Short Story

Alazia

The chatter echoed across the ballroom as people conversed over their drinks of choice, tunes from a
forgotten era of the early millennium overpoweringly being played through speakers too small for such a hall. Rounded tables loaded with glasses, flower arrangements and an extravagant center piece that housed those who decided to sit, drink and chat.

The dance floor crowded with women and a few selected men showing off moves that at one time was the pinnacle of dance but now is considered embarrassing by the younger generation. A dimly lit room full of energy, laughs dancing and smiles. A beautiful night for those who can appreciate the beauty of one’s company of others.

Standing at the bar counter, he sees himself in the mirror, taking his hand and wiping off the crumbs off his sportscoat and checking his blue jeans for any remanence of dinner. The bartender handed him his drinks and he begin walking into the ballroom with a whiskey & seven and a glass of wine in the other hand. He scans around the room, in search of her and as if time had frozen for a moment, he spots her from a distance and stares in awe before being interrupted by a soft-spoken voice.

“Do you think she knows he’s married?” She asked as she approaches him from behind sipping her glass of wine.
“I sure hope so” he chuckled as he watches her grip the man’s arm, laughing at his jokes from a
distance.
“Interested?” the woman asks while she continues to take small sips from her glass.
“I should be” he replied quickly as she continued to inquire. “jealous type?” “Ha, not at all” he replied, still watching her from a distance. “Then why can’t you turn and look at me?” the woman asked as she takes her final sip of white wine.
“Because, she’s absolutely beautiful.” He laughs to himself before turning towards the softspoken voice that has so many questions.

Putting on a fake smile and jokingly introducing himself “Hank, the master of answers, the husband of said beauty” he extended his hand awkwardly before remembering the drinks in his hand. She smiled cutely as she introduced herself “Alice, the queen of questions, wife of the man laughing” she smiled wittingly.
“Oh!” hank acknowledged with raised eyebrows and a scheming expression. “Well Alice, my lady” he extends his arm “shall we go and see what our better halves find so funny” he expressed in an exaggerated tone.
“Two seconds” she replied, pointing at her empty glass before quickly turning around and hurried out the door towards the bar. Hank standing there, arm awkwardly still hooked, holding two drinks and looking onto his wife in the distance, sharing laughter, an expression he had missed seeing in her for so long.

Alice scurried back towards hank with a fresh drink in her hand and chuckled at the sight of hank waiting for her. He looks back Alice and smiles in a goofy expression as she hooks her arm into his and they begin skipping humorously towards their partners.

As Hank and Alice approached their partners, Hank’s wife immediately let go of her friends arm and reaches towards hank “Hey baby! This is my co-worker; he helps me out a lot around the office!” She exclaimed excitingly. “Nice to meet you, Hank!” he reaches out his hand towards hank before continuing to say “I heard so much about you! All great things so don’t worry!” the man laughed to himself while hank handed his wife her glass of wine.
“Oh I am so, so flattered” Hank said jokingly as he extended his hand back towards the man.
“Your name? “Hank adds moments before their hands touch.
“Russell” he replied
“Oh yes! Russell!” Hank paused jokingly, raising his eyebrow humorously before sarcastically adding “I have never heard of you at all” Hank chuckled to himself while reassuring Russell that he was only kidding.
“I see you already met my wife” Russell pointing towards Alice.
“Alice, have you met Becca?” Russell asked before taking a sip of his beer.
“My pleasure Becca” Alice acknowledging Becca before asking “We couldn’t help but notice all the laughter from across the hall.”

Russell begins to tell the story, but all sounds fell silent as Hank looked at his wife, staring intently in awe at her co-worker, lingering on every word that he said, watching her in slow motion slapping his shoulder flirtishly while laughing, again, as if time stood still and pieces of his heart begin breaking off.

“Hank, what do you do for a living.” Hank snaps out of his hypnotic trance and sarcastically answers with great humor “I’m a servant of words, a story teller of such a profession as old as the bible, one would call me ..” Hank says in a lavishing tone and taking a swig of his drink before being interrupted by Becca
“A writer!, hanks a writer” taking back by her response, he tones down his theatrics, coughs and quietly replies “a writer”

Becca quickly shifts her body away from Hank and continues her conversation with Russell. Hank stood there, alienated and confused but stunned by her beauty. Reliving old thoughts of how he uses to
make her smile, make her laugh and remembering the feeling of her touch on his shoulder. Hank stood in
silence, living in the past until Alice stood in his view and inquired
“A writer, what have you written?” Hank taking a sip of his whiskey before humorously replying “words, mostly, sometimes I use numbers if the story really calls for it” he smiles as she rolled her eyes from his answer.

The two strike up a conversation about literature, art and dreams from a youthful time. Until Alice noticed that Hank couldn’t help but be distracted by Becca and she finally confronted him
“Hank” she said softly as she places one hand on his “It bothers you how happy he makes her doesn’t it?” Hank pauses for a moment before jokingly replying “Who? The old lady over in the corner? “Pointing to an elderly woman doing the twist by herself.

“Hank” she continues softly “You must have a real answer somewhere” she looks at him intently as she
continues to add “The work you shown me tonight, your words, are so hauntingly beautiful, romantic, aspiring even. Can’t you express that vocally?” Hank shifts his eyes from his third drink up towards Alice “I’m scared to” he said hesitantly. His eyes begin to tear up as he continued “What if, what if it’s too late, I made one too many jokes or one too many accusations” Hank takes a sip of his drink, predicting her answer.

She stared deeply in his eyes, feeling the pain that he expressed “It’s okay, its okay to be vulnerable, that’s who you are, a hopeless romantic” she smiled kindly still holding onto his hand. Alice had a mischievous look on her face before asking “What if..” She pauses before continuing, gliding her finger tips against her lips. “what if I be the bad guy here?”
confused, Hank asks her “What do you mean? you wanna rob a bank or something?” Alice grins as she adds “Want to know if she still cares about you?” she quickly glances at her husband and Becca still chatting, trying to gain their attention.

Hank raises his eyebrow as she leans in close only for hank to turn away before their lips touched. she gave out a quiet sigh and softly whispers in his ear “I was hoping you’d do that” she gives him a kiss on his cheek and softly adds “Be the hopeless romantic, not the comedian”

“What the fuck!“ Becca expressed furiously as she grabbed onto Alice arm and yanking her away from hank. “Alice! I know about the divorce but that gives you no right!” Becca snapped in pure anger. Alice calmingly responds “calm down Becca, it was the wine, not me” adding apologetically
“I seen you with my husband and I thought you two were the same” Alice shrugged while rolling her eyes. Becca quipped back. Becca gave a stern gaze, a swirling expression of anger and sadness as she announced that they were leaving. Becca grabs hanks hand and begins to storm out of the ballroom. Hank looks back at Alice, standing there next to her husband with his head hanging low and avoiding any eye contact. she smiles, bites her lower lip and gives him a wink as Hank whispers “Thank you”.


As Becca holds Hank’s hand, crossing the ballroom, an old familiar song plays in the background that makes him stop in his tracks. “Hank! We’re leaving, come on” Becca tugs on his hand but he pulls her in close onto the dance floor, wrapping his arm around the small of her back, taking his hand through her hair and leaning his forehead onto hers. He slowly waltzes around in circles, holding her close as she confusingly whispers, “What are you doing?” he softly hushed her question and holds her tightly for a few minutes before pulling away from her face, looking into her beautiful brown eyes, he whispers, “I love you,” and seals it with a kiss.
He takes her head and rest it on his shoulder as they dance in circles to the familiar tune of Charles Bradley. Her heart and his, beating in union and as if time had frozen once more that night, the moment was seized and the love rekindled.

The End
Lucas Durelle

Him: A short story By Lucas Durelle

The wind blows in the late autumn air as stoops are filled with decorations of pumpkins, scarecrows and
items of harvesting. As the scattered leaves sweep over the concrete of the ground by the shady oak trees
that are perfectly spaced-out on the busy street, a pathway guides along a wide variety of clothing shop,
grocery store, artisan crafts and one locally known coffee shop that had the best americano one’s tongue will ever taste.

As the door opens to the Coffee shop and the autumn foliage blows into the dimly lit store front, the sound of soft blues music is played over the aroma of fresh ground coffee beans. Dark stained chairs occupy the hardwood floor, the walls filled with coffee memorabilia and fine aged books that sat in mahogany bookcases. The coffee shop was vibrant but with hints of aged wood, the soft chatter of its patrons was all he could hear as he turned his coat up on his neck as he felt the cool breeze of the door being opened behind him.

He sat in front of a blank page, on a laptop that was older than he was and could barely load his writing
software. A steaming fresh americano sat to the right of him, waiting patiently to be devoured with enjoyment. His earphones plugged in, listening to a playlist that labelled “inspiration” he stared into the void that was an empty notepad, vibing to the soft swing of the guitar being played in his ears.
He looked around the coffee shop for inspiration, checking out couples talking, friends arguing and laughing and loners being lonesome. He made eye contact with a woman who sat in the corner, her eyes vibrant blue as she looks up over her coffee mug. He pauses, smiles and raises his eyebrows in curiosity, anticipating her response to the acknowledging eye contact, the moment felt like an eternity. She caught his glimpse, rolled her vibrant blue eyes in an exhausting expression and turned her body away from his. Smiling to himself, he shook his head in defeat and return to the empty white void of his screen that shined brighter than the sun in the month of march along the beaches of Costa Rica.

Flipping his phone over, he double touches the screen to check his notifications. Nothing new but one unopened message sent weeks prior. Twitching his mouth back and forth in contemplation, he unlocks his
phone and hovers his thumb over the unopened message. Placing his phone back down and taking one more glance around the crowded café, taking his cup in his hand, sipping slowly on that delicious americano. He watches a couple on the other side of the room, holding hands, smiling brightly and sharing in a laugh, the glitter in their eyes lit up the small space between them as they flirt back and forth. He watched, reminiscing on the love he once felt, the warmth that would blanket him from the cold of society, the soft touch of her fingertips dancing on the back of his hand when they once sat across from each other and the floating feeling of getting lost in her eyes as she stared back at him intently. His gaze was broken when a patron bumped into his shoulder, spilling his coffee onto his lap, looking down at the mess of his pants, he quickly looked back at the flirting couple only to discover they had left in that mere moment. Turning back to the void of his screen, he finishes what’s left of his coffee that didn’t spill onto his lap and places the cup back onto the table in front of him. Looking at his phone, he turns his gaze back to the screen of his laptop and feels defeated. He closes his computer, packs up his gear and walks away from the table.


On his way out the door, making his way through the crowd of people sipping their coffee, playing board
games and sharing life, he glances down and notices the wet stain on his pants from the spilled coffee, he
quickly exits the building, embarrassed.
Outside, standing on the busy corner of the coffee shop, the sunset starts to settle into the distance,
contemplating on where to go next. He chooses to go two blocks around the corner of the busy street to a well-known whiskey bar, a speak easy where creative people like himself like to gather. Entering the building, he approaches the bar and orders a double bourbon with a splash of cola on ice. Looking around for a corner to sit, he makes his way to an empty table that sits close to the furthest wall of the bar. Waiting for the ice to water down his drink, he dug out his laptop and opened it to the white void that follows him like a shadow in the midst of the day. Unsheathing his phone from his pocket he places it next to him and scans the room for inspiration. He watched as artists sketched, poets rhymed, and conversationalists talked about the potency of different whiskey brands and their makers. The sounds of modern folk music played softly in the air as words floated between the groups.

Finally taking a sip of his chilled bourbon and cola, a warm tingle ran down his spine, a sense of relief from the first sip of his drink, he turned towards his laptop, his drink placed next to him, he rest his arms on the edge of the table and danced the tips of his fingers along the keys of his laptop without firmly pressing, almost in a playful way, a mockery of how he typed previously. Taking the half-filled glass in his hand, he takes a couple more sips and glances over the brim. His eyes shift towards his phone, he takes his other hand and unlocks the screen, hovering his thumb over the unread message, taking his final gulp of his drink, he slowly lowers his thumb and opens the message and hesitantly reads in silence.

Hey,
This is never easy and to be truthful, I never thought it would be. The life we share, the life we were going to make was one pure and beautiful, the thought of you and I together would outshine all darkness that would ever try to cloud the love we share. The way your hands held mine, how your eyes stole my breath and the warmth of your heart was a fire that could not be contained…at least it use to be that way, I really thought our love could shine through the darkest days, but those days grew darker and the light in your eyes faded with every drink you would take until all glimmer of hope was gone, the love in your eyes drowned by a river of bourbon and you sank to the bottom and I reached! I reached so deep, but you would never grab my hand! Why didn’t you grab my hand? Was I not worth swimming for? You use to sing and laugh, smile and live but what disappointed me the most was that you stopped writing. What happened to my writer? Where is he? If you find him, let me know. Let me know if he finds his smile, if his eyes can light up a room and if he can write something so profound that it makes him cry.
I need you to find him.
Love,
Her.

Tears escaped his eyes as he read the message over and over, hearing her voice reading softly in his mind,
catching his breath and wiping the tears away on his sleeve. he glanced over at the whiskey glass, now empty shaking his head in disbelief as he pushes the glass away from him. He places his phone carefully next to his laptop and shifts his eyes over at the blank screen ahead of him. He gently placed his fingertips onto the keys and took a deep breath, he takes another glance at the message and as the memories flood his mind, his heart beats rapidly and the fire lights up in his eyes. Finally.


“Him”
A short story
Written By
Lucas Durelle

If you call, I will Answer

“I think I’m getting to the point where I can be myself again” he says to her as he looks up from the side of the bed, replaying the argument over and over in his head.

The pain, the sadness, the desperation of trying to rekindle a relationship that was once strong enough to withstand all storms.

His pleading voice falling on deaf ears as he watches her pack up her things and head for the door. Unable to move, frozen in fear, he lets out a single sentence before she walks out and says.

“If you call, I will Answer”

She paused in the doorway, leaning her head against the frame. she closes her eyes as memories of a life full of love washed over her eyes, like an old time movie reel, flashing over tears.

The moment last forever as he watches her.

The game of who loves more than who.

A romantic disaster.

in that moment, out of anger and fear he said under his breath ” you think, it’s only fair to do what best for you and you alone!

The flashback sizzles out and fades as she turns around with a furious look on her face, bags dropped by her feet as she storms back into the room.

The raised voice echoed throughout the apartment.

I’m warning you, don’t ever do, those crazy messed up things that you do, if you ever do, I promise you, ill be the first to crucify you, now its time to prove that you come back here to rebuild.

Rebuild? He asked with a relieving smile

Rebuild. She said confidently.

Rebuild, he said under his breath as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Rebuild.

impromptu story while listening to “If you call, I will Answer” By Barenaked Ladies

Lucas Durelle

Shine A Light – A Short Story – Part 1

As he stood on the edge of the beach, watching the sunset as the cool, gentle breeze caressing his skin as the gentle ripples danced in the water. He reflected back onto his life as if he was watching old family movies on an aged VHS player.

He slowly inhales on a cigarette as he stares at the white filter, burning away slowly. Shaking his head as he drops it between his fingers, crushing and extinguishing the smoke with his sandals. He slowly sits down on the warm, coarse sand as he sinks his toes into the shifted earth. Staring at the sun as it lowers beyond the clouds, he cries knowing that there were only a handful amount of sunsets he is able to watch, he knows his time on earth is coming to an end, he knows he is dying.

Greg was like any other common man, short, stocky, fatish with a thinly combed mustache over his upper lip, bottle size glasses and a receding hairline. Married to a women who took him for granted and worked 9 to 5 for a company that didn’t appreciate his time and effort, in a little cubicle that was smaller than others around him. Working for a man who belittles his employees and makes obnoxious jokes. Everything was normal until earlier on that week when his doctor asked him to come and visit him.

“Thanks for coming in, I have the results back from your latest blood test” the doctor proclaimed in a monotone voice. Greg sat quietly and nervous, as he sat there patiently waiting for the results, nervously tapping his fingers on his lap.

“I’m sorry sir, but you have inoperable cancer” the doctor went into details but nothing was heard by Greg, as if time itself stood still, Greg sat there in silence. A blank stare fell on his face as he reflected on the news he had just heard. His wife began sobbing uncontrollably as Greg quickly shifted his gaze onto her. He quickly remembered that over the course of 6 months ago, he found her in the arms of another man and quickly remembered her excuse of how she didn’t remember how it happened. Staring at her as her mascara runs, she grabs his hand and the reflection of her wedding band glared in his eyes as he sat there in silence, still reflecting on the news.

“Greg?, Greg!” she said sternly as Greg slowly comes back to reality and looks at his Doctor and says “I have to go!” Greg rushes out of the office, down the corridor and out to the parking lot and made his way to his car. He sat in the warm, sun-soaked car as he fumbles with the AC. “Piece of shit!” He exclaims as he pounds his fist on the dashboard and lays his head on the steering wheel. He stares at his feet, noticing one of his shoe laces had snapped off and broke.

His wife quickly enters the vehicle and consoles him with open arms and hugs, he doesn’t feel anything. He shifts his eyes towards her and broodingly shakes his head as he puts the car into drive and heads his way back home in silence.

As he sits down in his favorite chair, kicks his feet up, his wife walks into the room. “Do you have anything you want to talk about?” she questions Greg. “No” he simply said as he turns his gaze onto the television. Flabbergasted, his wife stood there in a puzzled state with her hands on her hips. She stood in silence and stared at him in disbelief. “I need to get out, I need some fresh air” she proclaimed as Greg sat there in silence, ignoring her. “Do you need anything?” She asked once more. “No!” he said once again in a dismissive tone. Shaking her head, she grabs the keys and storms out the door. Greg sits there in silence, staring at the TV and reflects on the day.

As hours passed by and the night moon rises, Greg sat there flicking back and forth between channels until he heard the sound of sweetness come across the TV screen. The sound of a booming piano accompanied with slow swinging violas and echoing harps. He listened and watch the orchestra play beautifully as if the players knew of his pain and sorrow. He cried as he stared off at the moon light, burying his head in his hands as he sobs harder and harder, barely able to catch his breath, he falls from his chair and lies on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably to the sweet sound of slow classical music.

When the thunderous boom of the drums kicked into a swifter and uplifting pace, he slowly raised his head from his hands and looked up to the sky through his narrow window. On his hands and knees, he begged for mercy, crying out to god that he wants to live, that he wants to grow old, he begged and begged but god did not listen, no one did and it wasn’t until the lull, silent part of the song that he began to realize, that nothing can save him, that he is hopeless. The sound of booming drums picked up louder and louder through the TV. He became angry and angrier to the point of blinding rage when he finally let out a scream, proclaiming “Fine!! I don’t need your help! who the fuck have you ever helped anyways?” he roared throughout the house, cursing the sun and the moon, cursing god, cursing the world.

He picks himself up from the ground, wipes off his knees and put his hands in a fist and stared at the blank wall in front of him. He draws back his arm and releases and swings at the wall in a fit of rage, smashing through the wallpaper and thin drywall. He pulls his hand out and swung for a second time, making a second hole in the wall. As he begins to release a fury of angered punches against the crumbling wall, his hands become swollen and bloodied. He screams in pain “Ah!!” as he quickly turns around grabbing the lamp from the table and throwing it down the hallway.

He makes his way to the kitchen and opens the cabinet door, grabbing the plates and dishes and throwing them against the wall. Plate after plate, glass after glass until the floor was covered in a layer of nothing but ceramic and shattered glass.

Kicking the debris with his foot, he over hears the couple next door yelling at each other, looking out the window, he witnesses his neighbor violently striking the wife and watches as she falls to the ground.

As he quickly made his way through the rubble and down the hallway, he flung open the front door, he ran across the yard and through the thicket of the bush. He emerged in front of the angered husband and distraught wife. “Greg, get out of here!” she pleaded to him with tear-soaked eyes that were wrapped in bruises. The husband rushed over to Greg and stared him in the eyes “The women said leave bud!” as the neighbor shoves Greg across the yard.

Greg smiles as he looks down at his chest where he was pushed, locks eyes with the neighbor and as if time stood still, Greg released a crushing right hook against the temple of his attacker. Greg began swinging left, right than left then right then left and left again and followed by an uppercut and in a ball of rage Greg unleashed the final blow knocking the neighbor onto the grass. Staring at his hands in disbelief, he looks at the man lying on the ground in the cold, damp grass, motionless. Greg looks at the women and said in a cool manner “Check to see if he’s breathing, if he is, don’t ever let him do that to you again, if he’s not”, Greg pauses then states “than you’re welcome” Greg walked away, went into his house with his chest puffed out, walked up to his bedroom, took two shots of whiskey than went to bed.

It wasn’t long until he heard a shrieking scream come from the kitchen, Greg sat up in horror and made his way downstairs to find his wife, once again sobbing as she looked at the rubble around her. “What happened Greg!” she screamed across the room, panicked and waving her arms. Greg looks up at her and said with a smile “I hated those dishes” as he turns away, she screams at him one more time until he quickly turned around and snapped back “I’m going to bed!, I had a rough day, goodnight!” leaving her in a sudden shock of disbelief. She gasps as she stares at the floor covered in ceramic rubble and shattered glass. Greg walks up the narrowing stairs, lays his head down on his pillow and chuckled to himself until he fell asleep.

By Lucas Durelle