Post by nyx on Nov 15, 2004 11:00:25 GMT -8
This is my pride and joy - the only short story I've written that I've thought seriously of publishing. However, as some of you may know, publishing short stories can be very tricky. But while I pursue that, I'm still editing SS over and over so that when I finally get my chance, I won't be held back. This is where you come in: If you find anything, and I mean *anything* that you think should be changed, tell me. Please.
...I'll give you a cookie...
Silent Shadows
The music grips my heart, leading it into a dance of love and resentment. I move my hips to the beat, trying to forget. Trying to forget what had brought me here, what brings me here every night. Hope. The hated word that fills me with light when all I want is the darkness that memories have denied me.
Making my way to the bar, hips still moving and heart still beating, I take out a cigarette and survey the crowd. Black hair. Pale skin. Smells of sex and sweat pollute the air. The same thing night after night. Disgusting.
I love it. Every moment of it. Love it for what it had been. A secret haven. A place where I had felt love for once, for one breath. The only time I had given my heart to anyone, and the only time it had been recieved. The man that gave me reason.
I had been smoking a cigarette, at the same club, with the same kind of people. As always, no one noticed me; I made sure of that. I was in uniform, a replica of the hundreds of people who swayed to the beat that night. No one would notice me. But I noticed them. Night after night, I watched the looks of intense hunger as they pierced their victims and wordlessly spoke. It was an art. An obstinate design made just for me. Beautiful. And not one piece out of place.
Except for one. A child, he seemed. Hidden in a corner, stiff and straight, he seemed to be wishing to melt into the wall. His eyes, large and light, were wide with fear as he surveyed the scene. He seemed to be fearing the prospect of people speaking to him, or even noticing him. His arms hugged his chest protectively, as if blocking himself from the heat of the music. There was a full drink beside him; I saw the water beads fall lazily onto the wood of the counter.
I had never spoken to anyone in this club except the bartender, which only happened on the rare occation that I ordered something other than my usual. No one heard my voice. I was a silent shadow, always on the outside. And I had been okay with that, up till then.
I walked towards him, my steps measured and synchronized with the music. When I was only a yard away, he noticed me. His eyes widened, and his jaw was stubbornly set. I smiled at him, confused at what I was doing.
We stood there, staring at each other, for what seemed like hours. The beads of water continued to dance across the solid surface of the glass, finally reaching the wood and puddling together. The music was distant to me; it seemed as if my heart was much louder. Our silence was becoming unbearable. And for the first time, I spoke.
"Are you okay?" I asked. My voice was loud, louder than I had expected, and foreign. He did not react, except to raise an eyebrow in a most cynical manner. And I spoke again.
"You seem nervous. Have you been here before?" I asked, desperate to make conversation.
He eyed me for a minute, then shook his head. No. Slowly, gradually, he unfolded his arms. I took this as a signal to continue.
"Would you like to dance?" I never danced. Not really. I did the bare minimum so as to continue the design of dance. Not one piece could be out of place, I knew.
He was startled, I could tell. But it was normal for this club. There were mixtures of genders, dancing together. I wasn't ashamed, and would not be. Not even for him. A word, a single plea, escaped my lips. "Please." It hurt to hear how alone I was. How desperate. I had only been with one other, and he was gone, forever. I had tried drowning my sorrows, only to find that they were immortal. I tried to forget, but they were demanding. Remember. I wanted to forget. I wanted different, better memories.
I wanted those memories with him.
"But.." he started. "We're both men."
I nodded, giving him a crooked smile as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm not asking for a wedding. Just a dance."
He hesitated, so I walked forward to grab his hand. He shrank back, afraid of my touch. "It's okay," I whispered, promising him safety that I couldn't even promise myself. Walls, walls that I had carefully constructed, were being torn down. And it scared me.
I touched his hand. My fingers slipped through his, and I felt his emotions: fear, curioisty, excitement. It elated me.
Another first for the evening. I broke the pattern. And it was allowed. The music, a less than heart-warming beat that demanded a dance, provided a fast-paced asylum for those who wished for a brief remedy. But we, together, swayed slowly and surely, confident in our moves. His arms hugged me to him, and I was terrified by how natural it felt to hold him. We rocked together, oblivious to the electric sculptures who lived in the future. Up until that moment, I had lived in the past, wishing for a familiar face when there was none.
and now, together, we faced the present.
Soon, much too soon, we broke apart. The morning had come, and for once, I welcomed light. It lit up his eyes, turning them into the sky. The light ran its fingers through his coal hair, making him glow. He smiled and pulled me to him. And deep in the morning sun, we kissed, our lips breathing each other's scents. His essence bled into mine, making our kiss a testimony to heaven.
"I did it," he said as we disconnected. I looked up at him.
"Did what?"
"I embraced a shadow." He smiled, the same crooked smile I had given him before, and left.
I lean against the counter, eyes closed, remembering how his lips had felt. My cigarette lies, forgotten, next to my untouched drink. I brush a finger over my lips, feeling the phantom kiss that had lifted me into the light that night. My eyes burn and blur; I realize that I am crying. Hugging myself, I keep my eyes closed in my silent mourning. Without looking, I knew that tears of alcohol danced their way down the solid surface of my glass, falling towards a common goal, but making the journey alone.
A light pressure on my arm, and I look to see eyes, large and light, staring into mine. The child has turned into a man, one of infinite love. He leads me into the crowd of life, where we dance to our own tune, our own beat, one that silently confirms what does not need to be said.
Two shadows, silent to all except each other, breaking the design and at the same time, creating their own.
...I'll give you a cookie...
Silent Shadows
The music grips my heart, leading it into a dance of love and resentment. I move my hips to the beat, trying to forget. Trying to forget what had brought me here, what brings me here every night. Hope. The hated word that fills me with light when all I want is the darkness that memories have denied me.
Making my way to the bar, hips still moving and heart still beating, I take out a cigarette and survey the crowd. Black hair. Pale skin. Smells of sex and sweat pollute the air. The same thing night after night. Disgusting.
I love it. Every moment of it. Love it for what it had been. A secret haven. A place where I had felt love for once, for one breath. The only time I had given my heart to anyone, and the only time it had been recieved. The man that gave me reason.
I had been smoking a cigarette, at the same club, with the same kind of people. As always, no one noticed me; I made sure of that. I was in uniform, a replica of the hundreds of people who swayed to the beat that night. No one would notice me. But I noticed them. Night after night, I watched the looks of intense hunger as they pierced their victims and wordlessly spoke. It was an art. An obstinate design made just for me. Beautiful. And not one piece out of place.
Except for one. A child, he seemed. Hidden in a corner, stiff and straight, he seemed to be wishing to melt into the wall. His eyes, large and light, were wide with fear as he surveyed the scene. He seemed to be fearing the prospect of people speaking to him, or even noticing him. His arms hugged his chest protectively, as if blocking himself from the heat of the music. There was a full drink beside him; I saw the water beads fall lazily onto the wood of the counter.
I had never spoken to anyone in this club except the bartender, which only happened on the rare occation that I ordered something other than my usual. No one heard my voice. I was a silent shadow, always on the outside. And I had been okay with that, up till then.
I walked towards him, my steps measured and synchronized with the music. When I was only a yard away, he noticed me. His eyes widened, and his jaw was stubbornly set. I smiled at him, confused at what I was doing.
We stood there, staring at each other, for what seemed like hours. The beads of water continued to dance across the solid surface of the glass, finally reaching the wood and puddling together. The music was distant to me; it seemed as if my heart was much louder. Our silence was becoming unbearable. And for the first time, I spoke.
"Are you okay?" I asked. My voice was loud, louder than I had expected, and foreign. He did not react, except to raise an eyebrow in a most cynical manner. And I spoke again.
"You seem nervous. Have you been here before?" I asked, desperate to make conversation.
He eyed me for a minute, then shook his head. No. Slowly, gradually, he unfolded his arms. I took this as a signal to continue.
"Would you like to dance?" I never danced. Not really. I did the bare minimum so as to continue the design of dance. Not one piece could be out of place, I knew.
He was startled, I could tell. But it was normal for this club. There were mixtures of genders, dancing together. I wasn't ashamed, and would not be. Not even for him. A word, a single plea, escaped my lips. "Please." It hurt to hear how alone I was. How desperate. I had only been with one other, and he was gone, forever. I had tried drowning my sorrows, only to find that they were immortal. I tried to forget, but they were demanding. Remember. I wanted to forget. I wanted different, better memories.
I wanted those memories with him.
"But.." he started. "We're both men."
I nodded, giving him a crooked smile as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm not asking for a wedding. Just a dance."
He hesitated, so I walked forward to grab his hand. He shrank back, afraid of my touch. "It's okay," I whispered, promising him safety that I couldn't even promise myself. Walls, walls that I had carefully constructed, were being torn down. And it scared me.
I touched his hand. My fingers slipped through his, and I felt his emotions: fear, curioisty, excitement. It elated me.
Another first for the evening. I broke the pattern. And it was allowed. The music, a less than heart-warming beat that demanded a dance, provided a fast-paced asylum for those who wished for a brief remedy. But we, together, swayed slowly and surely, confident in our moves. His arms hugged me to him, and I was terrified by how natural it felt to hold him. We rocked together, oblivious to the electric sculptures who lived in the future. Up until that moment, I had lived in the past, wishing for a familiar face when there was none.
and now, together, we faced the present.
Soon, much too soon, we broke apart. The morning had come, and for once, I welcomed light. It lit up his eyes, turning them into the sky. The light ran its fingers through his coal hair, making him glow. He smiled and pulled me to him. And deep in the morning sun, we kissed, our lips breathing each other's scents. His essence bled into mine, making our kiss a testimony to heaven.
"I did it," he said as we disconnected. I looked up at him.
"Did what?"
"I embraced a shadow." He smiled, the same crooked smile I had given him before, and left.
I lean against the counter, eyes closed, remembering how his lips had felt. My cigarette lies, forgotten, next to my untouched drink. I brush a finger over my lips, feeling the phantom kiss that had lifted me into the light that night. My eyes burn and blur; I realize that I am crying. Hugging myself, I keep my eyes closed in my silent mourning. Without looking, I knew that tears of alcohol danced their way down the solid surface of my glass, falling towards a common goal, but making the journey alone.
A light pressure on my arm, and I look to see eyes, large and light, staring into mine. The child has turned into a man, one of infinite love. He leads me into the crowd of life, where we dance to our own tune, our own beat, one that silently confirms what does not need to be said.
Two shadows, silent to all except each other, breaking the design and at the same time, creating their own.
