001.

001.

I'm tired of this wine. You'll have to finish it for me.

Eloise and Marcus, her devoted husband of two years, were languishing in the shade of a cafe they liked to frequent that stood exactly two and a half blocks to the left of their minuscule flat. Their flat had two stories, the lower of which consisted of a staircase's beginning, umbrella rack, and card table. Water damage lines on the outermost wall of their building served as reminder of the city's annual two millimeter sink.

Sometimes, while returning home in the town's public ferry, Eloise would watch the tide slap, peeling rose colored paint off the Venetian architecture. She thought of her grandmother's kitchen wall where her height (and that of five siblings) was recorded and compared year after year, accounting for the passage of time. The tradition died along with her grandmother, and the seaside house, which sold for less than it was worth before it burned and the wind scattered its ashes to the whim of the Mediterranean.

Now, time passed without measure and viciously fast. Half-way through her twenties, Eloise felt blindly for the brakes but only grasped handfuls of sand.

Marcus stuck out his arm and grabbed the wineglass from her pale hand.

He made eye contact with his young wife and felt a momentary static shock before she looked into her teacup. He took a swig, considering the deep purple and green bags that hung below her eyes.

You sleeping all right? he asked.

Marcus, I sleep next to you every night, of course I'm sleeping.

Her voice was muffled by the edge of the cup. She eyed him over the rim before realizing there wasn't any tea left in it. Marcus' expression became frustrated as she examined the tea leaves, feigning curiosity.

I said, are you sleeping all right? he said.

She looked out from under her hair sheepishly.

Is there anything else I could bring you? Their waitress asked, cutting air like a knife.

Eloise's shoulders slumped in relief and Marcus peeled his eyes off her then said, Just the check.

Please, Eloise added.

Marcus nodded, briefly scanning the waitress from head to toe. She was heavier than his wife, with full breasts that formed a very small slit between her blouse's middle buttons. How heavy would her breast be, resting in the palm of his hand?

Marcus looked down at the tablecloth and closed his mouth. He cleared his throat.

Not only is the city drowning, he said. But scientists say, they say it's heading out to sea. You know, from whence it came.

He laughed fully.

I can see why though, I mean, doesn't everything go home to die? 

Reviews

[nostal]

The last line of dialogue from Marcus just comes off as abrupt and contrived.
Characters need to be slightly fleshed out; although I would understand if this is just a thin sketch.
Maybe try using hyphens to mark lines of dialogue, like in Cold Mountain?

[Gerald Parker]

Interesting. I've read both chapters - there's enough to make me want to read on. Title possibly sounding pretentious? Characters - their names aren't Italian, why not? Writing which, in my opinion, needs more local colour. Characters need filling in, can't visualise them at the moment.

[John]

Try using a little more grammatical interruptions to differentiate between dialogue and narrative. Just a suggestion.
Reminds of... black and white comedy with no sound. Panels showing what the characters said after the scene has already passed.