Short Story: Midnight Duet
This I was inspired to write after I read something (a comic, actually), and I wanted to put what had happened on words.
Nighttime in the urban jungle. Man, I didn't think night life would be this... exhuberant. And I'm not even going out for a taste of it either. Rather, I'm indulging the nightlights outside the mall. Bystanders would have thought that I was trying to memorize all the possible details of the fancy gold-ish watch, since I kept looking at it.
Time. Time time. Time time time. I couldn't get enough of the time. Excitement, anxiousness, whatever it was in that heap of beating flesh in my chest, it was making me look at the time. Waiting... Waiting...
The lights - neon, fluorescent, incandescent, or otherwise - reflected off the newly-polished old... I mean ancient watch. The regality of it's gold and silver shining with the lights meant to lure customers to a night of fun while the owners bask in a night of profit and the workers hustle and bustle around in a night of righteous work... well, most of the workers, anyway. It was a gift for graduation... More like a "Last chance to show off, son. Wear this." thing, but I liked it enough that I never wore it again...
Except tonight.
A soft pitter-patter in the clay-tiled floor.
"Sorry, did you wait long?"
Nervously, I turned around. "No, not really."
She was obviously tired. Traffic was horrible, they said on the radio. She must have dashed her way from the bus station to here.
"Take a breather for a while." I told her, pointing to the green bench nearby. She sat down.
"Don't lie to me. You've probably been here for an hour now."
"Here." I tossed her a bottle of iced tea.
"Thanks."
It was a bit dark, but I could distinctly see her powder blue shirt... The one we bought when we went out... No, it wasn't a date. Well, either way, she bought it because of my opinion: she looked good in it; obviously an understatement. With the forming beads of sweat on her forehead, and her obvious rush left a bit of creases in it, she still looked as wonderful as she first stepped out of the dressing room.
"So, have you been here for an hour now?" She took a sip of iced tea.
"No..."
"No sugarcoats now. Tell me."
"Hour, three minutes, eight seconds. Aaaand...."
"Okay, okay. I get it. No need to tell me the milliseconds. Sorry!" She bowed her head and put her hands together in front of it.
"No harm in waiting, you know." I sat down, opening my bottle of iced tea and taking a drink as well. "So, what's the plan?"
"After I catch my breath, we go around, choose a movie... Then dinner. Sounds okay?"
"Magnificent."
This is not a date.
Well, I hope after this night, I can say that it is.
==========
"Take the sword."
"No." The horizon was strewn with glistening armor, and the sun shining its last behind them did nothing to conceal the coat-of-arms of the warlord they followed.
"Sire. Do you hear that rumbling?"
"The rumble of the accursed's greaves as they march to deliver us our doom? The rumble of the horses their knights ride? The rumble of their swords, spears?"
The young king, in his path, wavered.
On the royal pauldron, the knight master rested his gauntlet-protected hand.
"The rumble of all our knees. Under your silver banner, and under their crimson banner. We all wish to return to our homes, sire."
The tall knight once again offered him the sword ensheathed in black leather embossed with silver. "Twilight, sire. Forged in the light of the dying sun. The silver crimson we follow to battle."
The young king took the sword, unsheathed it, and stabbed it into the ground, poured the blade with oil and set it ablaze. Firmly, he placed his hands on the handle and brandished the flaming sword above his head.
Heads swung to the fiery sword, faintly present with the dying sun in the background. The regalia of their ancestors shining in the arms of the young scion.
Above his war crown it shone, the metal shining within the flame. "With the silver crimson, we shall not falter!"
==========
"That was breathtaking."
"Isn't it? Where the hell did they get that sword? It looks..."
"Perfect?"
"Too perfect. I haven't seen words come to life like that."
"Does the book justice, right?"
"And the readers' imagination too. Everyone was in AWE."
Typical after-movie chatter intensified. We're fans of the book. So go figure.
I dragged her to this restaurant right after the movie. It was... well, not really high-class, but it isn't some fastfood that we'd usually go to after a movie. She'd notice, for sure.
She was taking glances around. The place's atmosphere screamed decadence. No candlelight dinner, but she was definitely curious now.
"Anything up? Are we celebrating something?"
"Nothing really."
"Why the watch? Wasn't that from graduation three years ago?"
"Yeah." I passed her the salt, she'd be asking for it at this moment anyway.
With a puzzled look, she took the salt from me. "How'd you..."
"We've known each other for quite a while, right?"
She nodded.
The evening went silently after. Five minutes of her silence said something's wrong.
"Anything wrong?"
"I thought we were celebrating for your short story... Congratulations, by the way."
I was silent. She couldn't have...
"You're so modest, you told me you lost! You're quite a writer, you know that?"
"Thanks. ... Did you read it?"
"... Yes... It's so romantic."
"Ah." Mantras haven't been something I've been practicing for a while now, so I didn't know if it would work. All I knew was, at the back of my mind, I was repeating in whispers the silent worried monotonous line: I hope she doesn't ask...
"Am I the girl you wrote about?"
Fight or flight situation? ... More like disappear from existence... If there was such an option anyway. I just nodded.
Waiters passed, one filling up her glass of coke, the other filling up my glass of rootbeer. Our gaze seemed like we were searching for reflections within our eyes.
And with a faint noise, she looked down. Tears were sliding down her cheeks.
She's quite an orator, and she was known for breaking hearts with her monologues. Ones that she wrote herself. I'm a witness to her creativity, but her monologue, brilliantly thought of and aptly worded in spite of the spontaneity, was no different in effect as her most dramatic works yet.
Sadly enough I couldn't hear the whole monologue. I could catch the important phrases though. "You know I've been in love with..." then static, then "I've known you since high school" and a bit of "I don't want to hurt you" and some "It's just that... you know..." ending with "I'm really, really sorry." And the cherry on the top: "We'll still be friends, right?" Like breaking a sword with your parries, only to get hit by its shards.
I looked at her face. She was trying to keep a smile, even though her eyes, clear as spring water, flowed forth, a small waterfall of sorrow. Drop by drop, I grew more conscious of what had happened.
Unable to bear it any more, she buried her face behind her hands. Always her recluse when her heart was troubled, I finally decided to stand up and hand her a handkerchief. "It's alright," I whispered.
The atmosphere remained unchanging, and the world kept going on as usual. Thank God we were at a secluded table... I placed my hand on her shoulder and sat beside her for a while. The melancholic duet of "It's alright, forget what happened..." and "I'm really really sorry..." echoed, two souls singing in the dark of the night, unchanging in tone...
=========
"Thanks for tonight."
Cars were zooming by.
"No problem."
"Had fun?"
"Yeah, loads." I said, with a smile.
"Listen... I'm..."
The beads started forming again. "It's alright."
"But..."
"It's alright, trust me."
Cars were passing by, silently, as the people near us walked along with soft footsteps, we looked at each other, seemingly taking the few minutes that changed our lives into account...
A sharp ring brought me back. Her too, apparently. It was her cellphone after all.
"They're here."
"I saw your car turn. They'll be here any minute."
Any minute was too much approximation. Any second would have been more apt. I opened the door for her.
"Kev."
"Yeah?"
"Sorry."
"I know, Ciel. It's alright."
I closed the door, and, though darkened by the tint I saw the scene inside, her gazing at me as her parents drove her home.
==========
Bright neon lights, they're here to lure people into their liquor - and sometimes sex - filled world. I'm no exception to that rule. Although that's the last thing I'd want to do right now. I rushed back to the station, it might close any minute...
The city lights from the rail transit's view were, as usual, magnificent. Magnificent as I first saw them. With her, on our way to our first movie, just friends having fun.
Just friends.
The duet earlier kept running on loop in my head, when I walked home from the station.
... The uncertainty of tomorrow is man's greatest enigma. Who knows what would happen the next day? It might be alright to go on as before, or it might even have a big turnaround...
Wishful thinking? Possibilities abound...
With time, wounds heal, new love will spring forth, old ones may even regrow... But sorrow bottled up isn't good after all.
I removed the watch and placed it in its case.
A nightingale offered me a song, though somehow my vision had been watery for the longest time, and I couldn't see the songbird outside my window.
... Was a nightingale trying to ease her heart at the same time...?
I certainly do hope so.
Nighttime in the urban jungle. Man, I didn't think night life would be this... exhuberant. And I'm not even going out for a taste of it either. Rather, I'm indulging the nightlights outside the mall. Bystanders would have thought that I was trying to memorize all the possible details of the fancy gold-ish watch, since I kept looking at it.
Time. Time time. Time time time. I couldn't get enough of the time. Excitement, anxiousness, whatever it was in that heap of beating flesh in my chest, it was making me look at the time. Waiting... Waiting...
The lights - neon, fluorescent, incandescent, or otherwise - reflected off the newly-polished old... I mean ancient watch. The regality of it's gold and silver shining with the lights meant to lure customers to a night of fun while the owners bask in a night of profit and the workers hustle and bustle around in a night of righteous work... well, most of the workers, anyway. It was a gift for graduation... More like a "Last chance to show off, son. Wear this." thing, but I liked it enough that I never wore it again...
Except tonight.
A soft pitter-patter in the clay-tiled floor.
"Sorry, did you wait long?"
Nervously, I turned around. "No, not really."
She was obviously tired. Traffic was horrible, they said on the radio. She must have dashed her way from the bus station to here.
"Take a breather for a while." I told her, pointing to the green bench nearby. She sat down.
"Don't lie to me. You've probably been here for an hour now."
"Here." I tossed her a bottle of iced tea.
"Thanks."
It was a bit dark, but I could distinctly see her powder blue shirt... The one we bought when we went out... No, it wasn't a date. Well, either way, she bought it because of my opinion: she looked good in it; obviously an understatement. With the forming beads of sweat on her forehead, and her obvious rush left a bit of creases in it, she still looked as wonderful as she first stepped out of the dressing room.
"So, have you been here for an hour now?" She took a sip of iced tea.
"No..."
"No sugarcoats now. Tell me."
"Hour, three minutes, eight seconds. Aaaand...."
"Okay, okay. I get it. No need to tell me the milliseconds. Sorry!" She bowed her head and put her hands together in front of it.
"No harm in waiting, you know." I sat down, opening my bottle of iced tea and taking a drink as well. "So, what's the plan?"
"After I catch my breath, we go around, choose a movie... Then dinner. Sounds okay?"
"Magnificent."
This is not a date.
Well, I hope after this night, I can say that it is.
==========
"Take the sword."
"No." The horizon was strewn with glistening armor, and the sun shining its last behind them did nothing to conceal the coat-of-arms of the warlord they followed.
"Sire. Do you hear that rumbling?"
"The rumble of the accursed's greaves as they march to deliver us our doom? The rumble of the horses their knights ride? The rumble of their swords, spears?"
The young king, in his path, wavered.
On the royal pauldron, the knight master rested his gauntlet-protected hand.
"The rumble of all our knees. Under your silver banner, and under their crimson banner. We all wish to return to our homes, sire."
The tall knight once again offered him the sword ensheathed in black leather embossed with silver. "Twilight, sire. Forged in the light of the dying sun. The silver crimson we follow to battle."
The young king took the sword, unsheathed it, and stabbed it into the ground, poured the blade with oil and set it ablaze. Firmly, he placed his hands on the handle and brandished the flaming sword above his head.
Heads swung to the fiery sword, faintly present with the dying sun in the background. The regalia of their ancestors shining in the arms of the young scion.
Above his war crown it shone, the metal shining within the flame. "With the silver crimson, we shall not falter!"
==========
"That was breathtaking."
"Isn't it? Where the hell did they get that sword? It looks..."
"Perfect?"
"Too perfect. I haven't seen words come to life like that."
"Does the book justice, right?"
"And the readers' imagination too. Everyone was in AWE."
Typical after-movie chatter intensified. We're fans of the book. So go figure.
I dragged her to this restaurant right after the movie. It was... well, not really high-class, but it isn't some fastfood that we'd usually go to after a movie. She'd notice, for sure.
She was taking glances around. The place's atmosphere screamed decadence. No candlelight dinner, but she was definitely curious now.
"Anything up? Are we celebrating something?"
"Nothing really."
"Why the watch? Wasn't that from graduation three years ago?"
"Yeah." I passed her the salt, she'd be asking for it at this moment anyway.
With a puzzled look, she took the salt from me. "How'd you..."
"We've known each other for quite a while, right?"
She nodded.
The evening went silently after. Five minutes of her silence said something's wrong.
"Anything wrong?"
"I thought we were celebrating for your short story... Congratulations, by the way."
I was silent. She couldn't have...
"You're so modest, you told me you lost! You're quite a writer, you know that?"
"Thanks. ... Did you read it?"
"... Yes... It's so romantic."
"Ah." Mantras haven't been something I've been practicing for a while now, so I didn't know if it would work. All I knew was, at the back of my mind, I was repeating in whispers the silent worried monotonous line: I hope she doesn't ask...
"Am I the girl you wrote about?"
Fight or flight situation? ... More like disappear from existence... If there was such an option anyway. I just nodded.
Waiters passed, one filling up her glass of coke, the other filling up my glass of rootbeer. Our gaze seemed like we were searching for reflections within our eyes.
And with a faint noise, she looked down. Tears were sliding down her cheeks.
She's quite an orator, and she was known for breaking hearts with her monologues. Ones that she wrote herself. I'm a witness to her creativity, but her monologue, brilliantly thought of and aptly worded in spite of the spontaneity, was no different in effect as her most dramatic works yet.
Sadly enough I couldn't hear the whole monologue. I could catch the important phrases though. "You know I've been in love with..." then static, then "I've known you since high school" and a bit of "I don't want to hurt you" and some "It's just that... you know..." ending with "I'm really, really sorry." And the cherry on the top: "We'll still be friends, right?" Like breaking a sword with your parries, only to get hit by its shards.
I looked at her face. She was trying to keep a smile, even though her eyes, clear as spring water, flowed forth, a small waterfall of sorrow. Drop by drop, I grew more conscious of what had happened.
Unable to bear it any more, she buried her face behind her hands. Always her recluse when her heart was troubled, I finally decided to stand up and hand her a handkerchief. "It's alright," I whispered.
The atmosphere remained unchanging, and the world kept going on as usual. Thank God we were at a secluded table... I placed my hand on her shoulder and sat beside her for a while. The melancholic duet of "It's alright, forget what happened..." and "I'm really really sorry..." echoed, two souls singing in the dark of the night, unchanging in tone...
=========
"Thanks for tonight."
Cars were zooming by.
"No problem."
"Had fun?"
"Yeah, loads." I said, with a smile.
"Listen... I'm..."
The beads started forming again. "It's alright."
"But..."
"It's alright, trust me."
Cars were passing by, silently, as the people near us walked along with soft footsteps, we looked at each other, seemingly taking the few minutes that changed our lives into account...
A sharp ring brought me back. Her too, apparently. It was her cellphone after all.
"They're here."
"I saw your car turn. They'll be here any minute."
Any minute was too much approximation. Any second would have been more apt. I opened the door for her.
"Kev."
"Yeah?"
"Sorry."
"I know, Ciel. It's alright."
I closed the door, and, though darkened by the tint I saw the scene inside, her gazing at me as her parents drove her home.
==========
Bright neon lights, they're here to lure people into their liquor - and sometimes sex - filled world. I'm no exception to that rule. Although that's the last thing I'd want to do right now. I rushed back to the station, it might close any minute...
The city lights from the rail transit's view were, as usual, magnificent. Magnificent as I first saw them. With her, on our way to our first movie, just friends having fun.
Just friends.
The duet earlier kept running on loop in my head, when I walked home from the station.
... The uncertainty of tomorrow is man's greatest enigma. Who knows what would happen the next day? It might be alright to go on as before, or it might even have a big turnaround...
Wishful thinking? Possibilities abound...
With time, wounds heal, new love will spring forth, old ones may even regrow... But sorrow bottled up isn't good after all.
I removed the watch and placed it in its case.
A nightingale offered me a song, though somehow my vision had been watery for the longest time, and I couldn't see the songbird outside my window.
... Was a nightingale trying to ease her heart at the same time...?
I certainly do hope so.