How it Begins

This is going to be a bit different than my previous blogs. But I want to keep the people on their toes. ("the people" in question: my friends that I've somehow encouraged to read the nonsense I write)

In order to feed my desire to explore as many creative endeavors as possible, I've started to write a little story over the past year. Time will tell what will become of it, but for the mean time I'm just having a bit of fun. So, without further ado, enjoy the first chapter:

★★★

I am surrounded. To my left, there is a thin break amongst the bodies crowded around me, and I am able to spot the metal railing that wraps around the rooftop terrace. The bars are slender, and the height of the railing would barely reach my chest. I am now painstakingly aware of how high up we are, and I wonder, momentarily, if this is a situation I can escape from.

It is only moments past midnight, and the space is lit dimly by a few sparsely placed lamps and the subtle glow of moonlight. The voices around me are making it hard to conjure up a single thought. I close my eyes, draw in a deep breath slowly through my nose, and hold it for what feels like ten seconds. In this time, I try to imagine what I want most. It is either a lack of certainty for my desires, or the presence of all the commotion that prevents me from coming to any conclusions. I feel eyes on me, boisterously awaiting my next move. The looming pressure, and lack of oxygen, force my eyes back open. With all of the air I had caged in, I sharply blow out through my mouth to diffuse the twenty-five candles meticulously placed on top of a white frosted cake. I crack a crooked and forced smile, and people cheer. In this moment, things almost feel nice. The kind of nice that I wish I could bottle up and save for times when things really aren't nice at all. So many people, all appearing so happy. I think to myself, I wonder how many of them are pretending.

My gaze focuses back on the cake, surrounding the Happy Birthday Sarah message, the wax of the assorted candles bleeds and seeps into the once-white frosting. The consequence from being burned ever slightly too long. I get sucked into the pools of colors at the base of the candles, they’re as formidable as they are beautiful. I continue to stare as they merge into a dull concoction, a stark contrast to their original vibrance as individuals. I’m sure others assume I am reflecting on my wish, willing it to come true. So, I continue to allow myself to satisfy my intrusive thoughts that swim with the colors.

The attention on me fades as people start to mingle. I manage to strip myself away from the puddle of colors and pick up a flute filled almost entirely with champagne. As I raise the glass to my parted lips to take a sip, I feel a hand rest on my bare shoulder. The touch is noticeably cold and wet, like it had been gripping a beverage freshly pulled from an ice chest. I flinch slightly, spilling droplets of my champagne down my chin and neck. Instinctively, and embarrassed of my clumsiness, I cover my mouth from view with one hand, while the other still holds on to what is left of my drink. I turn, to acknowledge the person attached to the cold hand that hasn’t removed itself from my shoulder. My eyes are still facing downward as I take note of the scuffed sneakers that are too casual for the occasion. They are faded shades of blue and red and are fraying at the seams; nearly resembling an old bowling shoe. My breath catches in my throat. Their familiarity alerts every nerve in my body to wake up as if one thousand alarms sounded at once. The paralyzing feeling takes over the remainder of my body as my stare travels up to his face.

His eyes lock with mine, and it takes me no time at all to identify the man that returns my gaze. He is different, the result of years passing since we have shared each other's presence, but still recognizable. The striking difference is the absence of his signature blonde buzz-cut, which has grown into a shaggy mess of brown curls hanging nearly past his eyebrows. He’s smirking, and all I can think is how no part of me feels the urge to laugh. My range of vision quickly closes in on me; I feel frozen in time. Sharp gasps let out from those nearby as my glass slips from my grasp and shatters into a million pieces on the floor. It must have appeared that I chose to mimic the candle wax the way my body became limp and melted to the ground as everything faded into pools of black.

★★★

love ya. bye. xx