Snovideniy: Romance/Angst, G
The roses were a bit too much, Ilya decided, as he critically regarded the glass vase of red-petaled flowers. Long-stemmed and deep crimson, they just seemed out of place atop the white tablecloth that covered the round dining table. The three plates set at equal distances around the table were trimmed in silver, matching the cutlery, white napkins folded neatly beneath knife and fork.
Maybe they should have been white. Or pink. Pink..?
The taciturn Russian snorted, shaking his head at the mere thought. Dany would never have let him live it down, and knowing Dan, he’d find all his gear spraypainted pink the next time he went to his locker. No, red or white would have to do, if roses were brought into the silly tradition-which they always were, a staple of Valentine’s Day; roses, chocolate, wine, the works. All three of them scoffed at the holiday, but all three of them dutifully-if a bit self-mockingly-followed in the steps of ritual. They’d turned it into a game, a bit; who could find the biggest teddybear, the biggest box of chocolates. The most interesting Valentine’s had been when Dan had proudly presented Ilya and Dany with twin chocolate penises (their shrieks of horror were still bouncing around in the attic somewhere, Ilya was sure) and cherry-flavored condoms made up to look like rose petals.
They later had him make up for their mental trauma by forcing him to eat the frighteningly realistic members, and Ilya had to admit that the weeks following that Valentine’s Day had been quite interesting indeed.
This year he had been impeccably careful in the setup. Red candles flickering atop the table, three of them, in front of each plate. What was given to one of his lovers had to be given to the other in order to be fair, so twin sets of expensive Belgian chocolates were placed atop two of the plates. The wine was in an ice bucket on the table to chill, an aged Cabernet Sauvignon that was just begging to be opened and poured into the delicate crystal goblets sitting on the table. The lights were dimmed for the mood; everything was set.
Ilya sat down in his customary seat, his back to the wall, and lifted the bottle of wine from the bucket. The cork didn’t take much to work it free, and with delicate care he tipped some of the blood-red liquid into his glass. Lifting it gently from the table, he sat back, wine in hand, surveying the two empty chairs to either side of him.
Slowly, his shoulders began to shake. Helpless, choking giggles that bordered on being hysterical filled the otherwise silent room. A trembling hand set the goblet back on the table as Ilya doubled over, clutching his chest, trying to inhale oxygen through the uncontrollable gasps that took the place of his normal breathing. Wet droplets splashed the floor, staining the beige carpet a darker hue, and he stared at them even as he fought to control his desperate gulping for air, sure he was going to die of suffocation.
Roses, chocolate, wine-you fool. You utter fool. When will you admit to yourself that they are gone?
For there would be no contest this year. No striving to come out with the grandest present, no company to fill those two empty seats. No laughing Dan coming through the door carrying massive teddybears bigger than he himself; no secretive Dany hiding mysterious gifts behind his back. Only Ilya, alone in his big house, surrounded by the vestiges of a rite that once had meaning; that once had a purpose. But even his most elaborate fantasies couldn’t change the cruel, cold facts of reality.
Dan was dead.
Dany was gone.
And I am alone.
-
snovideniy: Russian; ‘to dream’
Maybe they should have been white. Or pink. Pink..?
The taciturn Russian snorted, shaking his head at the mere thought. Dany would never have let him live it down, and knowing Dan, he’d find all his gear spraypainted pink the next time he went to his locker. No, red or white would have to do, if roses were brought into the silly tradition-which they always were, a staple of Valentine’s Day; roses, chocolate, wine, the works. All three of them scoffed at the holiday, but all three of them dutifully-if a bit self-mockingly-followed in the steps of ritual. They’d turned it into a game, a bit; who could find the biggest teddybear, the biggest box of chocolates. The most interesting Valentine’s had been when Dan had proudly presented Ilya and Dany with twin chocolate penises (their shrieks of horror were still bouncing around in the attic somewhere, Ilya was sure) and cherry-flavored condoms made up to look like rose petals.
They later had him make up for their mental trauma by forcing him to eat the frighteningly realistic members, and Ilya had to admit that the weeks following that Valentine’s Day had been quite interesting indeed.
This year he had been impeccably careful in the setup. Red candles flickering atop the table, three of them, in front of each plate. What was given to one of his lovers had to be given to the other in order to be fair, so twin sets of expensive Belgian chocolates were placed atop two of the plates. The wine was in an ice bucket on the table to chill, an aged Cabernet Sauvignon that was just begging to be opened and poured into the delicate crystal goblets sitting on the table. The lights were dimmed for the mood; everything was set.
Ilya sat down in his customary seat, his back to the wall, and lifted the bottle of wine from the bucket. The cork didn’t take much to work it free, and with delicate care he tipped some of the blood-red liquid into his glass. Lifting it gently from the table, he sat back, wine in hand, surveying the two empty chairs to either side of him.
Slowly, his shoulders began to shake. Helpless, choking giggles that bordered on being hysterical filled the otherwise silent room. A trembling hand set the goblet back on the table as Ilya doubled over, clutching his chest, trying to inhale oxygen through the uncontrollable gasps that took the place of his normal breathing. Wet droplets splashed the floor, staining the beige carpet a darker hue, and he stared at them even as he fought to control his desperate gulping for air, sure he was going to die of suffocation.
Roses, chocolate, wine-you fool. You utter fool. When will you admit to yourself that they are gone?
For there would be no contest this year. No striving to come out with the grandest present, no company to fill those two empty seats. No laughing Dan coming through the door carrying massive teddybears bigger than he himself; no secretive Dany hiding mysterious gifts behind his back. Only Ilya, alone in his big house, surrounded by the vestiges of a rite that once had meaning; that once had a purpose. But even his most elaborate fantasies couldn’t change the cruel, cold facts of reality.
Dan was dead.
Dany was gone.
And I am alone.
-
snovideniy: Russian; ‘to dream’