The preparation. The time. She showered. Applied make-up. Fixed her hair meticulously. She tried on three different sweaters before choosing the green one. Yes, the green one is good.
She made sure to leave early, to give herself plenty of time. Being rushed is no good. Being rushed is unsettling to the soul. Being rushed might dampen the spirit of tonight. She locked up.
She walked. The train was on time. She rode. She read as she road. She transferred. She remembered the last time. Last time was good. Large pots of hot soup. A dozen bottles of red wine. Bodies crowded into the small space. All spaces in the city are too small. The warmth of the soup and the wine and all the bodies. Good memories.
Her stop. She got off. Climbed the stairs. It’s cold! The snow still fresh. She tightens her scarf. Shoves her hat down over her ears. Pulls her mittens on. Crosses the street to the liquor store. She browses. Which bottle is right for tonight?
She paid. Walked out. No money for the homeless. Lit up. Held the cigarette in her right hand, and the bag with the wine in her left. Her purse slung over her shoulder. She trudged. Through the snow. Her boots heavy. The snow crunching. Her skin numb.
She stopped. The orange hand, the green light, cars rushing by. She waits. Looks to the right. No cars. She steps. Off the curb. Right foot in the snow. Left foot in the puddle. The wine swinging at her side. The cigarette burned almost to the filter. She watches the ground. Her boot has a leak and she wants to avoid soggy socks. The orange hand.
It rounds the corner, the headlights shine on her legs. Her head is bowed down, trying to avoid soggy socks. She gets hit.
The cigarette sails from between her fingers, lands in the snow. It goes out with a small hiss. The wine hits the ground beside her, rolls partially out of the bag. It rests beside her head. The bottle is only slightly cracked, so the liquid creeps out in a thin line. The red liquid, traveling across the white snow. The warmth oozing out, sinking into the cold.
3 comments:
I like this a lot: it's definitely a different style than you usually write in (as far as I know), and it's quite catchy. I hope it's not based on a true story!
based on a semi-true story. historical fiction perhaps?i got grossed out at the end with the oozing warmth. but then again i had my eyes covered for more than half of the last greys anatomy episode.
i thought this was a true story about you until the getting hit part and then i got scared but then realized you'd probably be unable to type a blog about it if you were hit by a car.
but i like this story a lot. true, fiction or both.
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