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James Sunderland by Manna

I woke up tired at 2PM, sitting up and curling my back to set my elbows on my knees and rub my turning face. She was a splay of odd angles behind me, the blanket wrapped around her leg and curling open over her foot. When I got up she didn't stir but stayed there still with her brows furrowed and matted hair like a wreath around her face.

The faded sun painted my apartment grey through a blanket of clouds. I poured myself a glass of whisky and it became the only colour in the room, sipping at it sparsely as I stood on the balcony and stared at rows of old buildings. Graffiti too was faded on the old brickwork and cracked windows need repairing. A couple was fighting near a window across the street, her voice a mumble as her shadow on the curtain shoves at him away.

She stepped into my kitchen barefoot, her eyes a faded red and T-shirt bagging over her bare legs. Sleepily she grabbed a pack of cigarettes from my jacket on the floor, lighting up over my sink with her stiff pressed hair hiding her face and knees twitching. We stood on the balcony together leaning into the rail, her with cigarette between two fingers and sipping at its faded warmth. "I had the dream again last night" she said, breathing out a long trail of smoke. The couple behind the curtain were still fighting and I could hear her frustrated.

I leaned farther out on my elbows, looking out over the buildings. Two seagulls were flying and calling out to one another, their faded cries carried to us. A car drove by beneath us. I turned to her and said "yeah?"

She hunched into herself, her shoulders coming together and taking one last drag before standing up and stepping inside; "Never mind."

I stood outside still and sipped at my drink squinting. Someone was standing on a roof somewhere but they were too far out to see. He waved his arms in the distance and called out to a friend. When I went back inside she was gone.

We had reservations tonight for dinner at 6:30, but she was late. When I got there it was raining and I had to run from my car. The room was filled with mumbling and faded candles, sitting alone at my reservation. A woman nearby was talking loudly and it was oppressive, "It was just so dreadful how he stood there".

I stepped out for a smoke. The rain was heavy so I stood huddled in the awning with the no-smoking sign. The air was thick and humid, the rain drumming the pavement so hard it misted and crept up my legs and rested on my lungs. Someone ran by with the nape of their coat pulled over their head. An elderly couple with their arms linked beneath a black umbrella walked into the building. As she passed the woman gave me a look with the corners of her mouth pulled up.

I blew smoke into the rain, setting it into the windless downpour. The drumming was like static, deep and impenetrable as I stared into the mist. I noticed the strangest thing squinting, shapes beginning to form in the curls of smoke, curving shapes that snaked into fingers intertwined. I peered deeper into this ink with furrowed brows and the smoke tight between my fingers, pressed as a clock somewhere struck 7. I squinted, eyes dilating as faded hands took form within the shapes and stretched as if to grab at my arms and touch my flesh, slinking out from there as I stood motionless.

One set its hand on my shoulder, so many creeping out to find me.

"Excuse me sir" a waiter said, turning me around. "There's no smoking within 20 feet of the door."

I stamped out my cigarette and went back inside.

James Sunderland

Manna

First person tone piece exploring the colour grey

Submission Information

Views:
419
Comments:
2
Favorites:
1
Rating:
General
Category:
Literary / Story

Comments

  • Link

    Ah! I read this aloud and it just slips off the tongue like silvery pearls. This was a really great read :3

    • Link

      thanks <3