Noir

Zet zowel deze aan , als deze, en geniet van het korte verhaaltje.


I am walking.


I've always been walking. Walking from, walking away. I walked my way to school and back to home where my mother had baked her special cinnamon pie. I loved her pie.
As I vaguely remember the times when I wanted to run, I decide that I should reconsider my route. The city is darker than ever. So few people, but no wonder. Here, where I walk, the streets are wet and slippery. I can feel my shoes being drenched from above and below.


This is taking too long.


The rain pours down, like the tears of a thousand Jane's. I did not mean to hurt her, but she doesn't understand. Every drop feels like a judgement from the pitch-black skies. They know who I am. Every cloud has gazed upon me walking down below and saw me for the wreckage of distrust and misconceived love I am.


I am on my way to a bar. In the bar I proposed a rendez vous with a remarkable woman. I met her the day I broke up with Jane. The woman stood at the busstop near Jane's appartment. She has almond shaped eyes, a green-grey that takes me back my first trip to the beach. Green-grey water, so cold it made my toes prickle.
She wore a bright red lipstick and a small black leather bag. She saw I was in a bad mood. We talked.


My trousers are getting soaked and I curse at the sky. I quicken by pace. How can so much water be held up in the sky? Would it matter? I can see the pink lighting of the name of the bar on the other side of the street: "Rosebud". I chuckle. I had almost forgot. What a terrible ending.


Dissapointment always walked right beside me. I never got what I wanted. When I met Jane things changed. I felt I changed.


I am just about to cross the street when a taxi speeds past. Damned idiot. You can't see a thing in the rain. Inside the bar I hang my drenched coat in a warm spot. Maybe it will be dry when I'm done here. I realize I'm not sure if I need it dry.


The woman is beautiful, I can see she did her best to present herself even more stunning than the first time I met her. Nice try. We talk. We drink spiced wine and remember the better days. God, it's been long. Every sip I take grows less and less sweet. She notices. As she tries to cheer my up, I spill my glass reaching for her hand. Couldn't have been any other way.


Jane was clumsy. Jane could make even the most trivial things a challenge. She was a challenge. I accepted her, I accepted the challenge.

As the rain trickles over the windows of this shady bar we order something with a little more sting. Life's in need of a bit more sting, we agree. As the idle talk has been washed away by the wine, our liquor flows through the subjects that hit harder to home. We get serious, we get passionate. I can see she enjoys my talk, and I would do nothing rather than keep going. I feel I'm blinking back tears. I excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

My reflection is dissapointed. Dammit Jane, what's wrong with me? I wipe my eyes dry and take a piss without shame. The alcohol has risen to my head and I can feel it pounding on my temples. I remember why I'm here. I got lucky.

As I sit down again, the woman dares me. She asks the question, I saw it coming. She looks at me with her almond shaped eyes. I can feel my toes prickle. I grab her hand. It's ok.

As the warmth of my concience dries my coat, we walk outside and take a stroll under her umbrella. My arm around her shoulder, and her arm around my waist. She smells like the white blossom of an apple tree. We talk. I notice again how stunning she is. My stomach jumps everytime she smiles.

I could be walking with her forever.