OPERATION: WRITING RESCUE – Part 1

Back in high school, I had a Xanga account. You remember Xanga, right? The Friendster of blogging? Anyways, I has maintained something of a writer’s journal on there and never doubled back to make hard copies of my work. That is until now when I decided on a whim to try and find it again. It’s still up and running so now’s a better time than any to start cross-posting this stuff here and on my main blog, Justice ACE. Figure this may either bring back some memories or show you what my young, naive mind was like back then.

This time ’round: One of my favorite short-stories to come out of my post-high school years.Made a few revisions but it’s still the same. Enjoy!

He was half awake in the grey.

The bleak condition outside his window peaked through the open venetian blinds and shone a spotlight on the floor. The rain poured hard against the glass, drumming against it like a small snare drum-only parade.

He didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to remain in bed unconscious as long as possible. As long as he still felt “her” next to him.

He didn’t know her name, where she lived, or even what her face looked like. He could only feel the warmth against his side and outstretched right arm, smelling the faint scent of some cheap perfume. Like those of the ones that you accidentally run into a cloud of at the mall. This one smelled faintly of oranges.

Truth was that there was no girl lying next to him, just a feeling. A subconscious longing for somebody, he guessed. Had it been that long since he had a lover? He stopped thinking about it. He didn’t want to think about the science of the feeling, he just wanted to hold onto it.

He turns his head over on his pillow and felt the warmth right in his face, as if his lips were buried in her hair. The scent of oranges got stronger, he could almost taste it. They had many nights like this; was he really thinking of her? He started to think also that maybe he was sleeping with the ghost of the former owner of the house. The back of his mind joked and thought that would be “kinda hot”.

Just then, he could feel himself start to wake up. He tried to relax himself as to easily slip back to sleep but to no avail. He felt the warmth fading from him. If only there was a hand to cling to to hold her back, he thought. Anything to keep on to this moment.

It was the shrill sound of his alarm clock did him in.

He woke up in the grey, the scene of oranges fresh in his nostrils and the warmth completely gone.

Mike D.
5/6/05

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There’s more to come. Lemme know what you think!

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