Carnations and Cigarette Ends

2

Carnations, squashed, dead, alongside unravelling cigarette ends; a reminder that everything comes to an end, no matter how beautiful; no matter how satisfying. He had made up his mind a long time ago that he would never make any woman honest.

He wouldn’t make anyone anything. After all, he was a traveller; a dantesque shade, taking what he needed, not unlike the black dog, rummaging through the black sack across the emptying street. Stepping across a gutter, sodden with Night’s remains, the grey suit floated towards the scavenger, acknowledging that neither he nor the dog would ever be taken by surprise if they kept one foot in the shadows.

For one second, red eyes looked into blue, and were gone back to Hades. Black shoes, wet, walked again; turning into an open late. Sitting at the bar in saxaphoned smoke, he swallows his sixth Jack Daniels. A red dress moved in alongside him, and putting hand on his shoulder, asked for a cigarette. He’d given them up, he said, without meeting her need to feel honest.

Her flat was just around the corner if he was feeling lonely. He liked it that way, and got up to leave. Black shoes, drier, were walking again. Gold stilettos ran to catch up; echoed in the hollowness of Limbo, like tinkling piano keys. Grey suit and red dress turned the corner. They took what they needed.

Maureen Walsh – Jan. 2011
Ciao for now!

2 Comments
  1. Jack Eason says

    Daphnia – Short and bitter sweet. Perhaps you should expand this vignette into either a short story of between 1000 – 5000 words. Or maybe consider expanding it into a novel.

    The dark concept is very fashionable once again. Funny how themes become trendy in our world of words.

    Bear my comments in mind Daphnia, you have a winner here. Don’t just leave it the way it is. :))

  2. Gabriel Constans says

    Nice phrasing and tempo. This is a complete short short story as is, though I agree with Jack, that it could be doubled or tripled and perhaps have an even greater impact. Love the line “saxaphoned smoke” in “Sitting at the bar in saxaphoned smoke, he swallows his sixth Jack Daniels”.

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