Leaving, Andriy Shevchenko/Kakà, G
haha, i wrote this for my writer's craft exam. the question asked us to incorporate ten out of sixteen literary devices in an original piece of fiction inspired by one of a few six-word memoirs given. i chose: "i still make coffee for two."
It wasn’t until Andriy got up to lock the door that it finally hit him: Ricky is leaving.
Leaving
"I'm leaving." And that's when he broke.
It was morning in Italy, and Andriy was still awake. He laid there, body exhausted but mind on fire, watching the sun break into the sky and into the room. He liked the way the sun shone. The pale rays danced on Ricky's skin, and left a light glow on the tanned skin.
Andriy’s favourite thing about Ricky was the way he woke up. His eyes would just open, and they’d be full of sleep and wonder and joy. Ricky then would let out the softest of simple sighs, just a puff really, and turn his head to find the clock. He’d run his long fingers through his hair, tuck his hands behind his head, then close his eyes. Andriy would watch this smiling, then wish he could take this moment, and put it in a box. Wrap it up with two different kinds of wrapping paper, use white ribbon around the box, and place a bow on top.
"Still awake?" Ricky murmured. Andriy hummed in response.
"I’m cold," whispered Andriy.
"You’re always cold." Ricky rolled toward Andriy, and laid his head on Andriy’s chest. He made circles on Andriy’s chest, wrote both their names out with his fingers.
"Better now," Andriy said lazily.
Ricky remembered the first time he saw Andriy. Andriy was the man Ricky wanted to be. Ricky remembered how Andriy was never alone at the party, always smiling and laughing with any of his guests. He was always so collected, even when he began stumbling across the room from all the wine he had consumed. Andriy was like the moon in the sky, bright enough to light up the sky, but small enough to allow the other stars shine.
Now Andriy was still that cool kid everyone wanted to be friends with, but now Andriy was Ricky’s.
It was a rainy morning when Ricky came up to Andriy. The sun hid behind the gray clouds, hid away its light from the two lovers. There were no rays to shine on Ricky’s skin or to light up Ricky’s eyes. There were dark skies and wet roads.
"Andriy?" Andriy hummed. "I’m leaving."
"Caroline waiting for you?"
"I’m leaving Milan. For Madrid." The reality that was in Ricky’s eyes stunned Andriy. He tried to reply, tried to shout or scream or cry or ask why, but nothing came. Andriy understood though, why Ricky had to leave. It wasn’t his choice, management made him leave. At least that's what Andriy told himself.
Andriy watched Ricky dressed methodically, first his shirt, then sweater, pants, socks, shoes. He watched Ricky walk out that door. It wasn’t until Andriy got up to lock the door that it finally hit him: Ricky is leaving. And that’s when he broke.
It wasn’t until Andriy got up to lock the door that it finally hit him: Ricky is leaving.
Leaving
"I'm leaving." And that's when he broke.
It was morning in Italy, and Andriy was still awake. He laid there, body exhausted but mind on fire, watching the sun break into the sky and into the room. He liked the way the sun shone. The pale rays danced on Ricky's skin, and left a light glow on the tanned skin.
Andriy’s favourite thing about Ricky was the way he woke up. His eyes would just open, and they’d be full of sleep and wonder and joy. Ricky then would let out the softest of simple sighs, just a puff really, and turn his head to find the clock. He’d run his long fingers through his hair, tuck his hands behind his head, then close his eyes. Andriy would watch this smiling, then wish he could take this moment, and put it in a box. Wrap it up with two different kinds of wrapping paper, use white ribbon around the box, and place a bow on top.
"Still awake?" Ricky murmured. Andriy hummed in response.
"I’m cold," whispered Andriy.
"You’re always cold." Ricky rolled toward Andriy, and laid his head on Andriy’s chest. He made circles on Andriy’s chest, wrote both their names out with his fingers.
"Better now," Andriy said lazily.
Ricky remembered the first time he saw Andriy. Andriy was the man Ricky wanted to be. Ricky remembered how Andriy was never alone at the party, always smiling and laughing with any of his guests. He was always so collected, even when he began stumbling across the room from all the wine he had consumed. Andriy was like the moon in the sky, bright enough to light up the sky, but small enough to allow the other stars shine.
Now Andriy was still that cool kid everyone wanted to be friends with, but now Andriy was Ricky’s.
It was a rainy morning when Ricky came up to Andriy. The sun hid behind the gray clouds, hid away its light from the two lovers. There were no rays to shine on Ricky’s skin or to light up Ricky’s eyes. There were dark skies and wet roads.
"Andriy?" Andriy hummed. "I’m leaving."
"Caroline waiting for you?"
"I’m leaving Milan. For Madrid." The reality that was in Ricky’s eyes stunned Andriy. He tried to reply, tried to shout or scream or cry or ask why, but nothing came. Andriy understood though, why Ricky had to leave. It wasn’t his choice, management made him leave. At least that's what Andriy told himself.
Andriy watched Ricky dressed methodically, first his shirt, then sweater, pants, socks, shoes. He watched Ricky walk out that door. It wasn’t until Andriy got up to lock the door that it finally hit him: Ricky is leaving. And that’s when he broke.