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Archive for February, 2010
Midnight Pasta Binge
Feb 16th
1. Log off, go downstairs.
2. Light on.
3. Where’s the cat?
I love her, but she’s gonna get hurt someday. I wish she’d just come here, to me.
4. TV on, flick through the channels.
5. Decide there’s nothing on and find a recording of that comedy you love. Continue reading “Midnight Pasta Binge” »
Part one.
Feb 15th
As he lies in her lap, she softly strokes his hair. Gazing down at his dreaming eyes, a feeling of contentment overcomes her.
“I don’t want to see you any more,” she says.
He sits up with a jolt, causing his head to spin with the words she’d just uttered.
“What?”
Perhaps he’d misheard her. There was no reason for her to say that. There couldn’t be.
“I don’t understand.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“I’m sorry.”
The train speeds along with its constant hum, occasionally rattling and shaking to add to the authentic travelling feel. I watch what appear to be a happy couple enjoying each other’s company. Picturing my own problems unravelling between them, I envisage the conversation continues:
“What have I done?” he desperately tries to grasp for reason, “Please tell me what happened.”
Attempts remain futile. The further he questions the more distant she becomes, until she stops speaking at all. The rest of their train journey together continues in a most awkward silence. Whilst he tries to explore the reasons for this sudden change, she finds her notepad and starts writing.
The train comes to a stop for the final time. This is where they part ways.
“Please take all your belongings with you and take care when stepping onto the platform.”
She tears a page from her notepad and folds it in half.
“Here.”
He takes it and slips it into his pocket. This method of communication isn’t a rare one; he knows to read it later.
“When will I see you again?” he asks, hoping for an explanatory goodbye.
She glances at him, eyes glistening from the tears blinked away.
“I’m not sure.”
He steps off the train and watches as she joins the sea of people headed for the station. There’s no point following her. Stepping out of the flow, he leans up against a column and pulls out the piece of paper.
“We need to start doing the right thing,” it reads.
Scanning the line repeatedly, he gazes at his fate upon the page.