Camping

Shivering in my sleeping bag, I found myself awake. The blanket had fallen off, so I snaffled it back from him, letting my eyes rest for a minute on his peaceful face, watching as little clouds of condensation formed and dissipated to match his steady breathing. I curled up my legs and snuggled into his body heat. The rain was pitter pattering lightly on the canvas, and I could make out droplets gathering on the sides of the tent and then running a wavering path down towards the dampening ground outside. There were some droplets inside too, I noticed now. Created by the warmth of our breaths meeting the cold of the night air. One landed with a small 'plop' on my cheek and I scrunched my nose and wiped my face against the tartan blanket. I turned my head again to look upwards, to where the moon was throwing shadows against the roof, making patterns of the surrounding trees and occasionally flickering like a faulty bedside lamp. Probably there were bats or owls outside, hunting in the rain. The pitter patter on the tent was getting stronger, and soon I could convince myself that we were sleeping in the middle of a storm, perhaps the only survivors in a rainy apocalypse that had washed everything else away. I closed my eyes again.

The next time I awoke it was light, and very warm. I quickly manoeuvred my socks off my feet and released my arms from the oven of the sleeping bag into the cool air of the damp tent. The rain was still falling outside, and the little droplets of condensation above us had grown into heavy drops, wobbling from the rooftop and threatening to shower my face and newly released arms if we moved around too much. There was a small puddle in the bottom corner where we had shoved our boots. I pulled the blanket back over my already chilly arms and looked over at the giant bundle of sleeping bag lying next to me. Still asleep, and no doubt sweating like crazy under all that cover. I nudged him gently, then a little more forcefully, until he eventually rolled over with a groan and nuzzled into my cheek, breathing warm morning breath into my face and kissing my chin with his dry lips.
"Morning," I said, moving my face to return the kiss, "it's raining." He grumbled a response and pulled me closer, his eyes still closed. I found his hand with mine and interlocked our fingers.
"I don't think our mountain walk is a good idea in this weather," I said softly, kissing his cheek, "but we could grab a comfy spot on the sofas in that cafe we found, the one with the good hot chocolate. We could do some people watching maybe, and look out at the lake in the rain. What do you think?" He mumbled again and squeezed my hand. I could already picture the swirling greys of storm clouds mirrored in the water, the rain darting down into the depths of the lake and shooting back up through the turbulence in a broken reflection of the sky above.

A Big, Dramatic Storm Out

Kelly stamped through the snow and suppressed a wail of frustration that the wheely suitcase was not making for a suitably dramatic exit as she dragged it after her with both hands through the fresh and thick snow, fully aware that she was being watched with an infuriating amusement from the window of the first floor apartment she had just left.

Reaching the corner at last, she kicked at the build up of snow that was hindering any further dragging of the suitcase, readjusted her hat (which, she realised now, had probably been bobbling along hilariously as she had attempted to storm down the street, ruining even further the image of strength and independence she had been trying to portray) and, unable to resist, took a last glance at the window of the house she had just left. Empty. He hadn't even bothered to watch her walk away. She pictured him sighing as she slammed the front door and returning immediately to his video game. What a bastard. With a much too high-pitched "hmph!" she flicked her hair from her face and flounced around the corner, still attempting to look proud and strong, although painfully aware that her daring strike for independence looked from the outside more like a pathetic street tantrum.

Finally around the corner and out of sight of the window, Kelly found herself a little lost as to what to do next. The suitcase she was dragging behind her contained enough underwear for two weeks, but only one change of clothes and no pyjamas or toiletries whatsoever. She had grabbed her passport before she left, as if she had been so hurt and offended that her only option was to leave the country, and luckily she had remembered her purse with all her bank cards and travel pass. Something niggled in the back of her mind as she looked down the street trying to decide what to do next. She had forgotten something more important than pyjamas and toothpaste: her phone was still charging by the bed. She had no way of contacting anybody, no way of accessing the internet, and no GPS. She swore under her breath, a small cloud puffing from her mouth as her warm breath hit the cold air. There was no way she was going back for it, not after the embarrassment of such a melodramatic exit. She had no choice but to carry on without it, dragging her suitcase along with less fervour now as she trudged towards the bus stop. She felt like a child running away from home: the sort of runaway who packed two Kit Kats and hid in the park until sunset before returning, cold and hungry, to a family who hadn't even realised she'd gone.

She boarded the first bus that pulled up and sat by the door, hugging her arms to her chest and feeling altogether stupid. This wasn't the first time she'd stormed out after an argument, but it was the first time she'd taken a suitcase with her.