Third time trying the Wednesday Write-in, it’s small this time! The prompt ’empty house’ reminded me of Catherine Brogan’s poetry about squatter’s rights and the recent changes in the law, so I began by looking at this woman’s story of her squatting experience. Then I also used the prompts: thunder, wanted, hunger.
The warehouse stood empty, but water still ran along the rusty pipes. She put her hand beneath the trickle. Behind her, he was setting up their sleeping bag along the wall, marking out their territory, sniffing the stale air. This was wanted space; she had been kicked out by her mother and he couldn’t face going home. Their first night squatting, the navy roll was like a caterpillar’s many ribbed body uncurling. The roof leaked; they slid into the billowing material, cold limbs knocking awkwardly. The rain dripped just below the bag’s end, collecting beyond their toes. As the thunder started to roll, a deep hunger began inside her, needy and lonely. She pressed her mouth to his closed lips, generous with appetite.
Word Count: 123