Introduction

There is always something so beautiful about the beginning.

The air shimmered as Callie sat on the edge of the clock tower, the pale of her neck and cheeks exposed to the sky as the blonde tilted her head upwards, her legs dangling precariously over the edge as she kicked her feet back and forth in a slow motion.

The sky was a brilliant blue, the perfection only marred by several lone clouds swimming behind the shadows of trees and buildings. Below, Claude could hear the distant laughter of children and the barking of friendly dogs as the warm summer air mingled with the lemony odor of magnolia flowers and sea-salt ice cream.

Beautiful.

They could see the blue-gray wreaths of smoke emerging from a chimney in the distance, melting into the bleeding horizon. The golden tangerine laced with crimson was a truly splendid sight, one of the only things they both looked forward to each day inside this monotonous, obscure town. The sunset was one of the few thing that instigated something inside the redhead and made Claude wonder if he really didn't have a heart, like they always said, because he could certainly feel something, right here, right now.

Emotions are a wonderful thing.

Feelings had a stealthy, terrible nature: they could bring one so much happiness and pleasure.

But they could also drown one with anger, hopelessness and despair.

But it was all a fair trade, was it not? To obtain something, something else of equal value must be lost.

--

In Claude's mind, there existed two types of memories: One was the type where one could remember a person as a whole, a blurred picture with splashes of colours and no decipherable outline. He could see in his mind features such as golden tresses, pale alabaster skin, cornflower blue eyes and a wide smile, all laced into one indistinct figure blended in with a landscape of purple and blue.

That was how Claude saw Serena.

Then, there was the other type of memory, where one would be able to bring forth a clear photograph of the person they have in mind. It was the type of memory where one had to close their eyes and the beloved would appear unconsciously, without the necessity to draw the memory from one's preconscious mind. The image was clear and one could observe and scrutinize every feature, trace every detail from each indistinct bone down to the slight upturned eyelashes to the tiny, barely noticeable freckles disseminated on the cheeks and the slight displeasure hidden in the corner of the bright pink lips set in the slight resemblance of a pout.

This was the way that Claude saw Callie.

--

Claude could trace the planes of the flushed rosy cheeks and to the pure, brilliant forget-me-not blue eyes that burned golden by the sunset and the upturned corners of those coral lips as Callie smiled gently into the horizon, her posture relaxed, and the wispy strands of blonde hair dancing in the breeze.

Callie. Oh, how stiff she had been back then, like a zombie when Claude had first approached the blonde with his trademark, maniac grin. Claude could remember the blonde's look of great surprise and the tiny traces of being overwhelmed reveal themselves sneakily across her face, as she responded to the redhead's enthusiastic welcome with a weak grin that borderlined on a grimace.

The feeble wire that held them together was more heavily based on a carnal desire than any real emotional attachment. Claude loved Callie because he sees in her the shadow of the young girl with whom he had met so long ago. Callie didn't mind Claude's company because she was morbidly touched by the fact that Claude let her get away with the sort of sullen behavior that would drive any sensible person away.

But the chain that really prevented them from breaking apart was how brutally honest they could be with one and another. Callie scorned Claude for his lack of ambition for the future, his questionable sense of humor and total lack of self preservation. In return, Claude was never hesitant to point out Callie's' rather elusive and melodramatic personality, which he dubbed as "almost as bad as Serena's" and her terrible mood swings that Claude claimed to be a justification of the fact that Callie was really a maniac in disguise.

--

Callie's perspective on the world was rather morbid: she believed that life was a tragedy where fate was the dominant determinant.

Claude believed differently.

To Claude, life was full of beauty. He noticed the bumble bees, the innocent child and the smiling faces. He could smell the rain, feel the wind and believed that one should always live life to its fullest potential and fight for whatever one believed in.

--

That day, Claude hadn't learned many things about Callie. Looking back, Claude realized that he still didn't know many things about the ever reticent blonde.

But he understood the most important thing of all.

He realized that Callie had no recollections of her past. He recognized the fact that it pained Callie that she didn't even know, couldn't discover, anything about herself.

So Claude told stories to Callie based on his own, indistinct memories.

The stories were elaborate, rich in detail, and almost always ending in some dramatic way that made Callie wonder if anything Claude said was actually true.

But it was all okay.

Because if someone had to tell a story, Callie would have liked to hear Claude's anyways.

Author's Note

My first post here! :D
A drabble (less than 1000 words) written as part of the 100 themes challenge. This is the first one, based on the word "Introduction" and I hope you like it so far! :D
This was originally posted as a fanfiction on ff.net but I think it also works with original characters.
A passage in here was definitely inspired by Nabokov. ;)
Critique and comments are high appreciated: I'd love to know what you think so far!

Reviews

[Prateeksha Khot]

I liked reading it. It has a different style. Keep up.