Chris in Viet

A short based in the 1970s, focusing on an independent woman unaffected by the world around her. Little mentions to Second Wave Feminism in the 60s-70s, as well as the Vietnam war in the mid-late 70s.

The night sky was speckled with a plethora of little holes breaking through a blanket of black, the sun’s light shining from each tiny little pinprick opening. The sound of a single cricket’s fiddle echoed through the emptiness of the world, heard by all but listened by none. Street lights illuminated the block of Whitton Avenue, creating a sense of false reality in a world of bustling men and women too occupied to stop and admire their own existence. All but one were lit, keeping away the dangers of what lurked in the infinite darkness.

It was slightly past midnight when a seemingly deformed baby woke, crying its lament. A woman with light brown freckles splattered across her face lit her fireplace, unaffected by the sobbing of her own child. To put it simply, she acted for no one but herself. Sitting back on her red leather sofa, artistically placed in the middle of her living room, she merely waited for nothing in particular. She watched the fire crackle and glow against the stone brick, growing a life just created. The woman took a sip from her squat bottle of Mateus Rose wine, lit a cigarette and began smoking. The child had still not stopped its mournful dirge, seeking for attention that would not come. She inhaled, and exhaled, the smoke flowing from her nose and mouth into the house, and from the house to the polluted streets of Phoenix. She got up and traveled to the bathroom, combing her short, curly, light brown bob and removing the hidden tangles knotted from her day’s adventures. The woman strolled back to the living room, putting out her cigarette in an ashtray placed upon a nightstand on the way. all the while, her child still screaming for a mother’s love.

Ambly drifting, she mosied into the child’s room, her polished heels the color of sad independence clicking against the cold tiled floor in the hallway. She picked up the baby and placed her tenderly on her right shoulder, bouncing up and down with little care.

“Shush now. Mommy’s here. Shush now. Hush. Hush.” She soothed her child into a hushed mumble, and from there to complete silence.

The woman continued to bounce the baby, unaware of the stillness settling in the house. Once she came to, she placed the child back into the crib, her hair outlining the baby’s face, falling upon ears and a small, soft forehead. Standing upright, she straightened out her blue skin-tight dress, pulling her pantyhose up and her dress down. Only gaining what seemed an extra inch to cover her thighs, she deemed the change worthy enough of approval. Walking back to the sofa, she kicked off her stiletto heels, one nearly flying into the fireplace. She plopped onto the sofa with an "oomph," laying on her stomach. The woman’s head now near the nightstand which held her telephone, she picked up the handset and dialed up one of her girlfriends. The woman rested the telephone between her ear and her right shoulder.

“Hello?” A gruff drunk’s voice questioned on the other end.

“Sorry, wrong number.” The woman placed her finger on the switchhook to end the call and re-dialed the correct number. She twirled the telephone cord with her right pointer finger while she waited for her friend to pick up.

“Hello?” A quiet voice whispered on the other end, just waking up from a deep sleep.

“Hey, Anne.” The woman looked at her freshly painted fingernails and turned over on her back.

“God. Audrey? What time is it? It’s so late. What the hell?”

“Whoops. Sorry. Well, I promised to call, so here I am,” said the woman, her eyes widening at the later end of the sentence with apathy.

"Well, I can't talk tomorrow. The kids have their playdate." A sigh could be heard from Anne, too tired to talk but too polite to end the conversation. "Nicolas is already asleep, so we’ll just have to be quiet.”

“Sure.”

“So what’s new with you?”

“Not much. I just put Rosie to sleep. Damn kids are so hard to keep quiet nowadays.”

“Girl, I’ve got twins. I didn’t even want one.”

“God,” Audrey said in amazement, “how do you even do that anyway?”

“Voodoo Hoodoo s**t.”
“Ah. Good note. I’ll try that.”

“Oh, how was that date of yours?”

“It was alright.”

“What was his name again?” The question sounded as if Anne was smiling, glad to talk gossip with a friend for the first time in ages.

“Chris.”
“Was he cute?”
"A little. He just came back from the army.”

“Hunka hunka.”

Audrey rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I will definitely remember it until the day I die. The guy was kind of a creep, I think.” The woman shifted her position, now laying on her side.

“Ew. How so? And where did you meet this Chris, anyway?”

“Uh, I met him through Jennifer, her third cousin removed or something. I mean it wasn't that bad, to be honest, he--”

“Well, then why was he a creep?”

“Let me finish. I was going to say that he was just awkward. He just stared at me more than talked is all.”

“Ew did he, like, stare at your b***s?”

“No, no. He just stared at my eyes, commented on how green they were. Of all things. He should have complimented my b***s. I was wearing a push-up bra and everything. He wa--”

“Well, I’m glad he didn’t stare at your b***s.”

“Let me finish. And I wouldn’t mind him staring at my b***s. Anyways, He was just really awkward, is what I was going to say. Kept trying to initiate small talk, which didn’t really work.”

“So what does he do?”
“He’s some CEO or COO or something like that. Some big high up dude. For some reason, he’s broke, though. Probably took too many women on first dates or something.”

“Weird. Maybe he buys too many cars?”
“Well, I don’t know. How would I know?” Audrey said. She waited a few seconds and started to play with the phone coil again, “Well anyways, I’d better go. It’s kinda late. I promised I’d call, but not long.”

“Seriously? You wake me up to tell me how your date was cute and that’s it? I plan on getting all the details, Audrey, and you know it.” Anne talked with little hints of frustration in her voice, possibly from the interruption of her beauty sleep.
“Yeah, yeah. Good night, Anne.”

“Screw you. G’night.”

“Buh-bye. Oh, tell Nic I said hello.”

“Yeah. Will do. Night, Aud.”

The woman hung up and rolled her eyes. She turned over and dozed off to sleep.

A lean man with broad shoulders and large hands entered through the unlocked front door. He took off the coat he was wearing at the diner and placed it upon the back of the sofa. He looked at the woman and exhaled. She was so beautiful.

Slowly, he took out his great-grandfather’s Ortgies caliber 7.65 automatic and aimed it at the back of the woman’s head, firing a bullet through her skull.

“Sorry, ma’am. You were real nice. Pretty eyes. Reminds me of viet, though.” He then aimed the pistol at his own head firing a bullet through his right temple.

A baby began crying, and with no one to shush it to sleep, continued until the sun kissed its warmth upon the child’s face.

Author's Note

EDIT: I'M THINKING OF TURNING THIS INTO A BOOK, AND USING THIS AS THE PROLOGUE. WHAT DO YOU THINK?
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I'm not too educated in writing yet (This is my first writing piece I've done!), so feel free to share any thoughts or feedback!

Reviews

[SRMarx]

It is interesting story. To make the ending less abrupt, I'd hint at it at the beginning. Also being more specific in what characters are feeling/experiencing/thinking will help clear up some of the confusing parts.

[Quisby]

Thank you for the suggestions!