Normally she would just wrap herself in one of her many silk kimonos, slip on the matching house slippers and give her short curls a quick brush. But this was one of those occasions. He needed another little nudge to do the right thing, so she had to be immaculate. She had to remind him who they were.
As she walked into the library, the first thing she noticed was the strong scent of cigar. He had picked up that habit again then.
He turned around to greet her, a slick smile on his young, handsome face.
You must tell her the old woman said after the usual pleasantries. She deserves to know.
Her smoker's voice was one the young man knew all too well. It had taught him all he knew and more.
Thus, he nodded unenthusiastically and lit another cigar. His lips curled and deigned him an air of superiority, an air that had come with his inheritance.
The old woman touched the ruby at her neck. Usually she would drape herself in diamonds, but this was not one of those occasions. He needed a stern warning.
If you're going to drop her, she needs to know straight away. She needs to plan her next move and get away from here as soon as it is possible for her. The scandal won't wait. She did not avert her eyes from him, while his were glued to the cigar.
She watched him linger out the moments before he had to give a proper answer. He had her brother's long, elegant nose and her sister-in-law's smile. The eyes were her father's. Cold as ice and full of malice. The kind of malice that attracts and destroys. And he would destroy his latest prey before the evening was out. Everyone would know and she would die inside. He would live again, refreshed, like a vampire after having fed on virgin's blood. Beautiful as ever.
No one in the family must know. They would demand a marriage of you. They know of her wealth and they would not allow you to let this opportunity fall at your feet and be kicked away, she croaked.
Yes dear aunt. He raised his champagne glass and toasted to his ingenious plan, of which his beloved aunt would know nothing until he had executed it. He would keep the wealth and leave the woman. No one who had ever attempted such a thing lived to tell the tale.
He noticed her long, silky skirt and her white, cold blouse. The only thing that was breathing life into her was the ruby. A strange choice for an afternoon spent at home, with family.
Thursday, 7 November 2013
Saturday, 17 August 2013
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.
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.
Friday, 9 August 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, 1 August 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
Scarlett's Dream and Its Giver
"Scarlett appeared by the single street light in an unexpected flash. She could not remember how she got there or why she was even here, on this desolate pavement by the only light for miles.
And then he materialized through the mist.
Of course it was him. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing. Classic moment before the heart turmoil begins.
He recognized Scarlett and walked straight to her. She noticed that not once did he take his alluring blue-green eyes off her. It was almost as if he felt it too.
"So where are we going?" She said, only slightly cocking her head to the side when he stood in front of her. It was the tell.
The young man brushed his finger tips along her jaw line and down to her collarbone, still not blinking, still penetrating her with his intense gaze.
He sighed, obviously satisfied with himself, as well as with her.
"We're going to Sarah's."
Scarlett raised her wild eyebrows. "Which Sarah?"
"Blonde Sarah. Thin Sarah. The one with the annoying voice."
"There is no way I'm going to hers."
He caught on to something. "And why not?" He pulled her a little closer.
"Because I slept with the guy she liked and potentially still likes. The one that's now working in Canada."
The man laughed, running a rough hand through his shiny black hair.
"We're going to Sarah's."
They appeared at hers. It was not exactly what Scarlett had expected, as there was a full-blown orgy happening in the living room and on the staircase, where the drunker people were congregating in the hope of pulling someone decent looking and equally as drunk.
Scarlett thought only one thing: "How depraved."
She had had three and foursome experiences herself, but nothing as public as this, and with good reason. A quarter of the participants were occasionally fumbling for their phones.
Scarlett looked over at the man she had come with.
"What are we doing here?" She asked him openly, defiance written on her pale face. But he just smiled and went to greet a few people he knew. People who had no idea who she was. Presumably just another one of his many conquests. It was the way he worked after all. Nevertheless, if only they had looked better, with a critical eye instead of an inebriated one, they could have seen the power that they had over each other, even without realizing it. Oblivious.
There were sparks flying everywhere. They would have burned the house down with everyone in it.
Arsonists with electricity. Hmm.
And then they were in the garden, finally locking onto each other like they should have done by the street light where he had appeared to her through all of the lack of clarity.
She opened her blue eyes after a particularly intense kiss.
He was gone."
And then he materialized through the mist.
Of course it was him. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing. Classic moment before the heart turmoil begins.
He recognized Scarlett and walked straight to her. She noticed that not once did he take his alluring blue-green eyes off her. It was almost as if he felt it too.
"So where are we going?" She said, only slightly cocking her head to the side when he stood in front of her. It was the tell.
The young man brushed his finger tips along her jaw line and down to her collarbone, still not blinking, still penetrating her with his intense gaze.
He sighed, obviously satisfied with himself, as well as with her.
"We're going to Sarah's."
Scarlett raised her wild eyebrows. "Which Sarah?"
"Blonde Sarah. Thin Sarah. The one with the annoying voice."
"There is no way I'm going to hers."
He caught on to something. "And why not?" He pulled her a little closer.
"Because I slept with the guy she liked and potentially still likes. The one that's now working in Canada."
The man laughed, running a rough hand through his shiny black hair.
"We're going to Sarah's."
They appeared at hers. It was not exactly what Scarlett had expected, as there was a full-blown orgy happening in the living room and on the staircase, where the drunker people were congregating in the hope of pulling someone decent looking and equally as drunk.
Scarlett thought only one thing: "How depraved."
She had had three and foursome experiences herself, but nothing as public as this, and with good reason. A quarter of the participants were occasionally fumbling for their phones.
Scarlett looked over at the man she had come with.
"What are we doing here?" She asked him openly, defiance written on her pale face. But he just smiled and went to greet a few people he knew. People who had no idea who she was. Presumably just another one of his many conquests. It was the way he worked after all. Nevertheless, if only they had looked better, with a critical eye instead of an inebriated one, they could have seen the power that they had over each other, even without realizing it. Oblivious.
There were sparks flying everywhere. They would have burned the house down with everyone in it.
Arsonists with electricity. Hmm.
And then they were in the garden, finally locking onto each other like they should have done by the street light where he had appeared to her through all of the lack of clarity.
She opened her blue eyes after a particularly intense kiss.
He was gone."
Cigarette Lips
"The taste of cigarette smoke clung to her tongue, even though she had not touched a single one in months.
On her short walk home, the girl waded through her whereabouts of the last few days, still wondering where this bitter taste in her mouth came from.
Was it Charlie?
Charlie smoked, but they had not kissed in three days. He was still at the conference in Brighton. And she was here, in the City, alone with her cigarette lips and a strong desire to get rid of them.
Vi's thoughts returned to the night she had passed in rowdy company in a seedy pub in a "you should avoid it if you can" part of town. Not once did it occur to her that she might not be safe. She had worn thick eyeliner and lipstick for the first time in months. Charlie did not like her with make-up on. She loved it.
"Who. Is. That?" A friend of Charlie had asked another friend of Charlie.
"Charlie's girlfriend."
That was that. He did not come talk to her. But... Another friend of theirs, whose first love was eavesdropping, did. He came over to where Vi was sitting among a group of other people, discussing the latest nihilistic novel they supposedly had all read. It was exactly the kind of conversation that would get you in trouble in those parts of town, but no one seemed to care that a bunch of intellectuals were congregating at a rock concert that quickly escalated into a beer throwing fest.
Vi did not seem to mind, neither did the rest.
By the end of the night, every single person smelt like the floor of a brewery and looked like a broken hearted drag queen. But the night had been a success, for the aim had been to "expand their horizons". They had fulfilled their weekend mission and could now return to their monotonous every day lives, packed with coffee orders and mindless chit-chat, as well as being one step from suicidal.
Vi thought about Charlie. She would soon have to tell him that she was no longer in love with the life they had built together and that she wanted to wear make-up every day and dance on podiums all night. He'd hate it.
She was strangely looking forward to it, as if she was finally answering long awaited call from a friend in a war zone."
On her short walk home, the girl waded through her whereabouts of the last few days, still wondering where this bitter taste in her mouth came from.
Was it Charlie?
Charlie smoked, but they had not kissed in three days. He was still at the conference in Brighton. And she was here, in the City, alone with her cigarette lips and a strong desire to get rid of them.
Vi's thoughts returned to the night she had passed in rowdy company in a seedy pub in a "you should avoid it if you can" part of town. Not once did it occur to her that she might not be safe. She had worn thick eyeliner and lipstick for the first time in months. Charlie did not like her with make-up on. She loved it.
"Who. Is. That?" A friend of Charlie had asked another friend of Charlie.
"Charlie's girlfriend."
That was that. He did not come talk to her. But... Another friend of theirs, whose first love was eavesdropping, did. He came over to where Vi was sitting among a group of other people, discussing the latest nihilistic novel they supposedly had all read. It was exactly the kind of conversation that would get you in trouble in those parts of town, but no one seemed to care that a bunch of intellectuals were congregating at a rock concert that quickly escalated into a beer throwing fest.
Vi did not seem to mind, neither did the rest.
By the end of the night, every single person smelt like the floor of a brewery and looked like a broken hearted drag queen. But the night had been a success, for the aim had been to "expand their horizons". They had fulfilled their weekend mission and could now return to their monotonous every day lives, packed with coffee orders and mindless chit-chat, as well as being one step from suicidal.
Vi thought about Charlie. She would soon have to tell him that she was no longer in love with the life they had built together and that she wanted to wear make-up every day and dance on podiums all night. He'd hate it.
She was strangely looking forward to it, as if she was finally answering long awaited call from a friend in a war zone."
Sunday, 23 June 2013
Snigger Away
"The Queen threw the dirty letter on the floor.
"They have murdered my ambassador on the steps of the Temple." Her voice shook and she clenched her fists tightly as she spoke. "You know what this means, do you not? War. I say it means war!"
The King looked over at her, slouched in his throne of thorns, chewing on a juicy grape.
"And what might you, a woman, know of these matters?"
The Queen turned to face him, eyes thunderous and fists still clenched, in an attempt to steady herself.
"Might I recall a certain Battle of the Three Hills to Your Majesty's attention? A conflict where my counsel was the only one that led you and your generals to victory?" She bowed her head slightly.
He paid no mind.
"Take her away. I'm not in the mood for your moods and your dramatic nature. As you know, I haven't been for a very long time. Your being here bores me. Leave."
The first general stood up briskly. "Your Majesty. If I may have permission to speak -"
"Silence. I won't have you defending your whore's honour."
The throne room grew silent. One could have heard a handkerchief falling to the ground.
The Queen was the first to recompose herself.
"Majesty. I beg your indulgence for just a moment before I take my leave of you. It sounded to my ears as though you were accusing me of having an affair with the here present general, a man most loyal to you, my dear husband. How ridiculous." She smiled at him.
"And now, if you will excuse me, I have grown tired of your insults. I shall retire to the drawing room." She nodded towards her ladies in waiting and they followed her out of the still silent throne room like obedient little ducklings.
"She's a madwoman and a whore. Your whore." The King nodded to the general. "Better yours than mine." He laughed wholeheartedly.
If only he could have seen his second in command quietly sniggering behind him. What everyone except the King and Queen knew, was that for a long time that man had been spying on them both, paying careful attention never to be caught in the act, but catching many others in flagrante delicto and in many other, rather uncomfortable positions."
"They have murdered my ambassador on the steps of the Temple." Her voice shook and she clenched her fists tightly as she spoke. "You know what this means, do you not? War. I say it means war!"
The King looked over at her, slouched in his throne of thorns, chewing on a juicy grape.
"And what might you, a woman, know of these matters?"
The Queen turned to face him, eyes thunderous and fists still clenched, in an attempt to steady herself.
"Might I recall a certain Battle of the Three Hills to Your Majesty's attention? A conflict where my counsel was the only one that led you and your generals to victory?" She bowed her head slightly.
He paid no mind.
"Take her away. I'm not in the mood for your moods and your dramatic nature. As you know, I haven't been for a very long time. Your being here bores me. Leave."
The first general stood up briskly. "Your Majesty. If I may have permission to speak -"
"Silence. I won't have you defending your whore's honour."
The throne room grew silent. One could have heard a handkerchief falling to the ground.
The Queen was the first to recompose herself.
"Majesty. I beg your indulgence for just a moment before I take my leave of you. It sounded to my ears as though you were accusing me of having an affair with the here present general, a man most loyal to you, my dear husband. How ridiculous." She smiled at him.
"And now, if you will excuse me, I have grown tired of your insults. I shall retire to the drawing room." She nodded towards her ladies in waiting and they followed her out of the still silent throne room like obedient little ducklings.
"She's a madwoman and a whore. Your whore." The King nodded to the general. "Better yours than mine." He laughed wholeheartedly.
If only he could have seen his second in command quietly sniggering behind him. What everyone except the King and Queen knew, was that for a long time that man had been spying on them both, paying careful attention never to be caught in the act, but catching many others in flagrante delicto and in many other, rather uncomfortable positions."
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