𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟓𝟕𝟎
“Plankton can you at least come
out and do the dishes?” Karen
says. Her husband Plankton has
been working at his desk, trying to
plan and scheme. She brought him
his meals for the past two days. He
stayed up all night!
“Honey?” No response. So
she decided to go check
on him. She goes to peek
through the door.
Plankton sat at his desk,
slumped over, fast asleep.
She saw his head nodded
to the side, resting on his arm. A soft snore
echoed in the silence. She noticed he was
drooling a bit from his open mouth
onto a stack of crumpled papers. Karen
approached him.
"Plankton," she cooed,
placing her hand on his shoulder.
He didn't budge.
Karen gently shook him,
but his snores grew louder.
“C’mon, sweetie, time to wake
up.” She whispered, but his sleep
was unyielding.
With a gentle tug
on the shoulder,
she managed to
pull his body upright,
a line of drool
still connecting his
mouth to the paper.
"Come on, Plankton,"
she said more firmly,
this time her hand
on his cheek, her thumb
wiping away the drool,
head lolling backward
with a snort.
“Plankton, darling,
please come to bed. You
have been working so hard.
Let’s get some rest,”
she urged with a smile.
But Plankton was too
deeply asleep to hear
her soft voice. His eye
remained closed.
With a sigh, Karen
decided to get him up
out of this chair
herself.
She took his arm
and began to lift
his weight from the chair.
Plankton's body resisted,
his head falling to her side
with a dull thud.
Karen chuckled,
his snoring now
vibrating. She managed
to get him out of the chair.
"Just a few steps, love,"
she murmured, but
Plankton's snores grew
like a crescendo in an orchestra.
His limp body leaned into her
like a ragdoll with no bones.
She hoists him up on her shoulder,
his arm dangling loosely,
his snores growing rhythmic
like a lullaby in a cartoon.
The room was a mess,
papers scattered like
tiny white waves across
the ocean of their living room.
She stepped over them
carefully, not wanting to wake
his slumbering form.
His office chair screeched
as she pushed it aside
with her foot, the sound
like nails on a chalkboard
in the quiet of the night.
Plankton's arm slid off
Karen's shoulder. She giggled
nervously, his snoring
now a symphony of sounds.
She readjusted her grip,
his head lolling against
her. "Almost there,"
she whispered, her cheeks flushed
with a mix of love and exasperation.
The bedroom door creaked open
like the entrance to a secret
passage. Plankton's snores
were a gentle soundtrack to the
silent dance of her struggle.
The bed looked like a mountain
from here. She took a deep breath,
bracing herself for the climb. With
his arm slung over her neck,
his body limp, she began the ascent.
Step by step, she inched closer.
As she reached the bed,
he slipped again, this time
his head lolling back to hang
over the edge of the mattress.
“Oh no, you don’t!” she exclaimed,
his weight making her stumble.
With a laugh that was half exhaustion,
half endearment, she tugged him up
and laid him down gently.
Karen watched his chest
rise and fall in deep sleep.
The room was dimly lit by the moon,
his snores a soothing
white noise in the quiet.