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non_plot challenge: 'Early Morning Chores.'
(This week's topic: 'waking up')
It was late.
Or early, rather. About five-thirty a.m, in any case. Jack's eyes fluttered open almost as soon as the soft chiming of the alarm clock began, and he reached out in the dark to shut it off.
It wouldn't do to wake Allanna. Allanna wouldn't really approve of what he was about to do. He kissed the dusky curve of her shoulder and carefully tucked the blanket around her before he reached for clothes in the dark.
Black pants. Black shirt. Black socks. Soft-soled shoes. And a large black duffel bag.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror; a pale face surrounded by black, a mischevous grin and sparkling blue eyes. Some would say he was too old for this. After all, he'd been doing this kind of thing since he wasn't much older than the kids were now.
As he turned from the hallway into the living room, a moving object caught his eye, and he froze.
"Uncle Jack?"
Anthony. "Sssh! Not so loud."
"What are you doing awake?" the boy yawned, setting his laptop computer down and getting to his feet, stretching.
"I could ask you the same question. Keep your voice down."
"I couldn't sleep." Anthony whispered. "What's the problem? Why are you dressed like a burglar?"
Should he explain?
That would take too long. Time was of the essence here. He had only seconds to decide.
"Get your shoes on. Come with me." Jack inclined his head toward the door. "Hurry up."
The halls were empty at this hour, shadows long and silent. The gothic sentinels that guarded the arches over the doorframes followed them with their empty, soulless eyes and frozen wings.
"Where are we going?" Anthony asked curiously.
"Ssssh."
"Where are we going?" he repeated under his breath.
"The north garden."
"Why are we going to the north garden?"
"You'll see. Get the door." Jack shifted the bag to his other shoulder.
The garden was cold; their breath formed clouds in front of them. An early September frost had silvered the grass. Jack decisively turned and began to trail along the wall, past the dormant rosebushes and the browned climbing ivy. Anthony followed, curious.
They stopped beside a spray of English ivy. Jack put his finger to his lips and knelt down on the ground, quietly rummaging through the plants sprawled on the wall. He smiled, nodding decisively, and pulled a small CD player out of the bag, plugging it into a power outlet he'd just located.
"Hand me the tape." he breathed. Shrugging, Anthony handed him a roll of blue painters' tape.
The sun was starting to rise above the horizon now. Jack worked quickly, plugging a set of small portable speakers into the headphone jack of the stereo and setting the speakers on the sill outside the open window. Tearing off several pieces of tape with his teeth, he stuck the cords to the wall, stood back for a moment to inspect his handiwork, nodded in satisfaction, and turned the volume on the stereo up to maximum.
Beckoning Anthony with one hand, he darted across the garden, climbing nimbly up one of the broad-limbed trees. Anthony followed, burning with curiosity, settling himself on one of the branches.
"You gonna tell me what this is all about?" Anthony murmured.
"You're gonna find out in about ten seconds." Jack replied quietly, rubbing his hands together with glee. Pulling a remote control out of his pocket, he looked at Anthony for a second, winked, and hit 'play'.
You're older than you've ever been and now you're even older
And now you're even older
And now you're even older
You're older than you've ever been and now you're even older
And now you're older still ...
The heavy drumbeats of They Might Be Giants rocked the tranquil silence of the garden. Jack began giggling, putting his hands over his mouth in an attempt to be quiet.
There was a silence, and then noise from the apartment by the window; muffled curses, thumping, the window sliding aside.
Stephen stuck his head out the window, an enraged expression on his face, his hair a complete mess from sleep. Jack had given up all pretense of silence now and was laughing hysterically, devoting most of his concentration to not falling out of the tree. Anthony, despite himself, began snickering.
"Donovan!" Stephen bellowed from the window. "I'm going to fucking kill you for this!"
"Happy birthday, Stephen!" Jack choked, tears streaming down his face.
It was late.
Or early, rather. About five-thirty a.m, in any case. Jack's eyes fluttered open almost as soon as the soft chiming of the alarm clock began, and he reached out in the dark to shut it off.
It wouldn't do to wake Allanna. Allanna wouldn't really approve of what he was about to do. He kissed the dusky curve of her shoulder and carefully tucked the blanket around her before he reached for clothes in the dark.
Black pants. Black shirt. Black socks. Soft-soled shoes. And a large black duffel bag.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror; a pale face surrounded by black, a mischevous grin and sparkling blue eyes. Some would say he was too old for this. After all, he'd been doing this kind of thing since he wasn't much older than the kids were now.
As he turned from the hallway into the living room, a moving object caught his eye, and he froze.
"Uncle Jack?"
Anthony. "Sssh! Not so loud."
"What are you doing awake?" the boy yawned, setting his laptop computer down and getting to his feet, stretching.
"I could ask you the same question. Keep your voice down."
"I couldn't sleep." Anthony whispered. "What's the problem? Why are you dressed like a burglar?"
Should he explain?
That would take too long. Time was of the essence here. He had only seconds to decide.
"Get your shoes on. Come with me." Jack inclined his head toward the door. "Hurry up."
The halls were empty at this hour, shadows long and silent. The gothic sentinels that guarded the arches over the doorframes followed them with their empty, soulless eyes and frozen wings.
"Where are we going?" Anthony asked curiously.
"Ssssh."
"Where are we going?" he repeated under his breath.
"The north garden."
"Why are we going to the north garden?"
"You'll see. Get the door." Jack shifted the bag to his other shoulder.
The garden was cold; their breath formed clouds in front of them. An early September frost had silvered the grass. Jack decisively turned and began to trail along the wall, past the dormant rosebushes and the browned climbing ivy. Anthony followed, curious.
They stopped beside a spray of English ivy. Jack put his finger to his lips and knelt down on the ground, quietly rummaging through the plants sprawled on the wall. He smiled, nodding decisively, and pulled a small CD player out of the bag, plugging it into a power outlet he'd just located.
"Hand me the tape." he breathed. Shrugging, Anthony handed him a roll of blue painters' tape.
The sun was starting to rise above the horizon now. Jack worked quickly, plugging a set of small portable speakers into the headphone jack of the stereo and setting the speakers on the sill outside the open window. Tearing off several pieces of tape with his teeth, he stuck the cords to the wall, stood back for a moment to inspect his handiwork, nodded in satisfaction, and turned the volume on the stereo up to maximum.
Beckoning Anthony with one hand, he darted across the garden, climbing nimbly up one of the broad-limbed trees. Anthony followed, burning with curiosity, settling himself on one of the branches.
"You gonna tell me what this is all about?" Anthony murmured.
"You're gonna find out in about ten seconds." Jack replied quietly, rubbing his hands together with glee. Pulling a remote control out of his pocket, he looked at Anthony for a second, winked, and hit 'play'.
You're older than you've ever been and now you're even older
And now you're even older
And now you're even older
You're older than you've ever been and now you're even older
And now you're older still ...
The heavy drumbeats of They Might Be Giants rocked the tranquil silence of the garden. Jack began giggling, putting his hands over his mouth in an attempt to be quiet.
There was a silence, and then noise from the apartment by the window; muffled curses, thumping, the window sliding aside.
Stephen stuck his head out the window, an enraged expression on his face, his hair a complete mess from sleep. Jack had given up all pretense of silence now and was laughing hysterically, devoting most of his concentration to not falling out of the tree. Anthony, despite himself, began snickering.
"Donovan!" Stephen bellowed from the window. "I'm going to fucking kill you for this!"
"Happy birthday, Stephen!" Jack choked, tears streaming down his face.
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