Author: maleghast (Page 26 of 35)

“Cigarette?”

He was standing next to her at the bar, and she had not even noticed. Now he was gesturing towards her with a soft cigarette packet, a single smoke poking up out of the packet, like a little tower protruding from the foundation of its brothers and sisters, not yet freed from their packaging.

“Er, thankyou, no. I don’t smoke.”

She hoped that he would go away; she was in no mood to be hit upon.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it just looked like you could use a pick-me-up.”

It occurred to her that this was an odd choice of words considering that he was trying to pick her up. She could not resist having a little fun with him.

“And what is supposed to be the pick-me-up, the smoke or what would come later in your motel room?”

His face reddened and he picked up his drink and beat a hasty retreat to the other end of the bar. Why were men so sure that they were what she needed?

It never crossed her mind that his motives were most likely less motivated by her needs. She raised a finger;

“Another please.”

—

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I smiled, and nodded, which was completely unecessary considering that I was on the phone. She was right, there was no point to this call, and I was not quite drunk enough to admit that I had just wanted to hear her voice.

“I’m sorry, Sara. I’ve had a few drinks… I should not have called.”

I heard her sigh; I could see the look on her face in my mind’s eye.

“It’s ok, Ethan, but I thought that we went over all of this the other week? I’m with Jason now, and while it’s true that what we had was very special, you have to let me go. I can’t keep getting these phonecalls at one in the morning, ok?”

“Sure, I’m sorry. Goodnight”

I hung up before she could say anything and then, of course, I threw the phone at the couch, not because I was angry with her per se, but because I was angry with the world, the situation, everything. I had pushed her away with my guilt so she pushed me away to protect herself from the poison I was feeding her instead of the love I should have given her. If only I could change things.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

There is nothing left here now… My parents are dead. There is no inheritance, I have no other family or people. As I stare down the valley from the ruin of the humble home that my father built over thirty years ago I am struck by one abiding thought; I can be anyone that I want to be now.

While my parents were alive there was a requirement for me to settle down, live a sensible life. I did not manage to do this while they were alive, but I have no intention of memorialising their lives with my own. While they were alive I could not be honest about my real goals, now I can actually embrace my desire to remain unmarried and free. I can work only as much as I need, in order to travel and experience the world. There is no danger in openly choosing men as partners as often as women, no longer do I need to fear the recrimination of failing to be the person that they wanted. I am sorry that they are gone, but the possibilities available to me now are so wide and varied that I am consoled and freed from my grief.

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The cold of the blade resting against his leg snapped him back from his reverie. He could hear the blood slowly dripping from the point and pooling by his foot. As he checked his surroundings he started to count the bodies that were strewn around the lobby. Twelve; that was good. He remembered twelve, so he had not become lost in the killing. Just in the aftermath. He padded across the floor, avoiding the larger pools of blood, and checked that each body was indeed a body and not merely a casualty.

Satisfied that all of them were indeed dead he looked around for where he had stashed his clothes. If you are going to get bloody you may as well cover the blood up with your clean clothes afterwards; he had always thought that this had been the best piece of advice that Dellner had ever given to him. There they were, sealed in a double wrap of plastic sheeting and duct-tape behind the last pillar on the right, clear of all the blood spatter, so that he could dress without marking them. It was going to work out…

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“Six! That means we turn right, right?”

“Yeah, and walk three blocks. Come on”

It was starting to get really exciting; three moves in and we were already exploring. Of course that was the point. When Jane had suggested that we play Discordian Monopoly for our first night out on Manhattan I had initially been a little unimpressed. I warmed up to the idea when she had offered to pose for me at every other move, regardless of where we ended up; suddenly this was a mini art project and I could no longer resist.

As we walked down Waverly Place, along the northern edge of Washington Square Park I was getting excited. Jane was fearless about it, but I could tell that there were a lot of people around even though it was late. We were going to have to be really quick to not draw a lot of attention. I wanted to shoot her leaning on a lamp post with the arch behind her. I metred and framed my shot and then she dropped her coat and darted into the frame; we were rolling the dice again inside thirty seconds.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the collaboration of Romney (From Livejournal) who contributed Dice, a street corner and ‘finding the way’ in response to my weekly request for a thing, place and activity on my LJ.

“What do you mean, you were in my dream?”

Sue shook her head gently as she spoke and ran her fingers through her hair; her eyes told a tale of disbelief.

I tried to think of a way to explain what I had experienced without sounding insane, but there was nothing to tell her.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy as sunscreen in a rainstorm, but when you woke up and described that room to me, and what you were doing in your dream – you know counting the shells – I knew before you finished explaining, because I had been there watching you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be there, but I was.”

She looked at me, the redness in her eyes showed me that she was starting to cry;

“It doesn’t make sense, you can’t know; you can’t have seen my dream, it’s just not possible. I don’t want to think about the alternative… I like being able to explain my world. Maybe I was talking in my sleep and you heard me in yours; is that possible?”

I nodded. I knew what I believed, but I could see that she did not.

“Yeah, that must be it.”

—

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The bombs are falling again, and so I dare not go outside. I ventured out a little while ago and all I could see along the road were bodies and abandoned cars, luggage and so forth. I don’t understand why they had to bomb the roads going in and out of Gori, there were only normal people on those roads, trying to flee the fighting. Did the damn Russians really think that Georgian loyalists were going to poke their heads out of their holes once the word came down that the Russians were coming. The people that they shelled and bombed were the people they claim that they are coming to liberate; people who had seen enough civil war to know that there would be no safety even if they cheered their liberators into town.

I have enough food and water now to last over a week, so I will lie here in the dark, with enough fuel for the lantern to eat and perhaps read a little when I can stand the boredom no longer. I do not even care who runs things. Georgians, Russians, they are all the same; they just want to fight.

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the item on the English front page of Wikipedia today (11th of August 2008) outlining that the Georgian Government has approved a State of War for the next fifteen days, in response to the Russian invasion in the disagreement ove rthe sovereignty of South Ossetia.

“There is no question in my mind that he has been using drugs, and using them for at least the last three months.”

No one looked shocked as this pronouncement was made. In fact the cold acceptance of this statement made his point for him – everyone had known that Cory had been taking drugs for some time, they had simply been unwilling to tell anyone in authority about it.

“Moreover, I am pretty certain that some of you have been taking drugs with Cory. It is important to note that in this one and only instance there will be no repercussions for anyone who comes forward. In fact we are asking those of you who have perhaps been experimenting with Cory so that we can make sure that you are not at risk from whatever is wrong with Cory.”

There was an amount of uncomfortable shifting in seats and murmurs as the other kids started to react to John’s speech. As per his request I was watching to see which kids or groups of kids looked less shocked, more resigned as they heard about the amnesty that was on offer.

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When she sat down in front of me I noted that she was shocked by the beard, but more than that I was pleased that she could see it at all. I had ordered the wine, and I was hoping that she would recognise that I had remembered her favourite Riesling, when she got right down to it;

“Why did you call me?”

This was not the opening gambit I had been expecting. Obviously I was not quite so crass as to want to hear her say “It’s nice to see you”, but I was hoping her reaction to be less confrontational, more pleased perhaps. I was a little lost for words, and Sara could see that.

“I’m serious, why did you want to see me after three years? Did you think I was going to be keen to reconcile? Were you just lonely? I don’t have a lot of time, so can we just get this over with?”

I was starting to wonder how I could answer any of these questions without sounding like an idiot. It was true that I had heard that her sight was back, and it was true that I wanted her back; now it was clear that she did not want me at all.

—

You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

She stood at the top of the path leading down to our door, hands clasped together in front of her, looking up at the new moon, which shone from the dark purple, summer night sky like a sliver of silver.

“Ich gruße dich, das neues licht…”

She spoke the rhyme too quietly for me to hear and anyway my German was not good enough to follow along after the first sentence. I had seen her do this many times before; each time I was fascinated by her ability to remember to observe this tradition. I knew, because she had told me, that it was something she had done with her mother since being a little girl and it was important to her because it made her feel close, while she was so far away.

I waited quietly for her to finish greeting the moon, and tried so very hard to burn the image of her standing there into my mind; to always remember her in this simple, innocent, beautiful way. She finished the rhyme and then turned to walk to me, a little smile on her face.

In that moment I knew that I would always love her…

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You can see the original post on Ficlets.com by clicking here.

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This Ficlet was inspired by the following image:

Photo by swh (on Flickr)