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Thread: The Night When the Sky Looked Different

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    The Night When the Sky Looked Different

    I thank god everytime I get inspiration; but this time it came with a price.

    This is my newest work, meant to be published with the rest of my short stories in my collection in a few months.

    "The Night When the Sky Looked Different". Enjoy. Feedbacks welcomed.

    (It's a first draft, I am writing it as it goes, this is the first part)

    True story (dramatized slightly):


    "It's me," I said over the speaker dial on the wall.

    The glass door unlocked with a loud resounding beep. I walked past the door and navigated my way through the familiar hallways to a familiar door. I waited in front of her door like I have done many times before; and just like always, she opened the door and the very sight of her sent me spiraling down the drains of memory.

    “Hello,” we both said. I slowly walked toward her while looking into those emerald eyes of hers. I have never forgotten her eyes. I tried to convince myself that the sparkle in her eyes was merely a reflection of light; something that can be explained away with science and optics.

    I leaned in to kiss her as I have always done. The angle, the fluidity of the my motions told me that it’s something I would never forget how to do. Her head moved. I couldn’t tell if she moved her lips to meet mine or if she was awkwardly repositioning them away. I kissed her tender cheeks instead; so soft yet so cold. With my lips only a fraction of an inch away from hers, I had never felt so far away. I pulled her toward me. I buried my face in her hair and immersed myself in her scent.

    “John_Cage...” she whispered. She didn’t move away from me; nor did she embrace me in her arms. I pulled myself away slowly. She beamed her signature smile at me. I hadn’t seen her smile in years but I dreamt of it every night.

    I pulled myself away from her with great difficulty. I regained my composure and I handed to her the bouquet of orchids that I bought. It was slightly damaged at the bottom where my hand clinched too tightly to it.

    “Thank you...” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She looked as if she wanted to say more but she managed to hold it back.

    I waited for her to say something more. I waited for her for an explanation; I wanted her to tell me what went wrong. I needed to know what brought us to where we were that night. She didn’t.

    “Come in please,” she tried to cover up what was on both of our minds, “I will be ready soon.” Then she turned and walked into her room. I watched her as her slender frame disappear behind her half-closed door. I took off my shoes and placed them where I used to on her shoe shelf — but there was already another pair of shoe there. I tried not to think too much of it.

    I walked toward the living room. When I passed by her room, I saw her suitcase half packed laying on her bed. She was sitting in front of her night-stand, looking back at me through her oval mirror. I remembered how I used to sit next to her when she put on her makeups. I would watch as she carefully line her lips with her shade-of-the-day; and I would always catch her looking back at me.

    “Would you put the flowers in a vase for me?” she said as she motioned her head toward the orchids lying next to her suitcase. I complied and went into her room. I stood behind her and placed my hands lightly on her shoulders. “Mmm...” she moaned with pleasure as my hands worked their way up her neck then behind her ears. She loved the amateur massages I used to give her. Just as I was starting to get lost down memory lane, I felt her hands on mine. She averted her eyes as she guided my hands onto the back-rest of her chair. “The flowers...” she said.

    I went into the living room, raging with emotions that I thought I no longer have for her. “Which vase?” I asked.

    “The tall yellow one with stripes!” she answered. It was a dumb question; because she always put my flowers in the tall yellow vase with stripes. This time there were flowers in it already.

    “There are roses in it...” I said under my breath, more to myself than to her.

    “There are already flowers in it.” I said, this time addressing the problem to her.

    There was a slight pause. “Just throw them away...” she finally said then added, “please.”

    For a split second, I thought she meant my orchids. I took out the roses and stuffed them into her trash can — I did it with a little bit more satisfaction than it warranted.

    (to be continued... probably tomorrow... too tired...)
    Last edited by John_Cage; 04-16-2007 at 01:07 AM.

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