Hello. New here and this is just me shooting from the hip. Feel free to PM if your interested and have any thoughts or ideas.
Anthony forked the last of the grass out of the freshly mowed lawn and into a bag. Damn this was hot work on a day like today and no amount of cursing made it better.
A haze of heat rose from the fields around him. The trees were still and everything looked parched. The flies were relentless, buzzing round his hair, attracted by the beads of sweat that were falling.
He flicked them away, and cursed again.
Why wasn't his daughter out here helping? No doubt shopping on his credit card again which would mean another night getting drunk with friends and then sleeping the next day. Aint done an honest day's work in her whole life - and didn’t have any yearning to neither.
And his wife was inside preparing the house for 'the arrival'!
What the hell she was making so much fuss about, Anthony didn't know. All he could remember was a snotty, stuck-up, spoilt, rich-bitch girl. And she was coming to stay. From what he could remember of her 6 years ago she was much like his daughter, but at least she was his spoilt, rich-bitch girl.
Of course he was sad about what had happened to her family. But the reason her family had disintegrate like it had was because they had no idea of discipline. Another load of people who were scared of an honest day's work.
It annoyed him that his wife was inside cleaning the house from top to bottom just so that his niece could be comfortable. He didn't remember his wife doing that for him.
He heard his wife call out: "Anthony, you had better leave for the airport soon."
'I’ll leave for the airport when it’s right for me' he thought to himself. She hadn't arrived yet but she was already calling the shots.
After a time, he put on his chequered shirt, changed his boots and drove off in his 4WD to the airport. An hours drive. An hour he could do without. At least the air con cooled him. He listened to some classic-rock – the good music they used to play when he was young - not the moronic, monotonic, repetitive hip-hop his daughter played all the time.
At the airport, he waited. And waited. Got some coffee. And waited. Played on some machines. And waited. Watched passengers come and go. And waited.
He wondered what she looked like now. He remembered a spotty girl who would never take NO as an answer.
At last her plane arrived, and he waited at the arrivals lounge, with a card with her name.
Anthony forked the last of the grass out of the freshly mowed lawn and into a bag. Damn this was hot work on a day like today and no amount of cursing made it better.
A haze of heat rose from the fields around him. The trees were still and everything looked parched. The flies were relentless, buzzing round his hair, attracted by the beads of sweat that were falling.
He flicked them away, and cursed again.
Why wasn't his daughter out here helping? No doubt shopping on his credit card again which would mean another night getting drunk with friends and then sleeping the next day. Aint done an honest day's work in her whole life - and didn’t have any yearning to neither.
And his wife was inside preparing the house for 'the arrival'!
What the hell she was making so much fuss about, Anthony didn't know. All he could remember was a snotty, stuck-up, spoilt, rich-bitch girl. And she was coming to stay. From what he could remember of her 6 years ago she was much like his daughter, but at least she was his spoilt, rich-bitch girl.
Of course he was sad about what had happened to her family. But the reason her family had disintegrate like it had was because they had no idea of discipline. Another load of people who were scared of an honest day's work.
It annoyed him that his wife was inside cleaning the house from top to bottom just so that his niece could be comfortable. He didn't remember his wife doing that for him.
He heard his wife call out: "Anthony, you had better leave for the airport soon."
'I’ll leave for the airport when it’s right for me' he thought to himself. She hadn't arrived yet but she was already calling the shots.
After a time, he put on his chequered shirt, changed his boots and drove off in his 4WD to the airport. An hours drive. An hour he could do without. At least the air con cooled him. He listened to some classic-rock – the good music they used to play when he was young - not the moronic, monotonic, repetitive hip-hop his daughter played all the time.
At the airport, he waited. And waited. Got some coffee. And waited. Played on some machines. And waited. Watched passengers come and go. And waited.
He wondered what she looked like now. He remembered a spotty girl who would never take NO as an answer.
At last her plane arrived, and he waited at the arrivals lounge, with a card with her name.
