Bardic Returns
The song's the thing
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2025
- Location
- Pacifically oriented
Wendy's confirmation was enough for Zeke. A third time, the flame rose. For the first time, flame licked at the bottom of the stack of Polaroids. Zeke rolled the lighter over and over, ensuring each of the dozen was set ablaze. He coughed as smoke escaped the pictures, demons of debauchery swirling as the flames left ashen edges that glowed and faded. There would be no justice for Dean - but also no police reports, no depositions, no trials. Wendy had trials enough to face now, and for the rest of their conversation, the smoke built and mixed with the food.
~~~
Zeke nodded when Wendy said, "Just throw it all out." He wasn't going to make a fuss about wasted food. Dean had already wasted it. Even if Zeke had been the only one to prepare it, the fact that Dean had any of it, shared in their sacred family time rendered it impure. He thought for a spell about how to dispose of it. Probably too much to throw out all the dishes, too. While Wendy retrieved her book, Zeke prepared to rid their house of the remnants of Thanksgiving. He went out back and flipped the outside light on to make sure he had enough space out back to accommodate all the food along with the trash he had already accumulated in the inside bag.
He should have been chilled with the sun down, but his lingering rage warmed him, and steam poured off him as he moved the metal trashcans around and propped up their lids. He saw that one of them was emptied out, so the remains of the yardwork he'd done last weekend hadn't taken up all the space.
When he came back in, Wendy was nowhere to be found, so he opened another bag and dumped the food into it, methodically scraping the remains with a metal spatula. The screech jolted him, but he kept at it. Once it was all bagged up, he went to the table and poured the ashes from the ashtray into the kitchen trash. He clomped out with both bags, tied them both up, and put them in the free can. The clang of the lid was a funereal gong to end the evening.
Zeke came back in, flicked off the light, and set himself to washing off the remaining filth before bed. He was bone tired, but the swish of the water over the dishes and down the drain, taking with it the flecks of bird and stuffing and potatoes - even Dean's green beans - out of the house. The slosh of the wet sponge and soap formed a cleansing ritual. The rhythm allowed his composure to reform, and the scent of the soap started the healing of the house. His fingers were sore, as were his shoulders and back, though putting the last dish up to dry lightened his mental load and his steps back to bed.
Without thinking, he took off his jeans and left them by the bed, leaving only his t shirt and boxers on as he climbed into bed with Wendy. As she read, he wove his fingers through her hair to comfort her. He curled his body around hers, keeping himself close to her. The covers contained them both, and he would comfort her as best he could.
His midnight shadow had returned across his chin and cheeks, and it wasn't even 8 o'clock. His chin rested on Wendy's shoulder as he said, "Just lemme know when your eyes are heavy, kitten, and I'll turn out the light. We'll both sleep hard tonight."
~~~
Zeke nodded when Wendy said, "Just throw it all out." He wasn't going to make a fuss about wasted food. Dean had already wasted it. Even if Zeke had been the only one to prepare it, the fact that Dean had any of it, shared in their sacred family time rendered it impure. He thought for a spell about how to dispose of it. Probably too much to throw out all the dishes, too. While Wendy retrieved her book, Zeke prepared to rid their house of the remnants of Thanksgiving. He went out back and flipped the outside light on to make sure he had enough space out back to accommodate all the food along with the trash he had already accumulated in the inside bag.
He should have been chilled with the sun down, but his lingering rage warmed him, and steam poured off him as he moved the metal trashcans around and propped up their lids. He saw that one of them was emptied out, so the remains of the yardwork he'd done last weekend hadn't taken up all the space.
When he came back in, Wendy was nowhere to be found, so he opened another bag and dumped the food into it, methodically scraping the remains with a metal spatula. The screech jolted him, but he kept at it. Once it was all bagged up, he went to the table and poured the ashes from the ashtray into the kitchen trash. He clomped out with both bags, tied them both up, and put them in the free can. The clang of the lid was a funereal gong to end the evening.
Zeke came back in, flicked off the light, and set himself to washing off the remaining filth before bed. He was bone tired, but the swish of the water over the dishes and down the drain, taking with it the flecks of bird and stuffing and potatoes - even Dean's green beans - out of the house. The slosh of the wet sponge and soap formed a cleansing ritual. The rhythm allowed his composure to reform, and the scent of the soap started the healing of the house. His fingers were sore, as were his shoulders and back, though putting the last dish up to dry lightened his mental load and his steps back to bed.
Without thinking, he took off his jeans and left them by the bed, leaving only his t shirt and boxers on as he climbed into bed with Wendy. As she read, he wove his fingers through her hair to comfort her. He curled his body around hers, keeping himself close to her. The covers contained them both, and he would comfort her as best he could.
His midnight shadow had returned across his chin and cheeks, and it wasn't even 8 o'clock. His chin rested on Wendy's shoulder as he said, "Just lemme know when your eyes are heavy, kitten, and I'll turn out the light. We'll both sleep hard tonight."