Jun 08 2007
A Short Story
The following is a feeble attempt at a work of fiction; as inspiration strikes I will attempt to expand this. I don’t know if this is the beginning, middle or end of the story. This image has been stuck in my mind, and I had to get it out onto paper somewhere, and this seemed like the best place.
You’re standing outside a restaurant, it faces out onto a small street, with no street lights and cars parked on both sides of the road. It is a dark, moonless night, with the only light coming from the party going on behind you. It is your party, everyone is there for you, but you are outside having just run out. You are looking out onto the street to the right, standing under the awing. Your right hand is outstretched, as if you are offering it to someone, asking them for a dance. Asking them to take your hand and say yes.
That someone, she’s long gone now. All that remains is the ghostly afterimage of her running away; running away without a backward glance, without even a simple goodbye. She’s gone; but you stand there lost in your own world, hand outstretched, with her shapeless ghost burned into your mind’s eye.
She left without a word and didn’t even look back.
You sigh, plaster your goofy party smile back onto your face, turn around and go back to your party, leaving just a bit of your heart behind with the irrational hope that she will come back.
