Double Drabble Sunday! Prompt: Bed

Spring

There’s still a sharp chill on the air, and our breath makes two little plumes of fog. But spring is clearly on its way – the snow along the sidewalk is nearly gone, and the tips of crocuses peek up in the flowerbeds.

Trina and I stroll down the block, taking in the new life on the air. I revel in the scratchy warmth of the sweater Mom knit for up – red on one side, yellow on the other, so from a distance we look like two girls, walking hand in hand, not an inoperable freak.
It’s not always so bad.

Bed of Nails

The fakir’s secret is simple – one nail (two, ten) will pierce skin and flesh. But spread the weight across thousands, and no one exerts enough force to break the skin. Jesus’s mistake was limiting himself, in his vanity, to four.

I have taken this trick, and made it my own. The DUI conviction was the first nail, and it stung. As did the divorce, the lost custody battle, the layoff, the forclosure. But each nail took some pressure off the others. And soon I was seeking out more – alcohol, drugs, gambling, debt. I made my bed, and I contentedly lay.

Double Drabble Sunday! Prompt: Obviously

Group

"...And that’s when I knew I had to come get help."

"Thank you, Jeff," said Pastor Dave.

A hand went up across the circle.

"Do you have something to add?"

"Well, it wasn’t very original."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sure, sad story and all, but it was just so obvious. No real originality."

"But it’s my story," said Jeff.

"No reason not to be interesting. Sure, we’re all junkies in here, but that doesn’t mean we’re not entitled to standards."

"He has a point," says Pastor Dave. "Why don’t you think it over, and tell us again next meeting."

Quarrel

"I just want to know what I did wrong."

"I think that should be obvious."

I feel like an animal caught in a trap. If she thinks it’s obvious, then I’d sure as hell better not ask again, but that puts me at a strong disadantage in the argument. And even if it’s something I didn’t actually do wrong, I can’t defend myself because I don’t know what I’m being accused of.

"Come on, don’t you have something to say for yourself?"

"I, I...." This, on top of having to clean all that kitten hair out of my tire treads?