake after pancake, each time to the audible delight of the present crowd.
Then, something happened that had not happened in a long while. He wasn’t sure if the younger ones remembered it or not, but the older ones clearly did, and they demanded it with severe gusto. He laughed and obliged – how often did you get to dance the spatula dance anyway?
She had lost count. That was the incontrovertible, irrefutable truth. Over the days, months and years, it had happened so many times that trying to keep track above the general term “many” was a futile exercise. There was a precise number, somewhere, but it didn’t matter. This multitude was immense.
And, on this day, it was floofy.
It would seem, for all the pets and the rubs gone by, that there had not been enough. The smol ball of floof meowed and, without mercy, demanded more. As it would again countless more times to come.
It was supposed to be so easy. And yet, the store-like maze (calling it a maze-like store would give the wrong connotations) confounded him at every turn. Milk, eggs, flour. That’s all he needed. That’s what he was sent here to get. And yet, they eluded him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a half-remembered tidbit floated around about milk being purposefully placed way in the back to ensure that customers had to walk past everything else. As he, yet again, found himself in the bird seed and bike paraphernalia aisle, he doubted that anything was on purpose here. But he had made a promise to go get the things, and so he tried once more.