Sunset At Midnight

Music is melting emotions into long forgetting shapes, forcing memories to dance. Where were you yesterday night?

The only candle in the room projected a tall shadow on the wall: A fist holding a glass, swinging, in a very slow pace, from right to left and back. Over and over again. First it may have appeared it was moving independently from music playing in the background. Yet, as  melody became more deliberate and thoughtful, the body movements adjusted to the tune’s rhythm; the wrist guiding the hand had no more beat of its own. The hand’s owner had intended for the slow music to calm him down, to allow rationally imprison escaping emotions.

 

The melody, however, had functioned as a battering ram. Note after note his mind's defenses broke down until there was no obstruction left to prevent music from playing with his feelings. Low notes incited pure loneliness and high ones pitched a cry for help. Screaming for attention - for anything - but bouncing off walls to nowhere. Solitude. Only echoes. Held captive by his thoughts, he dreamed of another lonely soul listening to the same notes at this very moment.

Being alone was a daily routine. He was used to have no hand to hold or soft bosom to cherish. But the music in his mind made him doubt; all was too much now, because he remembered. He remembered what had been, so conveniently, out of sight and out of mind. It made him jump up from the armchair; the candle made his shadow look monstrous as it leaped towards the bookshelves. He threw the books on the floor three, four, sometimes five at a time until he found the perfume. The bottle was still half full. Slowly, holding the bottle as close to his nose as possible, he removed the cap.

 

With his eyes closed he took a deep breath through his nose. Sensation. Suddenly the music appeared to come from the bottle. He was standing there ready to answer. He danced with the treasure. He made as many elegant pirouettes as possible - the kind of quick turns that can only be done when wearing thick woolen socks. He sprayed the perfume throughout the entire room; he made certain to always be standing right underneath the falling drops. It appeared as if he wanted to show the perfume not be afraid, to come out of the bottle, because he was there. He would catch her when she fell, allowing her to linger on his body.

Now he hopped back to his chair. He sat himself down he let go a big sigh of relief: spreading out his arms after inhaling the perfume once more. Not just wanting it on him but also inside. He yearned for the perfume to know his darkest fears and most secret dreams. Immediately the music turned from lonely into hopeful, sadness was obviously still there, but rays of sunlight were breaking through. With his arms stretched out as far as possible - inhaling more memory at every gasp - he pulled the sun inside. He stood up again. Carefully, pressing his lips against the bottle, he made new dance moves, smoother than he had ever imagined himself doing. It pleased him immensely when he noticed his hands and kisses had warmed up the bottle. It was just a little, but still. With gracious movements he swept through stray books, kicking a few against the wall, as he waltzed through the room.

 
The initial freshness of the perfume had completely disappeared as the last notes of the music were translated into motion. The fragrance had turned into a warm summer night. The sun was about to go to sleep and they were walking towards… Did it matter? No. All that mattered was memory’s sweet and ripe scent of desire and attraction. Passion hung in the air and the sun had turned everything into mellow orange and soft red. Bronze sunbeams made her look as if she was made of gold. Together they were entangled as one, going to nowhere in particular, just exploring a trail of happiness.

Author's Note

Constructive feedback! Constructive feedback! I'll worship you into nirvana and back again.
Seriously
don't
be
shy
!



So the text editor doesn't accept the thing that is similar but longer than this symbol "-" (I forgot the name), that's why that symbol has been replaced with this "-" symbol.

Oh, and the perfume in the story is a different one than in the picture.

Reviews

[L.W.M.]

Awesome description in this story, man. I can totally relate with that "peak" feeling that is happening as the character listens to the music... and I loved the opening with the candle and shadow. Overall just a beautiful short story.

As a minor critique, I thought the language got a little heavy and thus confusing at a couple of points, such as "to allow rationally imprison escaping emotions." But at the same time, language seems to be your strength, so no worries! Keep writing!