When Iâm feeling stuck or uninspired, Iâve been adding little bits and pieces to a Cottage COVID piece ⌠which Iâm not convinced Iâll ever (a) finish, and (b) publish. Itâs essentially just plotless domestic fluff, but there are a few concepts and ideas and interactions tucked in there that I quite like.
Anyway, I read through whatâs in there tonight and thought Iâd share a snippet because I can picture this so very clearly in my mind and maybe youâll enjoy too âŚ
Theyâre lying on the couch, with Shaneâs head resting on Ilyaâs chest, watching an impressively dull documentary on the Library of Alexandria. Well, Shaneâs watching, judging by the little âHuh!â chirrups of interest he makes from time to time. Ilyaâs thinking, an activity greatly improved by the ability to stroke Shaneâs hair like a very shiny, very well-fed, very heavy, very focused dog.
Ilyaâs thinking about societal collapse. Not in a Shane-way, not anxiously. In a just-for-fun way.
Since shelter is sorted, and water is sorted (the well was a good investment, he decides, not that heâll admit it to Shane), food would obviously be priority one. He's willing to bet that the hoarderâs palace that is David Hollanderâs garden shed would contain quite a few packets of vegetable seeds. Both he and Shane are uniquely ill-equipped for futures as farmers, given their matching black thumbs, but heâd trust David with his life when it comes to coaxing nutrition out of soil.
Ilya knows fuck all about the fertility of Ontario land: good? Bad? What, exactly, is the difference? But either way, a lifetime without protein sounds untenable, so theyâll need to hunt. Thatâs where he could shine.
He pictures himself stalking in the white winter woods, the cold air sensitizing his sinuses, the damp humidity of his breath against a scarf. This isnât some classical epic, his love is not a wispy woman waiting by the woodstove; no, Shane is fifteen feet to his left, prowling alongside Ilya, cold-flushed cheeks and a hungry mien (Ilyaâs seen Shane go without protein for a meal once or twice (itâs not pretty (except to Ilya, who finds Shaneâs pissy, snippy moods amusing (âMr. Captain Canada is feeling bitchy,â Ilya remarks sometimes. âGo fuck yourself,â Shane inevitably snaps back, which only pleases Ilya even more)))).
Together, they locate and corner a deer, and (because this is Ilyaâs fantasy) itâs Shane who flushes it out, and Ilya who raises his rifle and brings it down. They freeze cuts and strips of meat to feed their family, which David will cook alongside potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil and rosemary atop the ashes of a fire.
âIn Canada, can I buy a gun if I am not a citizen?â Ilya asks, out loud.
Itâs not until Shane raises his head off Ilyaâs chest and levels him with an incredulous look that Ilya realizes he probably should have prefaced that question with some of his line of thinking.
stormborns
origamiaround
pixelskylines
theartofmadeline
kianamaiart
jacobvanloon
2087