literature

City Lights

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lilac-heart's avatar
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Literature Text

                Sometimes, I find myself staring at the lights of the city below.  I find it rather soothing, and the dwindling traffic is my lullaby.  I notice all of the people sneaking out to escape their lives and to drown their sorrows in bars downtown.  They go to pretend they do not belong to a spouse or their monotonous day jobs at the office.  I know what that’s like, and that is why I stay in the comfort of my hotel room.

                As I see these people crossing the street or just walking through, I like to believe that I know them, that I know their backstories. 

    I watch a woman pass by.  She is wearing a red dress that barely covers her thighs.  The woman has short, blonde hair, and from what I can tell, her face is beautiful.  I can also tell that she doesn’t feel that way about herself.  She is seeking attention, and her boyfriend is cheating on her, I believe.  She wants to have fun and cheat on him as well.  It probably would dull the pain that aches her heart, and the alcohol would impair her brain from thinking about what she found this morning.  She looks like the kind that would become intimate with a female just to make everything more exciting on her part.  What a shame, I think to myself.

                I see a young gentleman, who must be no older than 25.  The man wears a red t-shirt and jacket.  His jeans are a dark wash, which compliments his pale skin tone.  He looks as though he has troubles of his own.  Perhaps he has lost a loved one.  I don’t need to look in his eyes to know that for his age, he has gone through a lot.  He could very well be an alcoholic, but not just any alcoholic; he is going to break his long streak of sobriety tonight.  He’ll probably either regret it or destroy his life.  I say a silent prayer in hopes he’ll stop himself before he wrecks his life and the vodka wipes away everything he has earned. 

                Another man chases the one wearing the jacket, and I hold my breath as I watch the two interact.  It seems as though this man has caramel skin and sleek black hair tucked neatly into a ponytail.  I can’t hear the audio, but I can tell he is pleading for the other one not to go into that bar.  I make up the conversation that they are having.

                “You know you’ll regret this.  You have a fiancée, and your mother needs you.  She’s getting older.”

                The man in the jacket comes to a halt.  “To hell with them,” I translate from his actions.  “She can find some other lover, and my mother has two other children that can care for her.”

                The man with the black hair is upset right now.  “So that’s it?  You’re going to throw your life away?”

                “Yes.”

                “You can’t do this.  I can’t let you go through this.  Not again.”

                I can see the pale man’s chest fall into a sigh.  “Fine.”

                I smile at the resolution, then turn to the last person I feel like observing.  A brunette woman crosses the street, and she looks familiar.  I can see that her large eyes are shifting, and she moves closer to the hotel I’m staying at.  She is rather slender and tall, almost as though she is a model; if she isn’t, she sure is worthy of the title.  I do not have a story for this woman, except for the fact that she is in love with a handsome gentleman and is happily married.  I see no flaws in her, and I can’t understand why. 

                I walk away from my window and pour myself a glass of wine.  I sigh and wonder what could have been.  I think about my own story, and I have to live the one that God weaves, and the one I weave for myself is insignificant.

                I was shunned by my entire family.  They hated who I was.  They hate who I am.  Everyone who knew me suddenly turned on me, and I was alone. 

                Correction: I am alone.

                I hear a knock at my door, and I flinch as it happens.  I spill a little bit of the wine on my blouse, and it bothers me.  I swear underneath my breath and set my glass of wine down.  “Just a minute,” I say before going into the bathroom.  I grab a hand towel and wet it.  Knowing it wouldn’t do me any good, I wipe my blouse and walked to the door.  As I answer it, my green eyes bulge.

                It’s her.

                “I never stopped loving you,” she tells me.

                “And you’ve never left my heart,” I reply.

                Sometimes, I find myself staring down at the city lights.  Sometimes, I like to think about things that seem like life’s mysteries.  They multiply and shine like the signs that flicker in the distance.  They attract the human eye for a reason, and sometimes, you’re the only one looking in that direction.  Perhaps, you must go out and answer that light.  Then, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find that little bit of happiness that goes along with it. 

I decided to write a short story on impulse in order to keep myself busy...
© 2014 - 2024 lilac-heart
Comments5
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razorg456's avatar
You really are gifted when it comes to writing. I actually can relate to this for I see this sort of
behavior happening around me all the time. People that really life mundane lives trying to
convince themselves that it's better than it looks, and other people looking on and wondering
to themselves why there own life isn't as exciting.

Once I started reading this, I found myself engaged into the story. That isn't easy to do with
me so that just gives your works even more credibility. You are very good and should consider
writing short stories or possibly even novels. There is something to your skill level when you
can make an non reader and avid reader.