Dirt Orange Dusk

Title: Dirt Orange Dusk
Author: Secretagent03
Rating: PG
Summary: They were making a home.
Disclaimer: Story's mine but not the characters
A/N: I originally posted it at SD-1 for a fic challenge, but thought what the heck, why not see what you guys think. Hope you like it!


Dirt Orange Dusk


The blazing sky was like an omen. It seemed to glaze the entire room in a dirt orange. Visitors often commented on how amazing the room looked during dusk, the way the sun reflected off the lake. She hated it, though. The sunset tinted the autumn glazed hardwood floor and turned her carefully chosen Angels Gate white walls into that same dirt orange that muddied the sky. She hated it.

He had loved it, though. The minute he had laid eyes on the house he fell in love. She didn’t understand it then; how he could become so attached to a thing like that, a broken down, abandoned, piece of trash, thing. She had wanted to tear it down all together. The property was nice enough, and if they built a descent summer home she figured she could live with it. But he had begged her to allow him to work on it. Just him. No hired hands or contractors.

It was a small house, less than 1,000 sq. feet, but after 7 years of work it still was far from being completed. He had to work on the house on and off. Sometimes the job kept him away from it as long as 6 months, but he never lost his love for the work. She envied it sometimes; the house. How much he cared for it. But she always felt silly afterwards, and came to love those summer weekends almost as much as him. She would drive into town and buy a watermelon and pack of Kool-aid at the local grocery store. It was too hot for beer. Then she’d slice the watermelon and mix the Kool-aid on a dilapidated card table by the lake. They didn’t like to wear watches on their time off, so the sun acted as their clock. When it would begin to set he’d come out of the house and meet her down by the lake, each time enveloping her in a sweaty embrace and a kiss.

One night he had called to her from the door. “Syd, come look at this.” Taking her hand he had led her into the cellar. Condensation beaded the stonewalls and had begun to rot some of the support beams. He showed her to one of the wooden pillars. The etching was faded, but the words Kate and love and Robert were still legible. “You suppose they were lovers living here, and stole down to this cellar to conceal and confess their love to each other?” he had teased her. “Maybe,” she’d said, “Maybe we could do the same thing.” “But we don’t have to conceal our love,” he had sung raising his arms, “I would confess it to the world.” She had blushed then and he had quieted taking her hand in his. “And I will confess it to you again, I love you,” And he raised her hand to his lip and kissed her wedding ring. “I love you,” he kissed her cheek, “I love you,” he kissed her lips.

After that they occasionally joked about Kate and Robert. “I don’t think Robert would have treated Kate that way!”… “Maybe Robert invented hockey in that cellar, it’s cold enough for ice.” “Maybe Kate did.”

About four years after they had begun renovating, she finally deemed the first floor fit enough for living. They had moved a few odds and ends into the house. Mostly thrift furniture and discount buys, but she did frame one picture and hung it on the wall. It was the house before they'd bought it. She made careful to hang it in the alcove off the main room, where the sunset couldn’t get to it; spoil it. No matter what she put in that room or what color it was painted, when the sun set it would glaze the room again, and it always looked to her…unnatural. She finally forfeited to Mother Nature and tried to avoid the room at dusk.

But here she stood again, the orange glaze covering her skin; reflecting off her tears, and she hated it more than ever. She stared out at the orange lake, and when she could take no more she snuck inside the alcove, hiding from the sunset, and took the frame off the wall, slipping the picture out. The frame fell to the ground and shattered. The gasoline on the floor swam under the glass shards causing the light to dance above it. One hand fumbled through her pocket, retrieving a smooth, metal lighter, in the other she held the photo. She slowly moved them together until the photo began to singe and eventually burn. She closed her eyes, choking back a sob, and dropped the picture. Immense heat flew up behind her as she turned her back and strode out the door. She didn’t bother to look down as she heard a crunch beneath her heel, a pair of sunglasses.

She got in her car decided to drive around a bit before heading toward the train station. Her father would be arriving in a few hours for the funeral. Behind her, the house became engulfed in orange flames. A second summer sun, but it too would soon burn out.
 
Thanks for the responses. :smiley:

Yeah, Vaughn did die, sorry.

I was planning on making this a one parter, but you guys might convince me to add more to it. I'll see if I can think up a storyline. If I can I'll pm you.
 
Back
Top