Navy and Fading (A Night To Remember)

On this rainy day, I’d like to present to you a writing segment I’ve been working on recently.  I think that this segment would be perfect to incorporate into a more complete story someday, but for know, “ain’t nobody got time fo’ dat!”

Of course, writing a fuller story would change the course of the current story as it is, but I’m willing to make changes to it later.

Anyhow:  And now!,  in an unsurprising tribute to usual morbidity!, I hope you’ll read my mind at work.  Please don’t enjoy it too, too much. (ha. haha. ha.)

“This is how it’s going to be, huh?  Forever?” She breathed out a cloud of smoke and flicked her wrist to let the ashes fall to the sidewalk curb.

Out beyond was the full moon, staring back at them in solemnity.

“I guess so… This is how we were made.  We weren’t made for the rest of this shit,” he mumbled as he gestured to the electric rush of cars beyond.  The glow highlighted the silhouettes of the closed, rickety shops just before them.

He inhaled a puff of smoke and let it whirl out in a tired haze.  Then, he fell back in surrender onto his olive green parka.  His foot found rest atop a few shards of beer bottle that he didn’t care to move.  Mm, must have been a few drunkards like me and Mags who just didn’t give a fuck.  Maybe a late-night graffiti run? That bottle would have been easily chipped and shattered, maybe with the help of the elements over time.  Or, he wagered, a reckless teenager’s car.

She sighed, wiping subtly at her nose with an oversized plaid sleeve.  With a lazy but deft sidestep, she laid down right next to him.  Her feet propped and arranged themselves atop the crumbling parking stop.  It was more comfortable that way.

The two fallen angels looked up at the starless sky. 

He took a small puff of his cigarette and then tossed the stub to the side, right by the edge of the sidewalk where his head lay.  She did the same, tossing her own stub to the right.  While they each drowned in their thoughts, the “B” in the Blockbuster sign above them flickered and went out. “locbus,” advertised the weathered letters.

“I don’t really give a fuck, and I really don’t give a fuck.  If it won’t ever change, I mean.  Ya know?” he said with a slur.

To anyone else, “it” would have been cryptic and confusing, but Maggie understood with perfect clarity.

“Yeah… Let’s just get struck by a car—or something—out here.  Ten bucks it’ll happen one of these days, if we keep this up at least.  Mm, I could- I could die right now,” she uttered as she examined her battered brass ring.  He grunted in glum acknowledgment.  Those were words that ran through his mind all too often.

It was beautifully ironic then: two minds whirring so loudly in a pristine outside world.  In fact, silence had overcome the parking lot as the only remaining car left the Marsh, signifying the last employee of the night.  He had probably rushed to head home to a lonely son, eager wife, and cold dinner.  Carson and Maggie were doing the exact opposite, avoiding their “houses but not homes.” After all, for them, that’s just what those buildings were—houses.  In the distance, the revving of a car engine buzzed through the air—then slow silence.  The last embers of each cigarette stub faded into the night around them, a night more navy than the sea. 

They couldn’t escape.  They couldn’t wrest away.  But in that moment, they were content to lie there in absolute helplessness. 

Carson’s chest took to a languorous rhythm of rising and falling.  Rising… and falling..  Rising…….. and falling… With a slight breeze to bring them the world, a few fallen leaves gently crinkled along, one landing atop his heartbeat.  The cool, crisp air tickled the hairs of their nostrils, reminding them of autumn’s caress.  It was the least Mother Nature could do. 

With the embrace of the night, the pair drifted off dreaming.  And in those dreams of theirs they found better places: places where they could be unapologetic and unafraid.  Places where the pain of their worlds could be lifted.  Places where their young, bruised shoulders could shrug it all off and take a well-needed rest for good.

… What do you think?  You may have noticed that a lot of this segment was an exercise in imagery and emotion.  I’m trying to improve those qualities of my writing, and hopefully, this turned out to be at least mildly successful.

Thanks for reading, and I’ll be updating with another post as soon as I can.



~ Ruth



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