Waiting

I remember, not so long ago, your presence between these walls. Smiling as you prepared breakfast, handing me some food from your plate to change from my routine. We lived together but we were not the same. You were always sitting, reading, thinking, while all I wanted to do was go outside and burn up my energy. But you’re not here anymore, and now I sit on the couch, half asleep, replacing your warmth by the rays of the sun that poke through the window. The television is turned off, but even if it was on, it would hold no meaning for me. The only reason I ever watched it was because you were there, with me, watching and reacting to these fast moving images and words that always sounded empty.

You left without warning really. I should have been used to watching you walk through that door, but I could never be used to not being with you. Your smile, your laugh, your friendly words, all of these things were starting to slip away from the grasp of my memory. And I am here, on the couch, half asleep, picturing you coming back, walking up the stairs to the door. In my sleepy stupor I walk to the door, looking, hoping, wishing that it would open up and that I would be greeted by your smile, your voice, your smell.

This house is empty without you. I cannot deal with the silence. I make noise of my own. A primitive calling, something that I wish you could hear. Where are you? Too long as passed since I last saw you. I eat without any enthusiasm. I’m about to run out of food, when you were there that never happened. I go down to the basement, hoping that somehow these empty rooms could fill the void you left when you walked out that door. I find more of the same loneliness downstairs. I decide to nap a little more in the downstairs living room. The sun is not quite as present here, and so I will not feel like I am slowly burning as on the upstairs’ couch.

Time passes. I wake up. I hear a noise. Is that your? I run upstairs as fast as I can, to go to the door. No one. I see out of the window that it was just the mailman. To my shock, and possibly to his, I let out a sound of protest. How dare he come here, make this noise, and not be you? Why couldn’t it have been you? I am stuck here waiting for your presence, but I now fear that I will never see you again. And so I replace the protest by a complaint. Where are you? Why are you no longer here, with me? So little time as elapsed since you left, but it could very well have been an eternity. Where are you? I need you, I want you. I am starting to forget things about you. Why did you leave? Did I do something wrong?

I go to the bedroom we so often shared, and I see some of your clothes that have been left behind. I cannot resist the temptation of burying my nose in them to fill my lungs with you sweet scent. It’s invigorating. I go back to the living room, I won’t turn on the television, but I will sit, looking outside, my hopes returned by the articles of clothing still baring parts of your essence. Cars go by, none are yours. Do you even remember me? I don’t know where you are, you never told me where you were going. You probably did, but I was too entranced by the sound of your voice to try to give meaning to these words. And so you left, without a word of warning. How long as it been? Can I even define the time that has elapsed? I can only count the things I did in your absence, and not the time I used to do these. Time without you does not matter.

So I doze off again on the couch. Sleep makes time go by faster, maybe you will return. Maybe it will be you who wakes me up from that sleep. A noise again. I pay closer attention. Someone is coming. I hear the door being unlocked. I run to the door, I want to be sure it is you; I can’t believe you’ve returned. The door opens, and you stand there, with a beautiful smile. I can see you, hear you and smell you. You are back. You smile when you see me, and then you speak: “I hope you haven’t missed me too much boy.” I bark my excitement. “Wow, have you been waiting for me here all day long? Why don’t you go outside for a while…”

The door closes. I take care of natural needs. I then look at the door. How long has it been closed? Why have you locked me out of your life...

[Something simple, I seem to do those a lot right now... Oh well, I cant write revolutionary stuff every time. Hope you enjoyed it.]

The Guests

It all started on the day the school bus broke down in front of the house. They were too far from the school and the city to find a way to make it there, and most of these kids lived miles away and could not reach their parents. So they all needed a place to stay warm in this December morning. Five kids stranded in the middle of nowhere with a bus driver angry at a busted transmission. And that is when they noticed the house. It was quite none-descript, white walls, black rooftop, two floors, and not a trace of kids anywhere. Elaine and Gregory, as much as they had tried, were not blessed with children. So when the bus broke down, and the kids were cold, their house finally filled up with the voices and cheers that Elaine had wished to give to this world.

The kids tried calling their parents, but sadly they were not available, and so Elaine did something she always wished to do, take care of kids. Sure they were not infants, and they were quite okay on their own, but for once, Elaine could let her maternal instincts run wild. Gregory enjoyed this side of his wife. They had been married some 15 years, and he had always felt that it was his fault his wife could not get pregnant. She had seen many doctors, and she assured him she was quite fertile. He did not trust one of them down there in his case. She was fertile, he wasn’t, that seemed logical.

And so the kids decided to go outside to play, apparently they would be here until after diner, since there had been some issues with the tow trucks. Apparently there had been this horrible accident in town, and the kids would have to wait for a while. Elaine decided to go outside and watch them play in the snow. They did not need an adult to watch over them, but she seemed so nice, so friendly, that they even invited her to play. That house must have felt lonely without kids to liven things up. And once everyone was tired and cold, she invited the kids inside and whipped up some hot cocoa with whipped cream. She was wonderful. The older kids started wishing she could have kids; she seemed so great and would love to be friends with her children.

Eventually, the kids went back home, and Elaine would be left alone with her husband. And they would once again make love, and Elaine, once more, would have to go back to the big city to get yet another abortion if she happened to get pregnant. She loved her husband, and she loved kids, but she would never let herself be split in two by giving birth.


[So, quick and dirty, nothing special about it.]

Chronicles from the Battlefield

In the quiet suburbs, a tragedy was happening, yet no one was noticing it. Everything seemed peaceful; the dew was glistening in the July sunrise. Among this row of white and pink brick houses with family sedans in the driveway, two in particular did not stand out to anyone but the owners. These houses were quite similar to the casual observer. A shiny black driveway, a somewhat recent minivan and an older sedan in the driveway, massive oak trees adorning the front lawn, a pool in the backyard (20 feet wide at 72 Maple drive, 21 feet at 74 Maple drive), a small hot tub on the patio (5-place at 74 Maple drive, 7-place at 72 Maple drive), and freshly mowed lawn with newly purchased riding lawnmowers.

Fred Johnson, owner of the 72 Maple drive was fuming. He knew Henry Davies was taunting him. Why the hell would he purchase a cottage at the nearby lake? He did not swim, his kids looked horrible in swimsuits, and his wife was not that much a looker either. It was obvious that the only reason the cottage was bought was to show him up. He had to buy the one next to his, the one Fred had looked at first and was not able to purchase. But that would not be the end of it. Oh no, it would not be.

With the money saved by purchasing the smaller cottage, he would purchase a boat. He knew his neighbour was out today to put a down payment on a small 19 feet boat. He knew that thanks to his son who was dating Henry’s daughter. So Henry was calling a boat store, he had seen this brand new 25 feet boat, a real beauty. So the family vacation to Mexico would have to wait another three or four years, he would not be beaten by his neighbour.

The Refuge

First I see stars shining through your bright eyes.
They guide me on the dark sea of my life,
Piercing through the dense fog of all the lies
I feed myself like a cold friendly knife.

I see, like a sunrise, your bright smile.
The wall of frost I hid behind now flows,
Becoming a stream washing the bile,
So that pure bliss my heart finally knows.

And held by your warm benevolent arm,
After all my worries, I know true rest.
And for my luck your love is the best charm
At last, in your heart I can build my nest.

Please stranger do not blush, yours is my heart
Overcome by the touch of Cupid’s dart

[I was challenged to write a sonnet. This is what I got. It took about as long as a story, and I revised it a lot more. Overall, what I like the most is the fact that I had to pay a lot more attention to individual words than I usually do. With a few more like these I might get the reflex to do that naturally.]

[I actually revised it once more because it was pointed out that I made some mistakes...]

Heartbeat

Snow was slowly falling on the sleeping city. All was quiet. Windows everywhere let out beams of light, colouring the white snow with the yellow embrace of technology. It contrasted with the blue colour that filled the sky under the full moon. All was quiet except for the sounds of passing buses. Downtown, they motion was constant, and the noise was the heartbeat of the city. They started from this central point, and distributed people along arteries to the extremities of the isolated community. In this valley, there were fields, and the city. All was quiet, with the exception of the buses, and of the trendy bars that grew along the main streets. With their rhythmic thumping, and tribal sounds, to a casual observer, some primitive ritual might have been going on between the walls. In a sense, the mating habits of mankind were both ritualistic and primitive.

Snow was slowly falling on the sleeping city. All was quiet. Above this quiet noise, there was a window revealing a silhouette in the light. Looking down upon all the people celebrating life, the girl was looking down. Tonight, they all were happy in that bar downstairs. But the noise only stirred a sad melancholy from the moment it started. All was quiet in the city, but a storm had risen in her heart. He was somewhere down there, she could feel it. Ever since that moment when she felt his soul enter her, she could always tell where he was. They had met about this time last year. A chance encounter, they were both waiting for the same bus. He had missed the previous one, she felt like being early. And as they waited, they started talking. A few days later, they realized that their lives orbited around one another, but that they had never crossed paths. Like the moon and the earth, they were part of the same system, but until that one morning, they had not collided.

Snow was falling on a city that only deceptively looked like it was sleeping. The buses were carting people around town, running like a clock, never stopping to ponder about each motion. And in the bars along the main streets there was a man. His mind was focussed, he was thinking about his own heart beating along side another person. He did not care who, so this club was the perfect place. Days ago, he would have thought this was a mistake, but now he no longer had any responsibility. What happened wasn’t his fault. He was sure of that. And so tonight, he was looking at the girls around. Some of them were not worth the attention, but some were well worth him buying them drinks. He was free. If she had not decided to visit him out of the blue, things would have been different. She could have missed that bus, but the driver apparently waited for her. An hour, what a difference it would have made. When she walked into his bedroom, an hour would have changed the world. She could believe he was taking a nap up until she saw he was not alone in bed. If she would have missed her bus, he would not be free, and she would not be betrayed. But that didn’t matter. With the purchase of a drink, one or two niceties exchanged over the loud music, and the promise of a good time, he would not sleep alone tonight. Why was he still thinking about her, everything was her fault anyway? She should have called, she should have missed her bus, the driver should not have waited. He was still talking about her when he was making empty promises to that girl with no name that would have to walk out of his life as soon as she had served her purpose.

Snow was no longer falling on the city that was falling asleep. All was quiet. Light filtered out of some windows. Like a starry sky filled with bricks. He was coming out of the club, with this fake blond girl hanging on to his arm, because the world was spinning too fast, because she spun too slowly. He was walking with her along known streets. In the last year he had walked these streets with someone else on his arm. Now everything seemed different. But he forced himself to think everything stayed the same. So he walked these street he had learned on different times. Why did he have to park his car where he used to. If that car had not been broken, a year ago, everything would be much simpler. He would not have this oppressing feeling in his stomach, he would not feel like throwing up just remembering that moment when she walked in his room where her heart was shattered. It was her fault. The nuisance hanging on his arm made a noise, and then a motion. She was pointing to a window that lacked any significance for her, but had one time meant the world for him. Why did he have to park within sight of her window? The fake blond insisted. He raised his eyes to the window he had shut out of his heart, only to see the silhouette of his former angel flying, her feet no longer touching the ground. Suspended in midair not by the wings she deserved, but by a noose around her neck.

[Valentine's Day special... or not. I was lacking ideas tonight, so I went for a "comfort zone." While I am happy with the result, it almost feels like a step back. But then again, who am I to judge the stories I write? Oh, and please don't try to find deeper meaning, this is just a story.]

The Play

Cast

A: A theatre patron
B: A theatre patron
C: A theatre patron
Martin: An old character in a play.
David: Martin’s son
Lisa: Martin’s daughter
Lesley: Lisa’s partner

Location: Late at night, on a street, outside a theatre. A stage can be seen not too far from the characters.

A, B and C are leaving the theatre late at night; they seem to be in the middle of a conversation.

A:
Can you believe what happened up there? Such a respectable actress forced to such lowly roles. She was much better in that production of… what was that play’s name again…

A looks at B.

A:
You would know; you were there. She played that lady who was married to that horrible man.

B:
What are you talking about, she was incredible tonight on that stage. Such courage to play a lesbian after all these things newspapers said about her and her husband.

A:
But did she need to be a lesbian for the plot to progress, she could have played something more sensible. What was the author thinking, he did not need to have these girls be a couple.

C:
Did we even watch the same play? That scene where Martin and Lisa are confronting David and his reluctance to accept Lesley was incredible.

In the background, Martin, David, Lisa and Lesley walk in on the stage. David is holding a piece of paper, and is obviously agitated and angry at his father.

David:
What the hell is this? You’re giving more money to Lisa than me in your will? After she broke mom’s heart by being… being…

Lisa:
A lesbian? Say it David, I want to hear you say it. If you’re gonna be angry, you better be ready to say it.

Lesley:
Please, Lisa, don’t make a scene. We both knew we wouldn’t have it easy all the time, at least your father has been kind to us.

B:
Wait a second.

Martin, David, Lisa and Lesley stop moving.

B:
Did we even see the same play?

As he is speaking, B goes on the stage and adjusts the people according to what he says.

B:
First of all, Lesley was the one who was in David’s face, Lisa was the meek one. Lisa was holding Martin’s will; it was just after she read it and found out that Martin was leaving them the house.

Lisa:
Dad, I don’t know what to say, the house where we grew up, this is incredible. Lesley and I can never thank you enough.

Martin:
Well, it’s not like I am giving it to you right now. I’ll still see a few years hopefully, but I know it’s been hard on you lately, with you losing your job.

A:
Actually, I think Lesley is the one that lost her job, wasn’t she a teacher?

B:
No, Lisa was the teacher.

A:
Right, and Lesley was the dentist, and Lisa was her patient.

C:
Orthodentist.

A:
Whatever.

Martin:
…but I know it’s been hard on you two lately, with Lesley losing her job at the clinic.

David appears to be eavesdropping.

Martin:
And David just got a promotion at his job at the newspaper. He’s living two hours away, he can’t really want this house, he has one closer to his job in Ottawa.

A:
Toronto

Martin:
Toronto. He’s supposed to visit me this week-end too. If we want to avoid him making a scene like last Christmas, maybe you should leave.

Lisa and Lesley get ready to leave and run into David.

C:
I think Lesley wasn’t quite ok with leaving.

A:
No, she got mad when David tried to get them to leave what he called “his house.”

B:
Are you sure? I think she did mention something about trying to spare Martin’s weak heart.

Lesley, back to facing Martin:
Yeah, we wouldn’t want another one of his scenes to angry up your heart. We don’t want another celebration moved to a hospital.

Lesley and Lisa run into David.

David:
Leaving so soon? And after receiving such a generous gift too. Dad, you could have told me on the phone you didn’t love me, you would have saved me the trip.

Martin:
David, it’s not that, Lisa and Lesley have been having a hard time, but it’s not because I love them more than you, you’re still in my will.

David:
What the hell is this? You’re giving more money to Lisa than me in your will? After she broke mom’s heart by being… being…

Lesley:
A lesbian? Say it David, I want to hear you say it. If you’re gonna be angry, you better be ready to say it.

Lisa:
Please, Lesley, don’t make a scene. We both knew we wouldn’t have it easy all the time, at least dad has been kind to us. We shouldn’t be yelling in front of him like that. If David can’t make peace with it, we better leave.



[So, this is another new territory for me. First of all, I never really wrote plays (except that one time in high school, but there's a reason I don't talk about it anymore). Also, this is the first time I stop myself in the middle of writing to just post it here. There's a few reasons for that, I think the gist of the idea was there, and I was better off stopping it because the experimental nature of the text was well done and over with. Also, while the text was not complete, I realized that it could take a while to complete, and that I had not taken a necessary step: As I was writing, I had no clue what really happened with David, Martin, Lesley and Lisa. While I could wing it, I realized that once my "proof of concept" was done, if I wanted a more complete text to come out, I needed the full story. So, this "play" is an incomplete project, and I will need to invest a lot more time in it to have it reach a better state. Time I do not have right now. However, I wanted to experiment with theatre and I am kinda happy with the result. Obviously I will wait and see what my one or two readers have to say about it.

I also managed to break away from most of my labels for this post, and it makes me glad.]

The Race

He had to run, run away fast. Turn left at the next street. They were coming, he could hear them barking. The moon was high, the streets were dark, and they were empty. Midnight. He surprised himself wishing he could be caught. Running, running for so long, it had tired him. But he also had no time to think about stopping. An opening on the left, he turned, slipping on the wet cement. In the dark, he noticed the problem too late. It was a dead end. But he did not want to end up dead, so he improvised. He spotted a dumpster, climbed on it, and jumped up to a nearby fire escape. He had seen it in so many movies. He kept going higher and higher, up to the roof. He was safe from the dogs; however the slow beating sound of a helicopter reminded him that the dogs were the least of his worries. He was not spotted so for now he could still run. Luckily, this neighbourhood was built with most building being within one floor of each other. He started running towards the edge of the building, hopped over the brick divider and landed on the next building. As he ran, he realized he had turned around and started going back on his steps. No time for panicking. He jumped to the next building, down one floor. Something cracked. It wasn’t time to think about a possibly broken bone. He stood up and ran. Pain assaulted him. And after the pain, a spotlight found him. The helicopter was over him. He had to get in, go somewhere safe. He turned around, started running towards a door that led in the building. He slipped. Blood. His blood. He got up again; he had to reach the door. It was locked. His hand slipped on the doorknob. They were coming. A step back. He tried to break the door. His shoulder cracked, but so did the wood. Another attempt. His shoulder was now dislocated but the door was open. He started running down the stairs. He slipped again, and tumbled down a flight of stair. Breathing was painful. He probably had a broken rib. He got up. His head was spinning. He fell down again. Not enough blood, not enough time. He crawled to the nearest door. His hand was on the doorknob. He could not turn it. It was over.

[Very short story today, but I would like to think I was not being lazy, but rather that the action sequence was over and all I wanted to do was an action sequence. And that was it.]

The Street

The neon lights were humming, and the street was slowly filling with people again. It was not the same crowd that had filled the sidewalks under a sun that had to dart between buildings and plough through smog to reach the ground. The street was shining under the neon signs, remnants of an evening shower. The stars were shining but no one could see them, it was all about the artificial light illuminating real life. This contrasted with the natural light that shone on the fake life that everyone had. Tonight, the neon lights were a beacon to all those looking for something more, something new, something different. Or maybe just something to do. At the same time the neon lights started humming, music poured out of the nightclubs and into the street. Ulysses himself would find it hard to resist the allure of these songs, especially after spending an entire day in an office building.

A man dressed in black and green seemed to agree with that sentiment. He was unconsciously moving towards a place with a red and blue sign, a name promising a good time, and a line up ensuring that he would not be alone to enjoy himself. His day had been spent entering numbers in a spreadsheet. Meaningless numbers for most. He was aware however that the numbers he was crunching were a payroll. He was also dreadfully aware that the numbers were getting smaller. But he could not think about these things, if he did, he could not live with himself. And so he walked, ready to spend a pay check he knew had been gained by removing salaries from recently laid off employees. The promise of an enjoyable evening was much more important to him right now.

A young girl wearing a black skirt, red shirt, and a friend on her arm was also looking for an enjoyable evening. She had cause to celebrate; she finally received her grades for the previous semester. She wasn’t the best, but it did not matter, she passed. Her mother was proud; her little girl was one step closer to being a nurse. But now all of that did not matter tonight. Both her and her friend had lost their boyfriends in the last few months, and because of the pressure they were under, they had not been able to fill the hole they left in their lives. Although her friend seemed eager to meet someone and get in a relationship again, she was happy to be single. She could wear short sleeves and not risk one of her bruises showing. No one had to know, and she knew what to avoid in a guy now, but she would not mind a year or two for the wounds of her heart to heal. They both spotted a group of friends waiting for them close to a bar filled with loud metallic music. She smiled and realised that it was a brand new day.

“And sometimes you need a brand new start,” said a thirty-year-old woman to a nearby friend. They both understood what was meant by these words. They shared an understanding look and went back to their profession. No, they did not dream of doing that, and they did not think they would be standing on the street corner trying to entice people with their bodies. They could not call it an honest living, but they felt they were in control. They were friends out of necessity, and they were professionals for the same reason. She had lost most of her possessions thanks to a fire and a lack on insurance, and her friend had all of her money stolen by greedy parents. They would make some money fast, move in together and get real job. This was a temporary setback, but it wasn’t setting them back much. People had money to spend, and they were profiting from it.

And if money was to be spent, this man in his mid-life crisis would be one to spend it. His wife had left him for a yoga instructor. The poor sucker didn’t know what he got. He was single, loaded, and drunk, a promising combination under the neon lights. He was king of the bars tonight, and he was moving towards a popular strip club. His wife had always prevented him from going to these places, but tonight he would mingle with hockey players, other businessmen, and a seemingly endless supply of woman-skin.

As the rest of the neon lights lit up, the street seemed to be filled with a new energy. No one thought of recession, divorce, despair, and loneliness. This was the real world, a world of hope, light, and fun; everything they were denied during the daytime.

[So I realize a couple of things: 1 most of my stories tend to be downers, 2 most of my stories are not about action, 3 it isn't quit as easy to label all my stories in a specific way. So I'm gonna try to improve the first two points in my ext few stories, as for the third one, I hope it gets even harder to label my stories, because if it gets easier, it might be that I have fallen in a routine.]