A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 52 | back to consciousness

The ears of sunlight cascaded the clouds like monkeys in a jungle gym and scolded their fans.

Yet, the greens of untamed grass rose to high notes of color, chased the soil, and waved victory across our subtle lawn.

It was Anna's day to tame the shrubs.

"Aargh! Do you expect this bush to disappear by itself? C'mon, pleat those sleeves, and run to the yard. We don't have all day..."

She exited the apartment with a hammer and well-stacked screws.

Her tousled hair whipped chaos below her shoulders.

Taken aback, my mouth split open.

I gasped. "What the hell?"

What sort of person trimmed the grass with a hammer?

She must have drunk.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and massaged my forehead.

"What happened to the lawnmower and the rake?"

Her cheeks surged up like red-faced cones, and wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes.

"Forget about those rascals." She pressed her lips and tossed her hair to her back. "They are taking a smoke in the granny flat."

"Eh?"

My lips curled upward, and I kneaded a brow.

She cracked jokes in every single discussion, yet they stunned me.

I cradled a book close to my bosom, hopped on the rocky pavement, and tipped my head up. "So what are you up to?"

Her gaze shifted from the lawn to the wolf blankets knotted in the sky.

She handled a toolbox, bit her stuck-up lips, and stepped to the fore.

"You won't make a pass at this right? Unless..., let me guess." My nose flared up, sniffed dense clouds, and caught a hint at the click of my fingers. "Do you want to build a kennel?"

Dang, it!

Why did mongrels smile so fine and woof so gently?

If not for their chef-d'oeuvre cuteness, mineral white teeth, and Italian physique; Anna wouldn't have stopped by that outlandish animal shelter down the street and adopted a dog.

I frowned. "Murphy drools, plus he's not good-looking."

"And so what?" She shoved her skin and bones middle finger at me and rushed forth to build a house for her pet. "An extra pair of hands will be great. See you around, girl... don't be late."

I rubbed my puffed-up eyes and nodded. "Yes, when pigs fly."

She swayed her hips and winked a finger. "Sweetie, try me."

"What's talking?"

I heaved a sigh, and stoke out my tongue.

Her cold shoulder was a tsunami that saluted my protest.

I gazed into the distance with a faraway expression and chewed my nails. "Whatever floats your boat."

Newspapers flapped in the wind and made a pass at the golden ball up the sky.

One could pin-point their kiss of affection, and genuine apprehension, unlike humans whose life was a stage play.

I gaped at my feet and moistened my lips.

How would trust exist in the arena of hypocrites?

Behind curtains, emotions were rehashed before each play.