First 200 words of my short story for Creative Writing: The Short Story. Currently untitled.

Peggy does her washing in the small, three-walled room behind the house. The machine whirs into action somewhere between 9.02 and 9.13AM every three days, excepting when that day falls on a Wednesday. She works early on Wednesdays and can't wash her clothes until the afternoon. Every six days she washes her bed linen and every 9 days she spends a little longer by the machine – hand-washing her most delicate items in a white plastic basin balanced on the edge of the trough.

When I sit on my bed my window looks onto the back-yard. And the laundry. I flick ash from my cigarette out the window and watch her broad shoulders move as she swirls something in her basin. When she turns she has slightly androgynous features. I like that but I duck my head back inside my room. I wonder if she saw me; I wonder if she waved. I hear the soft hiss of the hose waking up and smell the sun-warmed chlorine. Today is Thursday so she's tending to the garden.

I had a pot-plant once, a fern. It died. I stub my cigarette out in the empty pot and slide off the bed.