As I said in my previous post, which is called “This Post is Creepy…But I’m Not a Stalker (Honest!)”, I saw someone sitting at the side of the road today and her image was rattling around my brain and I just had to get it out.
I penned a quick story, which I guess would be called Flash Fiction (500-1000 words). Its Called it “The Pavement.”
By Phil Deane
She plonked herself down on the pavement. Reaching into her bag she pulled out her cigarettes and sparked up. She needed it. Shaking the match to extinguish it, she threw it down on the ground.
One match isn’t going to make a difference.
It landed on a faded carton of orange juice and settled on a collection of butts which had been amassing for some time.
Drawing on the cigarette she watched it burn down slowly glowing bright red. Slivers of heat waved in the sun. Feeling the smoke enter her lungs she inhaled deeply, the chemicals entered her bloodstream and she felt the familiar light headed nausea that the first cigarette of the day always inflicted.
Blowing it out slowly, she rested her head on her hand. Her feet twisted into the ground, the dust moving to allow her feet to get a grip of the ground. When her foot moved the diamond patterns from her sole imprinted a pretty pattern on the ground.
I think I’ll just sit here for a while.
Buses and cars hurtled across the end of the street as she sat in her solitude. She didn’t know what to do, what she could do. Her mind was racing, fifty televisions broadcasted in her head all tuned to different channels.
Maybe it will all be alright in a minute.
Her cigarette burned quickly as she stared at the ground. Her fingers started to feel warm, then hot. The pain felt good. It was a real emotion. A simple reaction. Her fingers sent signals to her brain, saying “Hey! We’re getting hot down here, Are you going to do something?”
Her lazy brain took it’s time responding. Instructing her fingers to open, the cigarette fell to the ground, still smoking. It joined the rest of the collection. A new edition, the butt bright orange compared to its faded counterparts.
Rubbing her hands together, they fell onto her knees, her head followed. With her head slightly tilted to the side, the world looked squint.
Maybe if I sit here long enough, I will fall off the planet. That would be good, would make my life, or lack off of life easier.
A breeze blew her hair over her face, she reached up to pull it behind her ear. The effort instructing her brain to make her arm move felt tough, but her body was rewarded with a large sigh.
Looking down she noticed that someone had painted double yellow lines on the road, but did not stop for the water grating, and it was yellow patches across it.
Typical world! Taking the easy way out. Maybe I should take the easy way out?
It wouldn’t be hard. Walk to the end of the road, wait for the next bus and take a step out. It might hurt for a minute, but surely less than the hurt I am going to feel?
Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her cigarettes. Opening the pack, the smell of stale smoke rose from the numerous times she had stubbed out running for a bus, putting it back in the packet, safe for later. Inside the crumpled pack, it was nothing but space, empty, used up.
Just like me!
A car stopped at the lights. The black Ford Focus had its windows wound down, music blaring from the stereo announcing the drivers taste, with a “look at me” attitude.
“You’re a no good heart breaker, You’re a liar and you’re a cheat, And I don’t know why, I let you do these things to me”
Oh Aretha, you know me so well!
Her bum felt numb and flat. She moved slightly to one side, but the rivets in her pocket dug into her flesh.
Nope, no choice but to stand up. Time to move on. Time to face the music. What did the song on the radio say this morning? Oh yeah….
“And nothing’s real but love, Nothing’s real but love, No money, no house, no car, can beat love…”
Standing up, dusting off her backside, throwing her bag over her shoulder, she walked to the end of the street, waited for the next bus, and stepped on.
I hope you’re right Rebecca.