Barefoot Subservience

I had three laundry machines in front of me. I was at home on the edge of the kitchen where it was dark and brooding. The machines were as small as my body, they were placed on top of the broken fridge. I started putting used clothes along with the right amount of detergent in each of it and only put a plastic test tube container on the third.

I forgot I put the husband and the wife on the second one. They wouldn't even fit. I waited. When I felt that the first one's round is enough I started putting fabric softener without the mission of drying it after. I realized the time of the first one wasn't enough so I quasi-panicked and took the second one for granted. The third one was done without a doubt and I took the plastic test tube container off of it onto the kitchen table and I stopped altogether.

The husband and the wife were walking on the fields outside the house where I disappeared. They wife was pregnant and they were trying to talk to the father of the husband, as if arguing to gain blessings of what they've been trying to pursue. Mr. McFillie was the father, portraying the real Mr. McRoggin in a film. The washed clothes weren't hanged; they were spread on the field. Mr. McFillie, the husband and the wife lay on their sides on the washed blankets. They were talking and Mr. McFillie commanded his son to pick the chocolate on the grass with his tongue... and he did, as if wanting to get that blessing desperately.

The background was done, the shooting was ended.