Melony Crabble
Melony was watching a bad sci-fi. She wouldn't have picked it out for herself, but Sam saw it in the rental store and got it for her (it was the free one in her 3 for 2). The problem was that it shouldn't have been classed as sci-fi at all, but horror. She gazed through the screen ignoring the gore, wondering about the fantastical applications of that science, and how much they could have done with the concept. The science content was pretty much non-existent. They'd gone beyond technical jargon, and just gone with ordinary words that meant nothing. Finally, she gave it up as a loss, and forwarded most of the rest of the movie, stopping for dialogue in the unlikely event that any interesting plot twists were immenent. Sam wouldn't mind too much. It was hard for Sam to know what to choose for Melony, though her choices for herself were predictable and enjoyable.
Melony really enjoyed having time to herself, despite her confinement for so long. Open University in the early hours was usually followed by Sam getting up, preparing things for Melony to sspend the day alone and then going off to school. At first she had resented her daughter having to look after her, but now it was routine. It hadn't been so very different when Melony was well, but Sam lending a helpful and willing hand was very different from Sam feeling obliged. Melony had insisted on home help, but for the month or so that a community nurse came, there was very little for her to do.
At the end of the film, Melony was brimming with half baked ideas, and turned to her canvas for the morning's work. She kept a doodle pad about to help. It was scattered with little sketches of people, a lot of hands and one or two eyes. There were also a few scribbled words here and there, most of which had meant something at the time but were now illegible. Some of them had developed into full ideas, and become paintings hanging in galleries making statements about some issue or other.
For the first time her two greatest hobbies were coming together into a collection of comissioned sci-fi paintings. Hopefully this collection would give her husband a bit of a break from the press. Not that he minded too much, his views being similar to hers. He certainly understood the paintings, being an art critic, though soemtimes came up with laughable insights.
Melony opened the morning mail as soon as it arrived. There was a thick envelope, manilla, A4, covered in foreign stamps. It was stuck down with brittle cellotape, which ripped away the brown revealing the bright colours of a paint package. Melony opened it eagerly, prepared for them to have got the order wrong. It was a small company in central Africa that supplied unique colours. She'd tried to mix them herself out of normal oil colours, but she never quite got the right sheen. He choice of colour was something she was partiicularly renowned for, and she was looking forward to trying out this shade of pink in the eyes of her bug. She set the unwrapped box on a table and pulled open off the lid. Inside were six shoe-polish containers, that as usual, looked used, cleaned, repainted and refilled. Melony twisted the catch and opened the lid. Under the paper cover was paint, beautiful stuff, rich and shining. This one was greenish yellow. She took a marker pen and marked the lid. The second tin contained the pink she was hoping for, exactly as the sample sheet showed it. The third paper had stuck, and as she pulled, the block of oil colour came away to reveal a false bottom. Feeling cheated, Melony turned out the oil block onto the paper. The tin was still heavy without it. She threw it down out of disappointment, hearing before she saw the base of the tin spin away, leaving white dust everywhere.
Melony really enjoyed having time to herself, despite her confinement for so long. Open University in the early hours was usually followed by Sam getting up, preparing things for Melony to sspend the day alone and then going off to school. At first she had resented her daughter having to look after her, but now it was routine. It hadn't been so very different when Melony was well, but Sam lending a helpful and willing hand was very different from Sam feeling obliged. Melony had insisted on home help, but for the month or so that a community nurse came, there was very little for her to do.
At the end of the film, Melony was brimming with half baked ideas, and turned to her canvas for the morning's work. She kept a doodle pad about to help. It was scattered with little sketches of people, a lot of hands and one or two eyes. There were also a few scribbled words here and there, most of which had meant something at the time but were now illegible. Some of them had developed into full ideas, and become paintings hanging in galleries making statements about some issue or other.
For the first time her two greatest hobbies were coming together into a collection of comissioned sci-fi paintings. Hopefully this collection would give her husband a bit of a break from the press. Not that he minded too much, his views being similar to hers. He certainly understood the paintings, being an art critic, though soemtimes came up with laughable insights.
Melony opened the morning mail as soon as it arrived. There was a thick envelope, manilla, A4, covered in foreign stamps. It was stuck down with brittle cellotape, which ripped away the brown revealing the bright colours of a paint package. Melony opened it eagerly, prepared for them to have got the order wrong. It was a small company in central Africa that supplied unique colours. She'd tried to mix them herself out of normal oil colours, but she never quite got the right sheen. He choice of colour was something she was partiicularly renowned for, and she was looking forward to trying out this shade of pink in the eyes of her bug. She set the unwrapped box on a table and pulled open off the lid. Inside were six shoe-polish containers, that as usual, looked used, cleaned, repainted and refilled. Melony twisted the catch and opened the lid. Under the paper cover was paint, beautiful stuff, rich and shining. This one was greenish yellow. She took a marker pen and marked the lid. The second tin contained the pink she was hoping for, exactly as the sample sheet showed it. The third paper had stuck, and as she pulled, the block of oil colour came away to reveal a false bottom. Feeling cheated, Melony turned out the oil block onto the paper. The tin was still heavy without it. She threw it down out of disappointment, hearing before she saw the base of the tin spin away, leaving white dust everywhere.
