Tale of the Night

My first short story for a while. Night & Love.

I twirled a bottle in my hand, the amber liquid mocking me in the last rays of sunlight. Cheap, like the pockmarked glass it sat in. I closed my eyes and downed the lot, wincing as it burned my throat. The day was in its death throes now, a golden charioteer that turned and fled, with night snapping feverishly at its heels. I dropped the now empty bottle on the mug stained table, indifferent to it’s dull crack, and sat down at the ancient piano. It was the only thing in the morose apartment that didn’t belong. The moth-eaten mattress, the stained carpet and the broken radio that complained in static. This is where they existed, forgotten by the world. But not the piano. Covered in dust, untouched, it reeked of hope. The ivory keys quivered under my touch, welcoming me, tempting me. But not tonight. I closed the lid and stepped away, instead gazing into the nebulous cityscape, etched in twilight. Fiery clouds hid the dying sun from sight, shrouding the city in gloom. Raindrops fell, crystalline orbs that spun and leapt in flight, shattering into a thousand pieces on the cracked windows. I leant back against the mottled wall of the seen-better-days motel apartment, letting the shadows of the past surround me, envelop me, and overpower me in exquisite agony. As I drifted, I wandered the green paths of memory, letting her laughter guide me. The sun banished the fiends of reality, and I stopped to savour the morning air, crisp and clear. She hadn’t seen me yet, and as I crept up behind her, enjoying her blissful smile, the comforting sounds of Beethoven’s #7 reached my ears. The trees murmured their approval, and my hand met hers. She blinked with surprise, then with delight, her hazel eyes sending shivers down my spine. My lips met hers and suddenly time had no meaning.
 
By the time I awoke the city was firmly in the grip of the night, with silver gems still crashing above my head. Darkness was absolute. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and the phantoms from my mind. Oh, how the past deceives us, with tantalising glimpses of love long gone by. I cleared my head of the bittersweet images, and glanced around the shadowed apartment. The piano, ever-present, winking silver in the moonlight, drew my gaze. Once again I sat behind it, tracing the overgrowth of time with my fingers. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to play, to hear the echoing dissonance. I softly closed the heavy lid. Another day perhaps. I grabbed my jacket and left the hopeful piano behind me, stepping out of the cold apartment, and into the colder night. Velvet shadows shook the creases from their cloaks, and walked alongside me, paled by yellow streetlight. Tiny rivulets of water mirrored my movements, sulking deep in street side cracks. The biting cold carved into my skin as I walked the silent road. My footsteps echoed, rhythmic against the black asphalt. Neon numbers winked at me from my wrist. 11:00 pm. The night was still young. The darkness carried me from the quiet suburbs to the thrumming highways, flashing headlights keeping the wraiths at bay. The rain had stopped, or at least for a while, the dense clouds giving way to sleepy stars. I left the highways and their speeding leviathans, and turned instead to the city, seduced by the maze of murky alleys. The streets were desolate, except for those few blessed by drink, dreaming deep in dark doorways. I walked the lonely night for god knows how many hours, tempted by the roads alluring siren song. Even as I began to grow weary of the endless grey monoliths that pierced the sky, and the weaving labyrinth of asphalt, I felt the flutters of destiny.

It was her hair that caught my eye, shining gold against the silver moonlight, as she sat on the swings of a forgotten city park, more concrete than grass, emblazoned with the slang of youth. Even in the absoluteness of night, I could see her smile as she swung in blissful oblivion. I sat on the rusty swing next to her, and watched her fly. She opened her eyes, and looked at me, her voice soft, echoing in the darkness.
“Hello.”
I nodded. There was no room for words as we sat in the flickering rays of moonlight. No words were needed. Her fingers crept across the complaining steel chains and engulfed my own. As I looked into her eyes I knew that even as quickly as love fades, it blossoms again, in the strangest of places. We walked together, hands entwined, soft footsteps silent on sleepy streets. We entered my dark motel apartment, as the first rays of sunlight were waking, slyly glinting off the ancient piano. With her fingers still upon my own, I surrendered to the quiet keys, and lost myself, once again a happy victim to music and love.

Reviews

[Eldee]

For your first story in awhile this was absolutely lovely. The description was just to die for, thoroughly unbelievable. One didn't need an ounce of imagination to picture it all, and in my case, my imagination took this story to unbelievable heights. I became a little confused, however, with the lack of paragraph breaks. I tend to be a bit ADD when I read and I often found myself skipping over lines, which took away from the story and led me to a bit of disappointment. I also became slightly confused with the presence of the girl. Is it the same girl? Did you mean for the reader to question this?

The relative comfort that the piano had, with its concrete feel, was very well done. It coupled with your writing style in an excellent pair. congratulations on the fabulous write!

[Gabriela]

Very rich text. But I think that this line: "As I looked into her eyes I knew that even as quickly as love fades, it blossoms again, in the strangest of places." reveals too much about the meaning of the story and should be left unsaid. Then again, that is just my opinion.

[Leonard John]

This is really deep. Your command of the English language and your use of metaphors is really intense and to be honest drew me out of the story several times. But maybe this was written for a more sophisticated class of readers. Either way, I still thought it was good.

[Gheeneil]

This is a deep write. I like the metaphorical descriptions. The weaving of imagery is just superb---so much like a fine poetry. You made an excellent job!

[Nick]

I really liked this! Wow, sounds very perfessional. I wish I could write this well.

[SR Urie]

Hello Patrick,
Excellent work, sir. How endearing the canvass has become after your paintbrush has described the gloomy scene of night, a lonely flat, and of an empty set of arms while contemplating the blank sheet of paper that a piano keyboard has become. And how vivid the depressed darkness of the city flashes in my mind while you take me through the gloom of the streets, ignoring the call of the freeway to run away from yourself, only to be awakened by the joyous light of her hair, her eyes; her smile as she finally enters your painting as a focussed point of love to illuminate the rest of the darkened painting.
Brilliant work, man. I look forward to reading more of your work. BZ

[Nicole Hellene]

This is amazing, but you knew that. You also know that your command over the English language is professional, unlike most wannabes on this site, your talent will get you paid. But you're an artist, so that's not on your mind. Everything happened in my mind as you described it on paper, everything fell in sync, your descriptions were image invoking, very very well written, but you knew that.