Short Story: Night Life

She waited by the side of the road. Umbrella in hand, water dripping all around her feet. The New York lights were blurred by the storm, almost like some sort of post-apocalyptic world. Maybe she could pretend that she was in Tokyo.

A cab came by. Those yellow cars still running late into the Tuesday night. She hailed one down.

She got in, quickly putting taking off her coat and pulling down her umbrella. She noticed the driver taking a quick glance her way. She thought that her appearance could only be described as bland. She donned only plain, straight brown hair tied back into a bun paired with dull brown eyes and pale skin.

“What you are doing out so late, miss?” The cab driver asked. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“It’s fine. I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” she roused.

The cab driver shrugged. “So, where you are going tonight?”

“Just to 12^th Avenue please.”

The driver nodded and took off.

“Anything exciting been happening recently?” he questioned.

“Not really. I’ve just been working a lot.”

“Ah, is that why you’ve been out drinking tonight then miss,” he laughed. “Perhaps with a special man of your own?”

God, he was chatty, she thought.

But she laughed in response, “No! No! No man,” while waving her hands around in the air.

The driver laughed back, “Don’t worry miss! I’m just messing with you. I wouldn’t want to offend you if you have a special lady in your life either!”

“Well that’s awfully nice of you,” she hummed.

God, what a drag, she thought.

“Shame you didn’t find someone nice though at one of those bars,” the driver continued. “My wife and I have been married almost 30 years now. Couldn’t imagine my life without her. We met at a bar around here too! I started chatting to her and within ten minutes she told me I had a terrible taste in décor!”

“Your wife sounds pretty fun,” she replied.

“She’s a blast! I’m always surprised how much passion can fit into such a small body, she barely comes up to my shoulders without heels,” he chuckled. “But don’t worry dear! I’m sure one day you’ll find someone! Doesn’t have to be anytime soon though, love tends to work in mysterious ways after all…”

“That’s all good,” she responded. “I’m more focused on work and paying the bills at the moment. I rarely event talk to anyone nowadays.”

“How nice to be so determined!” the driver cheered. “But loved ones do tend to be what makes life that little bit extra special. Maybe you should try calling one of your family or friends who you haven’t talked to in a while. Check in with them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.

Eventually, they arrived at her destination. She handed over the cash to the driver, “Thank-you for the ride.”

“No problem love,” he said. “You sure you’ll be alright out there in the rain?”

“Definitely. I just live around the corner,” she smiled.

“Well take care of yourself then!” the driver called as she exited the car.

She gave a final wave to him as he screeched off. “What an idiot…” she sighed.

She started walking down the straight and turned the corner. She looked around and scanned the streets for anyone out and about still before going down an alley way to a set of apartment bins. She looked around again, confident that no-one is in sight. Not even the homeless stayed out during a storm like this and were probably trying to find a warmer shelter at facilities.

She went around to the backside of the bin and pulled out a pair of gloves from her bag. She took out a lighter and held it against the gloves until they caught alight, watching as they burned. She was grateful for the stormy weather masking the smell of smoke – not that anyone would have paid attention to it anyway.

She thought about how this alleyway was a lot better than the one she used earlier. The other was only a few streets away from a hub of bars, and she had to be a lot more cautious when disposing of her other shit. She had wanted to do it in a location that made up a more realistic reason why she was up so late when catching a cab. “Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered though,” she reflected. “This is the city that never sleeps.”

She watched her gloves burn, thinking about how after people die, they can be burned too. About how pointless it all was to search for something more meaningful. Cause and effect. That’s all life was. Be rude to a person, they’ll turn against you. Work, have money to survive. Cause and effect. Simple.

Once the gloves had dissolved into enough ash, she propped the bin lid open with her elbows. She chucked the remains away.

She then turned around and made her way back to the beginning of the alleyway, before looking around again. With final certainty that no-one was around, she kept walking. Away from this block and on towards the next.

“It’s ethereal,” she thought, “Feeling like I have the whole city to myself.” She kept walking. “Maybe I could take a nap once I get home.”

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SHORT STORY EXCERPT: NIGHT WATCH

He hated doing all the grunt work. He slouched down onto the large wooden create, his heavy frame causing it to creak. This was boring. All he had to do was guard a stock exchange.

Takumi glanced down at his arm. His full-body gear was covering all the tattoos. He was decorated like everyone else – though if you asked him, he had some of the better artwork on him.

“Why are we even wearing all this?” Takumi grunted. “This is meant to be a simple job. Any idiot could do this.”
“Did you even read the file report?” Kendo replied.
“Course I did, you idiot. Just because it’s some fancy-ass CEO though doesn’t mean we have to be here.”
“Well, I suppose I have worked pretty hard to get to where I am now. I could be doing something a lot more gratifying than this. Can’t say the same thing about you though.”
“Fuck you!”
“You wish you could,” Kendo rolled his eyes.
“What’d you say you little shit?!”
Kendo glanced side-ways at Takumi, who’s fist was clenching up. Kendo could see the clear veins outlining those knuckles and sighed, “I’m not the one with the temper problem that’s prevented me from moving up through the ranks, you know?”
It’d been two years and already the kid was prancing around like he owned the entire goddamn place. That pissed Takumi off. “You’re not in charge of this operation.”
“Neither are you.”

Takumi thought back to those memories. Standing in the middle of a pristine room. Standing at a desk facing a man who insisted on dressing solely in Gucci. The insufferable prick. The man had run through the plans of the operation with Takumi. He knew how much of a gamble it was to go through with this, but he also understood what an honour it was to be entrusted with a mission like this.

Takumi sighed, “Yeah, that’s true kid.” He hated that he had to back down. Even more so when he saw that smug smirk Kendo gave in return.

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SHORT STORY: ACCEPT YOUR SITUATION

I was cleaning out my cupboard and found an about year old notebook in it. I flicked through it and found this piece of trash that I wrote for a writing task that we were given 15 minutes to do in class. I think the idea of it was to ensure that we practised writing in 2^nd person. So here it is. Ready for you to judge (and for me to cringe at).

 You feel the burn in your wrists and ankles. The rough rope that cuts into your skin, already blistered with burn marks. You’re terrified. Terrified. But you know what you must do.
– You hear footsteps approaching. It’s a harsh noise clicking on the tiles. The bag covering your head is yanked off, your hair being tugged firmly with it. You’re greeted to a smirking face as the dim light in the corner of the room illuminates it.
– “Ready for more?” he taunts. “Boss wants info, and you’re gonna give it.” He spits on your face.
– You gulp, already beginning to anticipate what’ll happen next to you. But you know what you must do.
– He walks over to a trolley. Fine, clean, precise tools are laid out. Ready to be used. He reaches for a hammer, picking it up and inspecting it as if it were a fine jewel. You glance done at your hands where blood has long ago crusted and dried on your skin. They look pale, and your veins are predominant. You have the feeling its been a few days, though the only confirmation to that is the way your stomach churns in desperation.
– He glances down at your hands – the pinky finger, left hand. You brace yourself for what comes next. You take one last glance down at its already disfigured form. You can only think of how disgusting it looks covered in blood and missing a nail.
– A rush of panic surges through you again, definitely not for the first time definitely not for the last. As the hammer makes its way down, in a sort of slow motion that you only thought was possible in movies, you want to tell them everything. But you know what you must do.

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SHORT STORY: YOU ARE NOT A VAMPIRE

Please ignore the terribleness of this.

“You are not a vampire.”
– I’d lost count of how many times I’d hear that phrase. Uttered by people down these hallways caged in metal lockers. An endless path leading them to nowhere expect closer to the time of their impending deaths.
– My pale skin, actually translucent in parts of my body, burns in the sun. Its harsh rays beat down upon me. “It’s because she’s from Russia,” I heard people mutter. And I’d laugh to myself quietly about that. I tend to carry a bottle of sunscreen with me though, wherever I go. And fully embrace hats out in the sun. I’ve grown quite fond of wide brimmed ones recently too… It’s much better than when I used to wear a hoodie outside anyway.
– The black attire when I first came here throw people off as well. And once I heard the whispers about how I looked like I’d stepped out of something like Dracula (the 1931 film), I started to play it up. I grew out my black hair, now down to my hips and naturally dead straight. My back jeans swapped out to black, gothic skirts. And my natural face started to adorn gothic, heavy makeup. Wearing black capes out in public too always manages to get a reaction or two.
– Freshman tend to always be afraid of me. I’ve perfected by resting bitch face to complete the badass, gothic look I rock too. And my constant avoidance of mirrors makes people suspicious. I never eat at lunch too with anyone. Instead choosing to spend my time in the library reading whatever I can.
– I love fuelling the rumours I always hear. I’m happy with my life, my family and few friends that I have are great. High school is just a hive of gossiping bees really.
– But if only they knew the truth…

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SHORT STORY: LEAVE

I haven’t written anything in forever. So sorry that this is Not That  Great™.

Jaxon had disappeared into the kitchen to mourn the death of his dishwasher.

It’d been a good dishwasher too. Served its purpose. Lived a long life. All that crap. I hoped that he’d get a new one quickly though, unless he wants to be doing all the dishes every night after closing up the pub. Though the town’s small. So he’d easily be able to get away with doing that.
– I leaned up against the bar ledge, closing my eyes and appreciating the breeze that blew through the open door. Jaxon always called me up if something broke. Somehow I’d become the pub’s unofficial handyman. Probably didn’t help that I had taken up an apprenticeship at the local mechanic’s. Or should I say only mechanic…
– “I need to get out of here,” I groaned. This small town was suffocating. Same routine, same people, same day, same everything. Repeated and repeated over and over again until the end of time. I groaned again.
– “You could just go,” a voice replied. I jumped, startled at the new noise before I turned around to see a smile, a slight tip of a chin positioned upwards. An almost knowing glint in oceanic eyes. With something distinctly… foreign about her.
– “Can’t,” I said. “My life’s here. Family, friends – I can’t leave them behind.”
– “Why not? Go out, start a new life. Go somewhere. Do something. Be anyone you want to be.”
– “How ‘bout I shout you a drink?”
– “You’re not the bartender?”
– “Definitely not. I know shit about it booze apart from how much will make me piss drunk.”

She walked along the train track rails, her balance slightly off this late into the night.
– “You still never have told me where you’re from,” I prompted her.
– “Nowhere,” she murmured, eyes closed and face tilted upwards. Like a silent prayer towards the stars.
– “You were born somewhere though.”
– “I was. Doesn’t mean that I stayed there though. Doesn’t mean that I belonged there.”
– She stretched out her arms wide. Almost like she was a chick as she stumbled across the railings. Like a small bird trying to get its wings off the ground, still so unsure of itself. She fell off to the side though, her dress covered in dirt as a result. I laughed though at her, and reached out a hand to help her up. Yet she knocked it away, instead to turn her face away. “You could come with me,” she whispered. Her words carried faintly in the night air.
– I chuckled, “I’ve already told you. I have to stay here.”
– “You don’t belong here,” she retorted, her eyes lacking that spark that they once shone with during our first moments together.
– I reached out my hand again to pull her up and into an embrace.
– “Maybe I don’t. But you don’t seem much happier than me, do you?”

She waved good-bye, stepping onto the train. The doors closed, with that creaky clack of them shutting as what was the sign of the train’s readiness to departure. She disappeared further into the carriage, and I watched it slowly leave. The screeching of the metal on metal consumed everyone else.

There went the train. Able to at least leave this place for a while.

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A HUMAN: WHAT… IS THIS?

Would you like to know what the hell this is? Because I’d love to know too please.

I was rummaging through some of my old files the other day as you do – and then I found this. It slightly confuses me, I don’t know what genre or format of anything about what this is meant to be and I just want to know… why?

So naturally I thought I would share it so then we can then all be confused together!

She dances into my room.
Her eyes are alight with knowledge,
her spirits are abuzz with contentment.

She gracefully brings herself
down to my level.
I feel my soul being bared.
Her eyes are like a deep ocean
I could forever take refuge in.

She leans in closer, holding me tight.
She gentle kisses my forehead
as her lips form a melodic tune,

“Listen closely my child…”
Her beauty always astounds me –
it would turn a goddess would green with envy.
It is something I could never match.
Never could I match her.

I glance upon her face.
I see no flaw which tarnishes the angel.
If only I could match it.

“Listen closely my child…” she whispers,
“For I am about to give you advice.”
I lean in closer, ready to learn.
I inhale the scent of rose as
I ready myself to learn.

“Number one,” she muses,
“On the first date, check his balance statement.”
I gasp, slightly taken aback at such as superficial notion.

“Number two,” her voice is like honey
as it trickles down one’s throat,
“When choosing a husband, look at his parents.
They’ll tell you how well he’ll age.
I gulp, feeling a cool breeze chill my bones.

“Number three,” she laughs, “It doesn’t matter
how much you like him –
he’ll be out working most of the time.”

I choke on the stale air around me,
numbed by wisdom she has departed upon me.
She sashays away.
The glitter of her robe leaves a trail as she departs.
I sit there. Still.

Disbelieving her words.
Not her. Not her.
She uttered such superficial words.
Not her. Not her.

Not those hands which holds me.
Not that gentle embrace which reassures me.
Not that melodic voice that sings to me.
Not her. Not her.

I look to her again. Slightly less perfect.
Beautiful still, but human.

SHORT STORY: A DIFFERENT TYPE OF SUFFERING

I don’t even really know what this is. I wrote parts of it for a creative writing piece last semester and the story line is pretty silly and the characterisation sort of stuff isn’t the best, but it gave me happy vibes to write/edit so I’m sticking with it. It was fun.

If there was anything as unskilled at crocheting, then Arlo sure was it. Now don’t get Gene wrong, Arlo is great at many things – take writing and astrophysics as examples. So how anyone, let alone his boyfriend, could manage to butcher basic stitches or mangle a test swatch was beyond Gene’s comprehension.
– “Hey baby.” Gene sits down next to Arlo, placing his hand on his partner’s back as Arlo determinedly hooks yarn. “I know you really want to give your sister a great present for the baby and all, but do you really need to make little clothes for it?”
– “Of course. I just think it’s much more special this way! My niece can have her own collection then.”
Gene curses those damned baby blue eyes that twinkle at him and immediately feels any protest that’s on the tip of his tongue crumble.
– “I think Chrissy’ll love it. Remember that picture of the beach she painted for our anniversary? I want to give her something more personal like that.”
– “Okay then…” Gene sighs, praying that everything would turn out fine.

But then Arlo starts to leave his hooks and scissors out on the couch and Gene is too exhausted after his twenty-four hour shift at the fire station to notice the impending doom he’s about to sit on. And then Arlo starts to forego some fun night activities because he wants to work on his chaining technique. And okay, so maybe Gene and Little Gene could survive that for a while even if their whining suggests otherwise.
Yet while Gene spends his weeks complaining about Arlo’s single-minded focus on crocheting, Arlo doesn’t seem to get much better at it. Sure his pieces are no longer littered with as many holes as they once were, but they’re still the ugliest creations Gene’s ever seen. And usually Gene’s a person who praises his partner for everything. He even thinks that Arlo is cute in the morning snoring with his mouth open, drool running down his chin and onto Gene’s chest. So some red flags start going off in Gene’s head.
And then Arlo starts to go to Gene’s mother for advice. So now Gene’s patience is wearing almost as thin as Arlo’s attempts at scarves are. It’s one of these evenings when they’re visiting Gene’s mother so that she could show Arlo how to slip stitch his yarn, because apparently Arlo still couldn’t even do that correctly, that Gene leaves them alone for two minutes to come back to his mother telling Arlo how he kept all of his plush toys until he was thirteen. Gene grits his teeth, feeling his jaw tense. But it’s okay. He’s comfortable enough with his masculinity to know that it’s fine if Arlo knows that deep, dark secret.
– “I think I actually have a photo of him crying when I finally threw them all out!” his mother yells in delight.
Gene smacks his head into the wall, wishing for a quick and merciful death.

Gene’s up on the ladder rescuing a kitten when it happens. He receives a call-out to an apartment, where a small fire has started. It’s at an apartment that he knows well…
– “What the absolute fuck Arlo?” Gene screeches as soon as he sees his boyfriend out on the street.
– Arlo hops from foot to foot, “I got… distracted.”
– “You got distracted? How the fuck can you get so distracted that you let our kitchen burn?” Gene yells.
– Arlo winces, “I-I’ll explain later. Can you please just put out the fire first?” He hides his face in his hands, burning red.
Right, their kitchen. He needs to save it. Still enraged, Gene curses the whole way as he stomps towards their apartment.
– When Gene then marches up to Arlo after the fire fiasco has been sorted out, Arlo immediately goes to hide his face in Gene’s neck before raising his arms up for a hug. He mumbles an almost inaudible, “I’m sorry.” Arlo whimpers, “I forgot about the stove when I was finishing up the sweater…”
– “Arlo, it’s been weeks. Don’t you think it’s time to give up the crocheting shit?”
– “I just wanted to give Chrissy something nice, you know? I thought it would be sweeter than just buying her something,” Arlo sniffles. “I didn’t think I’d be so bad at it.”
– “You did you’re best. No-one can take that away from you,” Gene says, hoping that Arlo will for once give up on something.
– Arlo grunts. It’s distorted by his runny nose, but he’s still reluctant to give up on his crocheting dreams. The stubborn shit.
 “If you don’t agree to stop, then I swear to God that I won’t buy you that hardback copy of Carrie for your birthday complete with those author notes,” Gene threatens.
– After some contemplation, Arlo finally replies, “I guess we can buy that cute little ensemble we saw the other day? The one with the cat whiskers on it?”
– “Yeah, that sounds good,” Gene agrees, running his fingers through Arlo’s hair and thanking every God he knew that Arlo was agreeing to stop with this ridiculous endeavour. Arlo didn’t even put up that much of a fight, so Gene thanks his lucky stars again. He doesn’t even mind that much that they’re going to have to fork out a ridiculous amount of money to fix their kitchen area. Instead he chooses to think about how happy Little Gene is going to be. Insurance should cover most of the damages anyway.

But that means that when Gene later sees a pair of disfigured, tiny, pink socks at the base of the gift bag he hands over to Christine… Well, in all honestly, he kind of expected it… He just huffs and rolls his eyes before leaning over to kiss the corner of Arlo’s mouth. This affirms Arlo that Gene still loves his boyfriend, even if said boyfriend can’t crochet for shit and they had to rebuild most of their kitchen because of him.

SHORT STORY: DUST

This is the first little story I’m sharing here! It’s terrible, but I’ll get better. Hopefully.

She sneezes. Again. Cursing her allergies Mel fights on, duster at the ready.
–       “I thought we had a maid for this sort of shit,” she thinks, remembering her parents lecture earlier about her being more responsible – whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. She pulls out the bookcase from the wall, working her way down the old surface until some of the duster’s feathers get caught in a strange groove in the wood. Now intrigued, she wraps her hand around what appears to be a drawer engraved into the back of the bookcase.
–       “Weird,” Mel grunts, pulling it out to see a large, leather-bound book. It’s pages are tinted yellow, and its spine is broken. She opens the book to find a faint, glowing light radiating from it. Mel dips her hand into the light and withdraws it only to notice it turning into a sparkling dust. “Almost like in a fantasy book,” she mutters before her eyes shut, the dust making her sneeze again.
However, once Mel’s eyes open the first thing she notices is the lush forestry. Giant trees loom above her and she hears a rustle from behind. She turns around only to be greeted to strange pointed ears attached to a face. It stares up at her, because for some reason it’s kneeling in the filthy dirt.
–      “It’s an honour to meet you, Chosen One,” the creature says.
–       “Um… Okay?” Mel replies. “I might just go over there,” Mel points towards somewhere, not particularly caring where. She figures though that it’d be safer to figure out where she is and what the fuck is going on by herself than engage in conversation with this clearly crazy creature.
–       “No. You must come with me. The tribe has long awaited your arrival. For until you slay the best that prowls outside this forest we will provide you with everything you need to free us from this fearful time.”
Not entirely sure what else to do in a situation like this, Mel starts to sprint away. But that goddamn creature is fast. It easily catches her and heaves her up over its shoulder. Though it’s not long before her thrashing around causes the creature to speak again.
–       “Behave. I have to take you to meet the council.”
–       “Like hell I am!” Mel yells back.
Eventually though, Mel is placed back down onto her feet – the creature seemingly unaffected by carrying her weight around. She assumes that this place is their destination, judging by the way that those giant trees have now formed some sort of canopy over rows of tents. Mel watches as children with those pointy ears run around next to their mothers hanging out washing, and elders pass by wearing flowing robes, conversing in hushed whispers about something as they stroke their floor-length beards.
–       “Fuck. Of course I have to get stuck in some stereotypical magic shit,” Mel says.
–       “Chosen One,” that bastard kidnapper begins, “You need to meet with the council.”
–       Mel scoffs, “I don’t want to meet with your stupid council. Some book or some shit took me here. So unless you can get me back home, I’m leaving right now!”
–       “What?!” The creature squawks, showing its first real signs of emotion. “But you’re the Chosen One! The prophets told us of the day that a round-eared creature would appear and that-”
–       “Sure. Of course I am,” she replies dryly, cutting the creature off. Mel covers her face and groans in exasperation, “If I go along with your little plan will you take me back home then?”
–       “After you defeat the beast? Of course. If that is what you desire. You may have whatever you want.”
–      “Good. Then let’s get this shit over with.”