cliché || reddie ✔️

three

This weekend is no different than the others. It went by fast, too fast, and next thing Richie knows it's 5:00 PM and Sunday.

12:00 PM

He first woke up at noon, bright midday light streaming into his bedroom. He went to the bathroom to do his daily routine, brushing his teeth, washing his face, taking a shower.. He dried his hair when he was finished and headed downstairs to get to work.

Richie isn't one for cleaning or chores, but if he didn't do something, the house would continue to be just that- a house. A cold, empty, dust collecting house. The need to spark some liveliness burns at his core, and that he does.

Richie started with the living room, vacuuming the crusty carpet until it had a hint of fluff to it again. The obnoxiously loud hum of the vacuum drowned out the TV and it was the only sound in the house until Richie pulled out the plug. He had wiped down every surface - counters, tables, shelves, railings, etc...

As he moved to the kitchen, he picked up strewn about items and put them back into their respective places. He placed the dishes into the dishwasher and as they were being cleaned, he walked to the dining room with a duster.

Richie's parents room and the dining room were the two places in the house he's rarely stepped foot in. It's the two main rooms in the house that pounds Richie with the reminder that his parents aren't the same people all those years ago.

The dining room is simple. Maggie's china cabinet is pushed up against the adjacent wall and a brown table and chair set is situated in the middle, an unlit candle sat in the center of the table. Richie reached out and thumbed the wax, trying to remember the last time that candle had been lit. The memory floated in fuzzy and Richie dropped his hand.

Shelves and a broken clock hung on the opposite wall. Trinkets and frames of all sizes littered the shelves, telling stories from Richie's childhood. He studied them for a moment, trying to remember how old he was when he made this and when that picture was taken.

He sighed softly, his eyes lingering on the last family photo his mother dragged them to before taking the duster to the glass frames.

3:00 PM

He collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion settling into all corners of his body. He flicked his glasses up onto his head, pushing falling hair out of his eyes, and wiped the bridge of his nose. He shifted, trying to unstick his clothes from his heated body.

i'm never doing housework again, he thought.

Breathing in deeply, Richie closed his eyes, thinking he'd only lay there for a moment before getting up again.

4:30 PM

The second time Richie woke up was from his phone buzzing with an incoming text. He pushed himself up into a sitting position only for soreness of sleeping on his side to strike his shoulder. As he slowly rolled the soreness out, he stood and let his bare feet sink into the carpet.

Light pressure dragged down his forehead and before Richie could think, his glasses went tumbling down his face and hit the floor. His breath hitched in surprise. His phone buzzed again and he came down from his small adrenaline high. Picking up his glasses and sliding them onto his face, his vision finally sharpened.

The setting sun painted golden window-shaped rectangles onto his living room walls. The sunlight hit the TV, blinding the screen and showing off all the dust and fingerprints Richie forgot to clean off. But he didn't mind and turned around to look out the window.