Closer

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He drags the 3.5 inch Polyvinyl Chloride pipe to the seventy meter deep hole. It’s the permanent and then carefully the other one positions the rig over the centre of the 5 inch temporal. He attaches the drilling rod to the rig motor via the adapter and switches on the compressor which blows highly pressurized air through the hole in the drilling rod as the motor rotates anticlockwise and slowly removes the drilling rods one by one. It is a triumph and a hearty smile erupts across his face, their faces. The day before they tried to remove the rods with industrial strength jacks but that didn’t work because nature is a fluid. The problem was the two jacks didn’t have the same power therefore the resultant lift was angled, a problem they tried to rectify by fabricating a rigid frame to house the jacks and force the lift upward through the horizontal channel but that still didn’t work because nature is a fluid. They soon realized that for as long as there was an angled resultant force it was natural for it, the fluid, to leak via the point of least resistance in this case the rod itself where the enormous forces bend it making it spoilt and unsuitable for work and wasting a cool 220 USD before VAT in the ground. They were still underestimating the power of the rig and they had little zeal to return home preferring to ponder about the problem in the bush amongst the elements. It was their that with very little enthusiasm they decided to try the rig.

Meanwhile in her kitchen she disemboweled the bird then dipped it into a mixture of curries, vinegar, crushed vegetable cubes and left it in the fridge to marinate. She washed the potatoes and put them on the oven tray before sliding it into the oven and baking them at 250 degrees centigrade for twenty minutes. She escaped into the bathroom and prepared a foam bath and waited on her potatoes. She returned to the kitchen naked and wet and let the radiant heat of the oven warm her body. She continued with her cooking slicing the carrots, the cabbage and the celery before retrieving the bird from the fridge and putting it in the microwave to defrost. She wandered around the neat three room apartment taking time to briefly admire her naked beauty in the mirror by the bedroom. She is young and vital and she yearned for his male touch. She timed her meal to perfection and the microwave alert informed her the chicken was ready to be dipped in the simmering oil. The menu read: Deep fried chicken, baked potatoes and vegetables for starter and her love for the main course and desert.

She began to wait impatiently as she finally finished serving the meal and covering the plate with foil so she wouldn’t lose vital seconds serving the meal when he walked in. She pondered calling him but she talked herself out of it because it was meant to be a surprise and calling him would defeat the logic of it. So she just sat their too anxious to even switch on the telly, too
eager to sit still. And slowly her skin dried out till her wet love idea required a second dipping in the bath. But she opted instead to marinate her skin in lotion again taking time to admire her own beauty but her man was not forthcoming.

And as she waited for him to return to her all sweaty, smelly and manly he dejectedly sat on rock in the chilly bush wind sketching stress lines on a schematic of the drilling rod in the gravel of the site with his defeated fingers. Eventually nature urged them both into the easy option. She fell asleep in the chair and he opted for the rig. Seven hours later she awoke naked in the chair and for some reason felt so well. She realized then that she had never slept nude in a sofa in her living room and for a reason she didn’t understand that made her feel so good.

And when he finally returns to her three hours after retrieving the final drilling rod she gives him a hug not bothering to ask how he is because she knows instinctively that he’s terrible. But in a way he can’t explain he feels well because it’s the first time they’ve failed to make love. The first time having sex was not the easier option. And in a way they both can’t understand it makes them feel more secure.


By Mark Abraham <the editor is offering a bottle of wine or a meal to the person who is able to debug the Game theory. Please note that this offer says nothing about the quality of the bottle or meal >

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