Birthday Challenge
Title:Happy A Grey Birthday (worst pun ever)
Author: Serena (wutuciswutuget)
Rating: PG
Summary: Aww, poor lonely, ignored Alison.
Disclaimer:I don't own anything. Not even a nice pair of shoes.
Notes: This is my first time writing a fanfic seriously! Well, by that I mean that it's the first time I've ever posted one. It's definitely not my best work, but PLEASE leave comments anyway. I'll love you forever! And it's pretty long, so, ya...sorry about that...
Hey, uh, I have no idea how to do an LJ cut. For now, I'm just going to post it nornally, but I'm guessing the good moderators of this community will fix it, since I'm incompetant in every way. Shank you!
Alison sat plaintively at the head of a large table covered in an elegant white tablecloth, slumping slightly and sipping at her champagne. She looked out the giant window behind her, seeing an endless array of buildings and lights. This was a welcome change to peering expectantly at the door, which had not, so far, produced what she wanted to see.
She sighed quietly, taking solace once more in the bubbly substance that lay in the delicate glass she held in her hand. It was not, as the weatherman had predicted, a “warm and easygoing night”, but rather a harsh, windy one. Clouds loomed overhead, and the sky rumbled, as though threatening to make Alison’s birthday even worse.
Unable to stop herself, her eyes again averted to the door. Her heart leapt. It was opening!
She longed to rest her gaze upon the tall dark man with whom she shared her life. She wished to see his strong hands pushing open the door effortlessly. He would remove his scarf and look around the restaurant anxiously. A smile would slowly form across his face, as he’d lay eyes upon her, his beautiful wife. He would walk carefully over to her, bend down, and kiss her softly on the lips. Taking the empty seat to her right, he would say honorably, “Sorry I’m late. Happy birthday.” And the whole disastrous day, the shoddy spa, the stain on her dress, her nagging father, would all be erased.
She sighed again, a bit louder this time, as a short, stubby bald man waddled inside and found his party. She drained the rest of the champagne in her glass.
Her father, who was sitting to her left, was conversing with the man sitting on his left. They were discussing stock or work or something of that nature: something that Alison did not care about in the slightest. At first, she had pretended to listen with interest, but once her attempts to join into the conversation were ignored, she gave up and continued to watch the door.
Everyone in the large party had found someone to chat with. They flirted and argued and laughed, probably forgetting the occasion for which they were sitting comfortably in the best restaurant in Manhattan, drinking complimentary champagne and eating a prepaid, fixed, three course meal. Her nostrils flared angrily. It was her birthday, and no one was paying any attention to her.
Where was her Benjamin? Where could he be? Had he not promised to be walking through the door of that very restaurant at 7:30? Had he not sworn to her that the night of October the 25th, the most significant night of Alison’s life, the night that she would turn 25 years of age, he would be ON TIME?!
She had certainly gotten herself worked up. With no one to direct her sudden burst of anger at, she breathed it out slowly, her mouth quivering. She tried to calm herself, but questions kept popping up in her brain. Where exactly was he? Why was he so late? Was he ok? Was he with another woman? Her eyes widened at the thought. He couldn’t be with those…friends…of his…could he? He had told Alison that she was far more important than they, and that she would always come first, but Alison could not shake the feeling that they were somehow behind this.
They had hated her from the minute they laid eyes on her. Yes, she was prejudged, and unfairly too. The night they had met her, inside that grimey, disgusting bar, their eyes all flew immediately to her Prada shoes, her diamond watch, and her Kate Spade handbag. From that moment on, she was treated with apparent contempt and often ignored, something she couldn’t stand. "What, is it a sin to live a comfortable lifestyle these days?" She thought bitterly. But Benjamin probably wasn’t hanging around those miscreants. She knew for a fact that ever since she and Benjamin had joined together in sacred union, his “friends” had purposefully distanced themselves from him, something she knew he secretly resented her for. But Alison figured it was all for the best and didn’t feel a speck of remorse.
Then where was he? She looked at the grandfather clock that sat like a sentinel against the back wall, as if it warded of predators (or at least the homeless). It was 8:37. A mere three hours and twenty-three minutes of her birthday remained, and she had so far not been able to share one second with her husband.
A tantalizing aroma made it’s way toward her noise. The entrée had arrived. She had chosen the rosemary chicken, one of her favorite dishes, and she expected nothing but the best. As the cute, young waitress placed it gently in front of her, she sat up straighter, eager to test out the food that was beautifully arranged on the plate in front of her. Picking up her knife and fork, she plunged into the poultry. She carried a forkful up to her watering mouth, chewing on the small piece of meat slowly. It was dry. She placed her fork down on the table next to her plate, not intending to eat any more of the horrendous meal that sat in front of her. In a normal situation, she would have called the waitress over, insisting it be taken back. However, she was not in the mood to talk to someone as daft as her waitress (from the few encounters they had, Alison could tell she was not the sharpest tool in the shed), so she sat in front of her plate and waited. She waited for everyone to finish eating, for someone to speak to her, for Benjamin to save her from this mess, for this nightmare to end, to be able to breathe again. But the plates were not all cleared until 9:17. No one had spoken a single word to her, Benjamin had not arrived, and the night trudged on, suffocating her.
After one more glass of champagne, Alison noticed out of the corner of her eye a faint glow heading toward their table. It was salvation: the cake. This meant sugar and almost the closing of the evening. She squirmed in anticipation.
Her father stood up, banging a fork on his half-empty champagne glass. “I would like to propose a toast…” the murmuring came to a halt. “…to my lovely daughter and the reason we are all sitting here: her birthday. I know I speak for all of us when I wish her all the joy in the world. To Alison!” The rest of the party repeated, “Alison!” and drank.
The cake was cut and passed around the table. Alison, of course, received the first plate. The perfectly sliced piece of chocolate cake sat placidly in front of her, but it did not look as appetizing as she assumed it would. She sighed, startled as a tear welled up in her eye. She did not let it fall. Could a mere piece of cake be so disapppointing?
She realized that the new diet she was on prohibited such types of food. She pushed the cake away from her to Benjamin’s empty seat. "If only he were here", she thought. "He would make everything ok…"
Precisely at that moment, the door opened once more. This time, she did not bother to look properly until she noticed that whoever had walked through the door was heading toward her. She looked up in surprise. It was Benjamin at last. Her eyes did not light up, as she expected they would. She did not run toward him and embrace him, as she had wanted to the entire evening. She just sat still and watched him walk over to the table.
He stopped when he reached her and hesitated, as if wondering what his next move should be. He decided to sit down, and spoke cautiously. She wasn’t sure if it was the light or not, but she thought she could see the remnants of lipstick smeared around his mouth as he talked. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “Happy birthday.” He bent over, took his fork, and began to eat the cake Alison had placed at his setting. Those words did not bring her comfort, as she imagined they would. She could almost smell the faint scent of perfume on his jacket as he ate. She knew where he had been. She blinked back a tear again. As terrible as her birthday had been, she refused to let herself cry. She turned back to the window just in time for the thunder to roar again. It was laughing at her.
Benjamin had not made everything ok, and it still felt like she was choking and gasping for breath.
The massive clock showed her the time: 9:24. She took her champagne glass in her hand again. Downing the liquid, she watched the second hand tick on reliably. It was almost over. She could almost breathe again.
Author: Serena (wutuciswutuget)
Rating: PG
Summary: Aww, poor lonely, ignored Alison.
Disclaimer:I don't own anything. Not even a nice pair of shoes.
Notes: This is my first time writing a fanfic seriously! Well, by that I mean that it's the first time I've ever posted one. It's definitely not my best work, but PLEASE leave comments anyway. I'll love you forever! And it's pretty long, so, ya...sorry about that...
Hey, uh, I have no idea how to do an LJ cut. For now, I'm just going to post it nornally, but I'm guessing the good moderators of this community will fix it, since I'm incompetant in every way. Shank you!
Alison sat plaintively at the head of a large table covered in an elegant white tablecloth, slumping slightly and sipping at her champagne. She looked out the giant window behind her, seeing an endless array of buildings and lights. This was a welcome change to peering expectantly at the door, which had not, so far, produced what she wanted to see.
She sighed quietly, taking solace once more in the bubbly substance that lay in the delicate glass she held in her hand. It was not, as the weatherman had predicted, a “warm and easygoing night”, but rather a harsh, windy one. Clouds loomed overhead, and the sky rumbled, as though threatening to make Alison’s birthday even worse.
Unable to stop herself, her eyes again averted to the door. Her heart leapt. It was opening!
She longed to rest her gaze upon the tall dark man with whom she shared her life. She wished to see his strong hands pushing open the door effortlessly. He would remove his scarf and look around the restaurant anxiously. A smile would slowly form across his face, as he’d lay eyes upon her, his beautiful wife. He would walk carefully over to her, bend down, and kiss her softly on the lips. Taking the empty seat to her right, he would say honorably, “Sorry I’m late. Happy birthday.” And the whole disastrous day, the shoddy spa, the stain on her dress, her nagging father, would all be erased.
She sighed again, a bit louder this time, as a short, stubby bald man waddled inside and found his party. She drained the rest of the champagne in her glass.
Her father, who was sitting to her left, was conversing with the man sitting on his left. They were discussing stock or work or something of that nature: something that Alison did not care about in the slightest. At first, she had pretended to listen with interest, but once her attempts to join into the conversation were ignored, she gave up and continued to watch the door.
Everyone in the large party had found someone to chat with. They flirted and argued and laughed, probably forgetting the occasion for which they were sitting comfortably in the best restaurant in Manhattan, drinking complimentary champagne and eating a prepaid, fixed, three course meal. Her nostrils flared angrily. It was her birthday, and no one was paying any attention to her.
Where was her Benjamin? Where could he be? Had he not promised to be walking through the door of that very restaurant at 7:30? Had he not sworn to her that the night of October the 25th, the most significant night of Alison’s life, the night that she would turn 25 years of age, he would be ON TIME?!
She had certainly gotten herself worked up. With no one to direct her sudden burst of anger at, she breathed it out slowly, her mouth quivering. She tried to calm herself, but questions kept popping up in her brain. Where exactly was he? Why was he so late? Was he ok? Was he with another woman? Her eyes widened at the thought. He couldn’t be with those…friends…of his…could he? He had told Alison that she was far more important than they, and that she would always come first, but Alison could not shake the feeling that they were somehow behind this.
They had hated her from the minute they laid eyes on her. Yes, she was prejudged, and unfairly too. The night they had met her, inside that grimey, disgusting bar, their eyes all flew immediately to her Prada shoes, her diamond watch, and her Kate Spade handbag. From that moment on, she was treated with apparent contempt and often ignored, something she couldn’t stand. "What, is it a sin to live a comfortable lifestyle these days?" She thought bitterly. But Benjamin probably wasn’t hanging around those miscreants. She knew for a fact that ever since she and Benjamin had joined together in sacred union, his “friends” had purposefully distanced themselves from him, something she knew he secretly resented her for. But Alison figured it was all for the best and didn’t feel a speck of remorse.
Then where was he? She looked at the grandfather clock that sat like a sentinel against the back wall, as if it warded of predators (or at least the homeless). It was 8:37. A mere three hours and twenty-three minutes of her birthday remained, and she had so far not been able to share one second with her husband.
A tantalizing aroma made it’s way toward her noise. The entrée had arrived. She had chosen the rosemary chicken, one of her favorite dishes, and she expected nothing but the best. As the cute, young waitress placed it gently in front of her, she sat up straighter, eager to test out the food that was beautifully arranged on the plate in front of her. Picking up her knife and fork, she plunged into the poultry. She carried a forkful up to her watering mouth, chewing on the small piece of meat slowly. It was dry. She placed her fork down on the table next to her plate, not intending to eat any more of the horrendous meal that sat in front of her. In a normal situation, she would have called the waitress over, insisting it be taken back. However, she was not in the mood to talk to someone as daft as her waitress (from the few encounters they had, Alison could tell she was not the sharpest tool in the shed), so she sat in front of her plate and waited. She waited for everyone to finish eating, for someone to speak to her, for Benjamin to save her from this mess, for this nightmare to end, to be able to breathe again. But the plates were not all cleared until 9:17. No one had spoken a single word to her, Benjamin had not arrived, and the night trudged on, suffocating her.
After one more glass of champagne, Alison noticed out of the corner of her eye a faint glow heading toward their table. It was salvation: the cake. This meant sugar and almost the closing of the evening. She squirmed in anticipation.
Her father stood up, banging a fork on his half-empty champagne glass. “I would like to propose a toast…” the murmuring came to a halt. “…to my lovely daughter and the reason we are all sitting here: her birthday. I know I speak for all of us when I wish her all the joy in the world. To Alison!” The rest of the party repeated, “Alison!” and drank.
The cake was cut and passed around the table. Alison, of course, received the first plate. The perfectly sliced piece of chocolate cake sat placidly in front of her, but it did not look as appetizing as she assumed it would. She sighed, startled as a tear welled up in her eye. She did not let it fall. Could a mere piece of cake be so disapppointing?
She realized that the new diet she was on prohibited such types of food. She pushed the cake away from her to Benjamin’s empty seat. "If only he were here", she thought. "He would make everything ok…"
Precisely at that moment, the door opened once more. This time, she did not bother to look properly until she noticed that whoever had walked through the door was heading toward her. She looked up in surprise. It was Benjamin at last. Her eyes did not light up, as she expected they would. She did not run toward him and embrace him, as she had wanted to the entire evening. She just sat still and watched him walk over to the table.
He stopped when he reached her and hesitated, as if wondering what his next move should be. He decided to sit down, and spoke cautiously. She wasn’t sure if it was the light or not, but she thought she could see the remnants of lipstick smeared around his mouth as he talked. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “Happy birthday.” He bent over, took his fork, and began to eat the cake Alison had placed at his setting. Those words did not bring her comfort, as she imagined they would. She could almost smell the faint scent of perfume on his jacket as he ate. She knew where he had been. She blinked back a tear again. As terrible as her birthday had been, she refused to let herself cry. She turned back to the window just in time for the thunder to roar again. It was laughing at her.
Benjamin had not made everything ok, and it still felt like she was choking and gasping for breath.
The massive clock showed her the time: 9:24. She took her champagne glass in her hand again. Downing the liquid, she watched the second hand tick on reliably. It was almost over. She could almost breathe again.