Denial
I think some of Inklight is slowly seaping into me - after being told by the vice-president he was going to ask me every week if I had a piece to read out at the next open mic, I decided to write this. I suppose as treasurer I really had to make the effort!
It was thought up on my way home from Beanscene, where I did leave early - not for quite the same reasons, more because I needed to have a shower! Anyway, I would appreciate it if you read it and told me any thoughts. It's definately needing some fine tuning and I'm fairly sure the tense is mixed up, but I think it's one of the best short stories I've ever written. Not that that says much.
Enjoy.
Denial
It wasn't late when I left the bright coffee house. My friends were still gathered around a table - this was ever a place for sharing whispered secrets, and laughter floating through the air with the curls of steam from hot chocolate and cappuccinos. Tonight however, it had been more sombre and tense, but still with that blanket of comfort wrapped tight around us all. They called goodbyes to me, promises I could call whenever I wanted to and cries that they would see me tomorrow. There was so much warmth there, but I couldn't stay. My mind was somewhere else and the headaches were coming back. I had to face this, and I had to do it on my own.
The wet cobbles shone in the artificial glow of the streetlamps, disorientating me and causing me to stumble slightly. Sudden headlights glared painfully into my eyes, and for a second I looked back through the window, considering returning to the mellow peace of the coffee house. The tension had left the group as soon as I had, and the serious expressions had gone. I didn’t want to be a burden to them any longer than I had to be, so, squaring my shoulders, I moved on into the night. Silhouettes loomed closer in the dark, and I felt fear build inside me. I heard only slurred, meaningless words, and their faces seemed to merge and swim before my eyes as the group approached. But a single face stood out, and turned, full of concern. I hurried on - his kindness would not be welcomed this time. As I turned the corner, the single streetlight picked out my lone shadow before me, mocking me. Tonight, the light shows only what is not there.
Unlocking the door and stepping into the house, I leaned on the cool wall and breathed the air deeply in relief - and there, I caught your scent. In that moment of joy I called out your name, delirious with the thought that you might be home. Stock still I stood and listened, straining my ears, but my call only echoed back through the darkness. The still ticking of a clock betrayed the emptiness of the rooms and left me feeling small and alone, and suddenly very afraid. Terror building inside, I franticly rushed through the rooms, searching everywhere, ripping covers off beds and throwing cushions from sofas. Where are you? I was so sure you were here. In vain desperation I grab a photo frame - your smiling face looks back at me, your arms around me and my head thrown back, laughing at some silly joke you had made... I turn to cross the room but somehow my feet catch each other. Tripping clumsily, I suddenly find myself falling, collapsing in a heap on the hall floor. The frame shatters in my hand and suddenly all that is left is my face, locked in that silent laugh - or perhaps, now, a cry of despair. My breath catches in my throat and my face is suddenly wet.
There is a letter lying unopened on the doormat.
Your funeral is on Tuesday.
It was thought up on my way home from Beanscene, where I did leave early - not for quite the same reasons, more because I needed to have a shower! Anyway, I would appreciate it if you read it and told me any thoughts. It's definately needing some fine tuning and I'm fairly sure the tense is mixed up, but I think it's one of the best short stories I've ever written. Not that that says much.
Enjoy.
Denial
It wasn't late when I left the bright coffee house. My friends were still gathered around a table - this was ever a place for sharing whispered secrets, and laughter floating through the air with the curls of steam from hot chocolate and cappuccinos. Tonight however, it had been more sombre and tense, but still with that blanket of comfort wrapped tight around us all. They called goodbyes to me, promises I could call whenever I wanted to and cries that they would see me tomorrow. There was so much warmth there, but I couldn't stay. My mind was somewhere else and the headaches were coming back. I had to face this, and I had to do it on my own.
The wet cobbles shone in the artificial glow of the streetlamps, disorientating me and causing me to stumble slightly. Sudden headlights glared painfully into my eyes, and for a second I looked back through the window, considering returning to the mellow peace of the coffee house. The tension had left the group as soon as I had, and the serious expressions had gone. I didn’t want to be a burden to them any longer than I had to be, so, squaring my shoulders, I moved on into the night. Silhouettes loomed closer in the dark, and I felt fear build inside me. I heard only slurred, meaningless words, and their faces seemed to merge and swim before my eyes as the group approached. But a single face stood out, and turned, full of concern. I hurried on - his kindness would not be welcomed this time. As I turned the corner, the single streetlight picked out my lone shadow before me, mocking me. Tonight, the light shows only what is not there.
Unlocking the door and stepping into the house, I leaned on the cool wall and breathed the air deeply in relief - and there, I caught your scent. In that moment of joy I called out your name, delirious with the thought that you might be home. Stock still I stood and listened, straining my ears, but my call only echoed back through the darkness. The still ticking of a clock betrayed the emptiness of the rooms and left me feeling small and alone, and suddenly very afraid. Terror building inside, I franticly rushed through the rooms, searching everywhere, ripping covers off beds and throwing cushions from sofas. Where are you? I was so sure you were here. In vain desperation I grab a photo frame - your smiling face looks back at me, your arms around me and my head thrown back, laughing at some silly joke you had made... I turn to cross the room but somehow my feet catch each other. Tripping clumsily, I suddenly find myself falling, collapsing in a heap on the hall floor. The frame shatters in my hand and suddenly all that is left is my face, locked in that silent laugh - or perhaps, now, a cry of despair. My breath catches in my throat and my face is suddenly wet.
There is a letter lying unopened on the doormat.
Your funeral is on Tuesday.