Whoever writes is a writer.

Today I'll be doing a writing exercise, called, Wiggle Your Pencil. Self named. Simply, I place my pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and just type. Anything. Word chain, short story, whatever.

Clouds in a starless sky. The moonlight could not be seen. Below, a car zipped past a lightpost, then another. It was a residential neighbourhood, with the road twisiting around the houses. A mother paused slightly in her chopping to listen to the passing vehicle, before being distracted by the voice of her son.

The car reached a T-section. The driver was balding, but he still silently jived to some unheard beat, tapping a finger to the wheel. His thoughts were on dinner.

A horn sounded.

He turned.

The truck crashed into him.

Glasses. He was wiping his glasses. That was his focus right now. Were they already clean? They weren't. He could clean it more. The handkerchief continued to make its way across the unsmudged glass.

The door creaked and he looked up. His young blond colleague's expression was twisted into a grimace, jacket over his shoulder. He moved his mouth to talk but Shindo shut his eyes and shook his palm at him, before jabbing towards the office.

He shut his lips and swallowed. The disappearance of Shindo's silhouette was accompanied by the final sip of warm water from his thermos, which promptly vanished into the folds of his suit. He stood and stared at the words on the door, unseeing, before beginning the shuffle forwards.

The door creaked.

His boss had his hands tucked into each other. The necktie was red. His double chin was exceptionally clear today. The fan whirred and he wringed his hands - they felt clammy. Why was his throat still so parched?

He stood there, waiting, until an eternity passed.

A moment passed. His boss extended a hand. "Please, take a seat."

He nodded, shrinking into the chair.

"So, your productivty has been good...it's increased over a not-so-small percentage.... lucky you! Also, I see that you've been working for us for quite a while now... over that, many, years! Thus... I was wondering..."

Fake. Fake. Do it! Come on! Don't justify your choice! Just give it to me!

His eyes belied that frustration and despair in his heart - but alas, the boss did not look into them. Never did their gaze meet, one on his face, the other always below. Hence the torture continued. The words overwhelmed him. Until,

"...a bonus."

His brain jerked, and his body followed suit. "Beg your pardon?"

"So I'll be giving you a bonus."

The chair rasped into the carpet behind him. "Thank you! Thank you!"

He bowed repeatedly, and so did not catch his boss' quizzically delighted face.

"What's the matter?" His honey settled into the chair, putting her weight backwards.

"You told me not to keep secrets from you," was what he said, and she nodded firmly. "That was indeed what I said, yes."

And before he could say another word, she slipped her warm hand into his. "So you can tell me. I won't worry."

He could vivdly feel himself making that goldfish face again, and that was probably the reason why she giggled, and he could only stare at her rosy cheeks. Still, he stammered, and managed to spit out the words he wanted to say. "But... the baby!"

"Honey." Marigold set her to the side of each waist. "it's fine."

Her toes were cute. Her voice even more so, even if she was questioning him. "So, what's the issue?"

So patient. He looked up again, but his head quickly slumped into his chest. "Company's laying off workers."

There was a hot moment of contemplation. "And...?" She gently pressured.

He could not bring himself to meet her eyes. "I fear I might be laid off."

It was a peal of bright laughter. "Honey! No!"

He was making that face again, because she took one look at him and snorted into even more giggles, and he was right there beside her in a heartbeat, making sure she was okay, but somehow, that made her laugh even harder!

There was a moment of struggle for him, where she kept pushing his hands away and his attempts at helping just could not do it, but eventually she was calming down.

"Take deep breaths," he said, and she looked up with a twinkle in her eye, but continued her deep breath.

The moment she finally seemed like she had a handle on herself, she began, "Honey! You're not even laid off yet! Why are you worrying so much!"

The back of his neck was itchy. "Well... I was worried..."

This time, her voice was oh so patient. "Honey..."

She grabbed his hand. "It's fine."

That smile made him fall in love all over again.

"You're really leaving! You're really leaving! You ungrateful child! You-!"

He grabbed her hand and gave her the firmest look he could muster. It must have worked, because she jerked her hand backwards and gave him that familiar scowl. He stepped backwards - but her mouth was, to his greatest regret, yet unclosed - she began that spiel again. About feeding him, housing him, bathing him, taking care of him, and this was how he repaid her...

Her hair was a mess. That was what he observed. The right hand that was cutting through the air had that old burn mark from the time where she was learning how to cook. Her ankle still had that ringed birthmark. Shadows marred the doorway. The smell of home was faint.

It would no longer be home from now on.

She finished, chest heaving, and he was almost done with his canvass. He took it all in, this scenery and scent, the warm air on his cheek and his hands.

Then his forced his gaze to meet hers.

"I'm leaving."

He shut the door, but that shocked expression was burned into his memory.

Step, step, worn out shoes went down the doorstep and met pavement.

"Are you sure that was alright?" She asked.

He shook his head, but smiled. "I hope-"

His voice cracked, and he shook his head. "I hope..."

His words slurred. All of a sudden, his vision was so very blurry. 'I hope' was what he tried to say again, but it came a slurred mess.

And now he couldn't see. Was he still walking?

Couldn't breathe. Trying to say something. I hope.

A warm hand in his.

He stopped.

A forehead to his.

He cried.

The first thing that came to mind was the background drone of a cicada.

The second thing was the grass poking into his shirt.

He gave a muffled groan and pulled himself up. His hand rose to meet his forehead.

Something was stepping through the grass towards him, and he dimly opened his eyes to see a blurry figure. He scrabbled for his spectacles.

"...okay? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He tried to rise to his feet. He failed.

"I'm so sorry!" was what the voice said, and he waved his hand to chase it away.

"It's fine." He blindly grabbed and found the ball, and used it to push himself up. "What's the score?"

"2-0." A pause. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at them. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

There was a hubbub coming closer, but at his standing, stilled.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to the blue sky.

"You okay?" "You okay?" "You okay?"

He smiled.

"I'm okay."

The smell of the rain permeated the small house. Water dripped from leaf to leaf, before finally splashing into the earth.

His gaze was on the watery war outside, but inside...

"83, 80.. 95.. Very good! You've improved!"

She shuffled the papers and abruptly his attention was shifted. He took the sheaf into his hands. "Now, run along, dear. Mom has mom work to do."

He hence promptly vanished, leaving her to shake her head at him.

"Your name is Dan."

The baby cocked his head, uncomprehending. She smiled, reaching downwards. He raised his own chubby hands into the sky and she gently took them into her bosom.

His eyes could not adjust to the seething of his surroundings, nor could his mind keep them in memory. But after the burping, she placed him back into the crib, smiling, and booped his nose.

He was distracted by her laughter, and sent a shocked look her way. She smiled, resting herself on the bar for a moment, before vanishing from his line of sight.

Thus he was met with the ceiling. The sun was setting, the air marked with a rosy hue.

The baby raised a hand upwards.

The sky is cloudy today.