Lace and Tea In The Afternoon

It was one of those beautiful, yet instantly forgettable days.
The girls were wearing white lace and chiffon, running barefoot on the freshly mowed grass. The boys were playing a ridiculous game of cricket, each one of them displaying no talent at all. Of course, they pretended to excel, like with everything else.
The lord and lady of the house had gone for a long ride through their many fields. He had briefly remarked that he wanted to check on the constructions of the new foundry in the next town, whilst she wanted to buy some new ribbons for the girls. The lady liked to make these kinds of purchases herself, instead of sending the tasteless new maid. She missed her old maids, maids that knew her inside out, but after the latest hushed-up scandal, the man of the house, the pater familias had let them all go. Scared old man. The lady suspected that he had bedded all of them and was afraid that with the wave of revelations that was hitting their part of the county, they might speak out about his indiscretions.
It was a picture of quiet beauty, of still serenity. If someone would have frozen this or that moment during the course of the afternoon, it might have looked like an Impressionist painting.
No one felt the impending sense of dread.
The girls made flower garlands for their long, free-flowing hair and the boys played tag, occasionally glancing over to the girls and giggling at their girlishness.
The adults had tea and discussed anything but politics and what was going on in the land. They too could not see beyond their own fields, beyond the life they knew.
A storm would hit and devastate them soon enough. The higher powers knew that. So they let blissful ignorance gently cast its spell over this calm, delicate summer's day.

Late Night Thoughts With The Bartender

The men flocked to the two new arrivals like cocks to hens.
How pathetic. They ran and rammed into each other, trampling like an elephant herd.
I sniggered to myself as I watched them.
They were so obvious in their attempt to get laid. It was cruel upon the eyes.
I sniggered a little more and turned to my friend, who was quietly ignoring the entire scene. He sipped on his drink like a man who had done nothing but elegantly sip on drinks through thick and thin. He looked over to me coolly.
"What?" His eyes said, sharing my disgust at this display of shallow need.
So they couldn't keep it in their trousers for more than a day or two?
Ah hell, who could.
We'd all be at it if we could.
I reflected on my stream of consciousness, despising every word as I revisited it.
I miss this, I miss that.
I miss you, I miss me.
I miss me.
I sipped on my drink, not realising that the glass had been dry for a while.
The bartender took one look at me and poured me another finger of champagne, or something that looked remotely like it. It tasted nice.
The bunch of horny elephants did not return. I felt blessed to be distant from them.
The stupidity seemed to be contagious.
But we all struggle sometimes. I can't iron for shit. The man next to me smells like cheap loneliness. The one on the other side is asking himself how I am. How he is. How we are and how we should be.
Does it really matter?
I downed my drink and stopped the bartender from topping it up. He understood, nodding at me with no smile at all. I understood.
I uncrossed my legs, sighed at the emptiness of this past evening, sighed at the fact that I was not tipsy, sighed at the frustration I started to feel towards the world.
Bitter. Bitterness. Bitter Bitterness.
But it isn't wrong to feel a little bitter sometimes.
Only if it is sometimes and not more.
Tomorrow will be different.
And with that thought, I returned to the bar and ordered another drink.
Existentialism could wait.
The night was young and so was I.

Run Run Lover Run

The car seats were damp.
Kee had left both windows open, in an attempt to get rid of the stale smell of smoke and the pungent taste of vomit. Rose pulled the two sweaters he had given her tighter around her shivering body. Her lips were slowly turning blue, but she would have rather frozen to death than continued to breathe in the poisonous fumes.
He was still driving. She looked outside, catching a glimpse of a sign reading a Northern town.

Where are we? Where are we going?

She sighed resentfully. Kee turned to her, that look in his eyes again, and turned away again, reaching for a packet of cigarettes. Stolen, like the stinking car. In fact, the only thing that was not stolen, was one of the two sweaters that were not keeping her warm. The blue one with their initials.
Rose contorted herself into the passenger seat beside Kee. He had lit a smoke and was puffing away, trying hard not to blow the sickening gas into Rose's face. He would have earned a mighty slap for that, no matter how tired she was.

"Do you know where we are?" She asked him later, before turning on the broken radio.
"Somewhere up north." He replied curtly.

I can't do this. I can't stand the smell, the taste, the sight, the atmosphere. Stop. Stop.

"I liked this song once upon a time." Rose said, turning the fake volume up. She started whistling along. Kee looked over at her and smiled his crooked smile.
"It was playing when we met."
"I know, you silly bugger. I know that."
They whistled together until their lips felt numb. Then Kee stopped in a hidden car park, just off the country road they had been driving down for the last half an hour.
Their kisses revived their lips. And suddenly the damp car seats did not matter anymore. The terrible smell had almost gone.

But we'll never be free of what we have done. Of what I have done. Of what I made him do.