CapitalSigma
07-25-2010, 11:47 AM
A Late Night Encounter
One night – soon, my friend – when you are walking on your way home, you will be approached by a woman. One lush summer night when leaves cloak the green branches of trees intertwined with blossoms bursting into white sprawling petals like explosions of stray artillery shells, you will be heading home having enjoyed drinking and good company. Sweat may shine off your hair in the uncountable lights of city streets, but it will not bother you. As you have your your jacket tucked under your arm – a light burden in your two, young, strong arms – swishing out a steady, even rhythm against the irregular clamor of insects nesting in plumes of waxy bushes, you will be approached by a woman.
Her face won't be new to you – after all, you saw her at the bar earlier that night. She had walked among smoke-thralled patrons with a posture of copper railings, a stride boasting polished aluminum cogs and a voice like vibrations through pure, clean glass. Her soft, asking glance may surprise you, but she will be ready. Her dress will be black with frills that remind you of carved wooden arches built into Venetian streets. Her feet will be obscured somehow – a trick of the light, a small shadow, a bump in the pavement. It is no matter. She will speak to you, glassy and vibrating and dark in the clean air of the night:
–– I came back to talk to you.
–– Came back?
–– Car crash. Dead on impact. Trying to make a few amends, she'll say.
The black folds of her dress will flutter lazily in the wind, obscuring the lights of stars in the clear summer sky; obscuring the soft, lazy, sloping curves of her tanned skin.
–– Just wanted to tell you, she'll continue. I saw you looking at me in the bar.
–– Oh? you might reply.
–– Yeah. Would've never worked. Pissed me off how you kept staring. At least you could have come over and settled it.
–– Oh.
The breeze stops. The night begins to feel warmer. You might remember the cool touch of your white linen sheets, sinking straight downwards and deeper into the subtle softness of your mattress and downy clouds of pillows and your white, white sheets.
–– Excuse me, you'll continue. But I'm very lost. Could you tell me which way my home is?
–– That way.
She'll point back down the road you came from, and you'll thank her and be on your way, with your jacket under your arm and your clothes swishing softly and the feeling of heat glowing out from the vast concrete networks of the city.
Thank you for reading my short story! Criticism and commentary is always welcome. If you enjoyed the style of this piece, you may enjoy this, longer story (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=54572).
One night – soon, my friend – when you are walking on your way home, you will be approached by a woman. One lush summer night when leaves cloak the green branches of trees intertwined with blossoms bursting into white sprawling petals like explosions of stray artillery shells, you will be heading home having enjoyed drinking and good company. Sweat may shine off your hair in the uncountable lights of city streets, but it will not bother you. As you have your your jacket tucked under your arm – a light burden in your two, young, strong arms – swishing out a steady, even rhythm against the irregular clamor of insects nesting in plumes of waxy bushes, you will be approached by a woman.
Her face won't be new to you – after all, you saw her at the bar earlier that night. She had walked among smoke-thralled patrons with a posture of copper railings, a stride boasting polished aluminum cogs and a voice like vibrations through pure, clean glass. Her soft, asking glance may surprise you, but she will be ready. Her dress will be black with frills that remind you of carved wooden arches built into Venetian streets. Her feet will be obscured somehow – a trick of the light, a small shadow, a bump in the pavement. It is no matter. She will speak to you, glassy and vibrating and dark in the clean air of the night:
–– I came back to talk to you.
–– Came back?
–– Car crash. Dead on impact. Trying to make a few amends, she'll say.
The black folds of her dress will flutter lazily in the wind, obscuring the lights of stars in the clear summer sky; obscuring the soft, lazy, sloping curves of her tanned skin.
–– Just wanted to tell you, she'll continue. I saw you looking at me in the bar.
–– Oh? you might reply.
–– Yeah. Would've never worked. Pissed me off how you kept staring. At least you could have come over and settled it.
–– Oh.
The breeze stops. The night begins to feel warmer. You might remember the cool touch of your white linen sheets, sinking straight downwards and deeper into the subtle softness of your mattress and downy clouds of pillows and your white, white sheets.
–– Excuse me, you'll continue. But I'm very lost. Could you tell me which way my home is?
–– That way.
She'll point back down the road you came from, and you'll thank her and be on your way, with your jacket under your arm and your clothes swishing softly and the feeling of heat glowing out from the vast concrete networks of the city.
Thank you for reading my short story! Criticism and commentary is always welcome. If you enjoyed the style of this piece, you may enjoy this, longer story (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=54572).