Since this is the very first telling of the advents of Husby and Wifey, our characters need a bit of introduction. He is tall and the strongest man in the world, his laugh makes the whole room wake up and smile unconsciously. She is fiery and full of vim, bursting around the edges of her green eyes are reems of ideas waiting to find outlet. Opposites in taste, but identical in heart, they're newly wedded and ready for adventure. They are very happy together and live in a ordinary Portland apartment, 2nd floor, with spiders up the staircase. If they have an argument, (which of course they never do) he tickles her till she can't be pouting and it ends in an uproarious pillow fight. (Wifey says she has chipped her teeth in this activity on previous occasions and refuses to condone it)
Today, on all days, they should be very happy. But they're not. You see, Husby is asleep, he works while others have gone to bed, working so hard all through the night. Wifey is alone, with her computer for company, and to cap it off, the sun has forgot to turn off it's heat regulator and it's a blistering 102 degrees. By Jove, what is our heroine to do?
She pouts in her office. She pouts in the kitchen. She pouts down the stairs and pouts at the spiders. She pouts to her bed and lays down to escape the heat.
She drempt she was far away. Even in her dreams, somehow unable to escape the heat; it was a hot, arid climate. The wind was blowing dry and fierce and dunes loomed on the horizon outside of the sand-stone town before her eyes. Military vehicles were stationed on the outskirts and uniformed soldiers were scattered about walking to and fro, on dispatch, or sitting in any means of shade under the large portable tents. Out of one of the furthest tents emerged no one but Husby! He kept mouthing the words "I love you" across the distance between, but he was obstructed from view by a sudden assault of artillery fire. The noise was deafening. In the milieu, she lost site of him, but found him again a moment later, motioning to the men around him. She woke with a start. Husby was still sleeping peacefully. As Wifey rubbed out the sleeve imprint off her cheek she was flooded with chagrin. Her own dear Husby, night-shifts or not, was still near, out of danger, to be seen and held. Unlike so many military wives who see their men every 18 months, who bear the constant weight of fear and suspense over their husbands well-fare. With backbones of steel, they persevere under long absence, lonely responsibility and raising children...alone.
Wifey smiled. She smiled in her office. She smiled in the kitchen. She smiled down the stairs and she smiled at the spiders.
Life will always have two sides to it, the upper and downer. How you feel is determined by which side you choose to look at.