[M:118:6:][D3v:http://rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=cs&thread=412&page=1#1242]Post by Alec on Oct 17, 2011 20:58:35 GMT -5
(Hope you guys don't mind, this is just some personal writing. Was on my way home today when I was struck by an image that needed to be expanded upon, to be explained, to at least be put into writing, if you can dig it. And I never scoff at the chance to share my work. So, here goes nothin')
Wind rips at the man, pulling his clothes tight against him, carrying smoke from his face. Shoulder length black hair whips around his face, the ends threatening to catch in the embers of a cigarette perched between his lips. Reaching up, black suit jacket clutched in his hand, he pulls the butt from his lips, flicks it at the ground, and grinds it out. From a tatty looking pair of black slacks he pulls a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes and a not so cheap lighter. Tapping the bottom of the pack with one finger, he pulls the final cigarette out with his lips. Flicking the lighter open and lighting it in one smooth, practiced motion, he lights it and inhales deeply.
"What do ya wanna do now?" a young woman on a bench behind the man asks, pulling a deep, glistening forest green sucker out of her mouth with a pop.
He crumples the empty pack, tosses it as his feet, and slips the lighter back into his pocket. Pinching the butt carefully between index and thumb, the man pulls the cigarette from his mouth, turns it in front of his face, and regards the smoldering end coolly. Popping the butt back into his mouth, he inhales once, shortly, and pulls it back out of his mouth clenched between middle and index fingers. Turning at the waist, he looks back at the woman with a raised eyebrow. With a shrug, he turns back towards the breaking waves.
"What do ya gotta do?" she asks, popping the sucker back into her mouth.
Puffing at the cigarette slowly, he turns at the waist once more. Without a word, he turns fully and walks towards the woman, and flops onto the bench next to her. He reaches over, pulls the sucker out of her mouth and replaces it with his cigarette. Sucking at it, he shrugs once more. "I've got to see a man about a horse."
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"Wait!" she calls after him, leaving a mostly unsmoked cigarette crushed but still smoldering under the bench with the black suit jacket on it. He walks quickly against the wind, hair pulled back from his face to reveal eyes the color to match her (his, now) sucker.
He turns, turning up the white dress shirt's sleeves. One eyebrow cocked, wrapped paper stick poking out of his mouth. "Whu-" he begins, then stops, takes the lollipop out of his mouth, then continues, "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'?" she nearly shouts, catching up to him. "You take my sucker, give me that nasty ass cheap cigarette, tell me you've got to 'see a man about a horse,' and hop up and run away, and you've the audacity to ask me 'what?!'" she finishes, actually shouting at this point.
"Well...I...uh...yeah?" he mumbles, confused. "I thought the nature of our relationship was pretty clear, Sarah?"
Color rises in Sarah's cheeks, and she averts her eyes. "It was. But then you said. Well..." she trails off. "You know what you said."
"Yes," he says, slowly, as if to small child, "I did say those things. Because that man had a gun, Sarah. And friends too," he says, turning, popping the diminishing sucker into his mouth. "And I imagine that all of them had guns, too," he finishes, not looking at her, and continues onward.
Her modest skirt swishes as she follows closely, just behind him. "You owe me another sucker," she huffs, then falls silent.
"I can live with owing you a sucker," he says, never stopping. Looking around, as buildings rise around him, he turns towards her more fully. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone with a horse, would you?"
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Bright red palm burning on his pale, sharp face, the man shurgs once more. "How was I supposed to know your uncle used to-"
"Because we used to go out there every summer? Because we used to ride all day and then go to the creek in the evening? Because that's where we played..." She stops, color rising in her cheeks once more.
"You don't have to be so damned modest, you know." Laughing, more than a little maniacally, he throws his hands wide, and spins on his heel. "Who is there to hear us, hmm?" The laughter, little more than a glorified chuckle before, rises in his stomach, and he throws his head back. "Do you fear the empty shells of buildings? The few that are yet to rise? The even fewer that are yet to fall?"
"That man had a gun..." she says, voice small, dwarfed next to his booming laughter. "And like you said... probably, friends."
He stops, deathly silent. Hands fall to his side and he turns. "I hate it when you're right," quietly.
Wind rips at the man, pulling his clothes tight against him, carrying smoke from his face. Shoulder length black hair whips around his face, the ends threatening to catch in the embers of a cigarette perched between his lips. Reaching up, black suit jacket clutched in his hand, he pulls the butt from his lips, flicks it at the ground, and grinds it out. From a tatty looking pair of black slacks he pulls a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes and a not so cheap lighter. Tapping the bottom of the pack with one finger, he pulls the final cigarette out with his lips. Flicking the lighter open and lighting it in one smooth, practiced motion, he lights it and inhales deeply.
"What do ya wanna do now?" a young woman on a bench behind the man asks, pulling a deep, glistening forest green sucker out of her mouth with a pop.
He crumples the empty pack, tosses it as his feet, and slips the lighter back into his pocket. Pinching the butt carefully between index and thumb, the man pulls the cigarette from his mouth, turns it in front of his face, and regards the smoldering end coolly. Popping the butt back into his mouth, he inhales once, shortly, and pulls it back out of his mouth clenched between middle and index fingers. Turning at the waist, he looks back at the woman with a raised eyebrow. With a shrug, he turns back towards the breaking waves.
"What do ya gotta do?" she asks, popping the sucker back into her mouth.
Puffing at the cigarette slowly, he turns at the waist once more. Without a word, he turns fully and walks towards the woman, and flops onto the bench next to her. He reaches over, pulls the sucker out of her mouth and replaces it with his cigarette. Sucking at it, he shrugs once more. "I've got to see a man about a horse."
------------------------------------------
"Wait!" she calls after him, leaving a mostly unsmoked cigarette crushed but still smoldering under the bench with the black suit jacket on it. He walks quickly against the wind, hair pulled back from his face to reveal eyes the color to match her (his, now) sucker.
He turns, turning up the white dress shirt's sleeves. One eyebrow cocked, wrapped paper stick poking out of his mouth. "Whu-" he begins, then stops, takes the lollipop out of his mouth, then continues, "What?"
"What do you mean, 'what'?" she nearly shouts, catching up to him. "You take my sucker, give me that nasty ass cheap cigarette, tell me you've got to 'see a man about a horse,' and hop up and run away, and you've the audacity to ask me 'what?!'" she finishes, actually shouting at this point.
"Well...I...uh...yeah?" he mumbles, confused. "I thought the nature of our relationship was pretty clear, Sarah?"
Color rises in Sarah's cheeks, and she averts her eyes. "It was. But then you said. Well..." she trails off. "You know what you said."
"Yes," he says, slowly, as if to small child, "I did say those things. Because that man had a gun, Sarah. And friends too," he says, turning, popping the diminishing sucker into his mouth. "And I imagine that all of them had guns, too," he finishes, not looking at her, and continues onward.
Her modest skirt swishes as she follows closely, just behind him. "You owe me another sucker," she huffs, then falls silent.
"I can live with owing you a sucker," he says, never stopping. Looking around, as buildings rise around him, he turns towards her more fully. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone with a horse, would you?"
------------------------------------------
Bright red palm burning on his pale, sharp face, the man shurgs once more. "How was I supposed to know your uncle used to-"
"Because we used to go out there every summer? Because we used to ride all day and then go to the creek in the evening? Because that's where we played..." She stops, color rising in her cheeks once more.
"You don't have to be so damned modest, you know." Laughing, more than a little maniacally, he throws his hands wide, and spins on his heel. "Who is there to hear us, hmm?" The laughter, little more than a glorified chuckle before, rises in his stomach, and he throws his head back. "Do you fear the empty shells of buildings? The few that are yet to rise? The even fewer that are yet to fall?"
"That man had a gun..." she says, voice small, dwarfed next to his booming laughter. "And like you said... probably, friends."
He stops, deathly silent. Hands fall to his side and he turns. "I hate it when you're right," quietly.
