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A Floral Black
Chapter 1: The First Glance
THE man looked across the room, at a texture that stood out. It was a floral representation on a dull black color. It was not the nature of the café but the alienating properties of the texture's combination that made it stand out. He liked it- in an odd way, like a stress-releasing ball. He knew he was zoned out and he enjoyed the feeling of letting go. There was an uplifting hue in the way the girl shouted at him. There was a mean satisfaction in how all her attempts to get his attention were a waste. It felt like throwing your prized project into the wastebucket. scrunch scrunch
She was shaking his arm. Harder and harder. There was another distant sound. A waiter, perhaps. An angel, maybe. He drifted back to his senses- at his own slow pace. It felt like she was crying. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The noises in the room grew on him and weighed on his conscious mind. The sound of heavy sobbing, consoling words, mumbled speech and the piercing energy of the strangers. The depressive atmosphere of the café had him choking on his breath. She was pulling harder yet. Hard enough to tear the jacket. She was shaking and hitting him.
He opened his eyes against the depression and saw her smeared out face. The waiter's wasted efforts to calm her made him want to chuckle. He couldn't however. Even he knew how inappropriate that would be. It would be mean. It would be bad. But he did it. He couldn't stop himself. It felt as if he could no longer control his chuckling muscles. It was a bad reflex but he chuckled. Then, he laughed- like a ringing laugh, that rings and increases in volume till it engulfs all emotion.
Her hands dropped from the fabric of his jacket. She wobbled out of her chair and walked lifelessly out of the café- helped by the culprit waiter. Everything was silent but he couldn't contain his laugh. It ringed on and on. Then, it died out. Everybody stared at him for some time- waiting for something else. But he was back to his lifeless state and so they indulged back into their merriness, once more.
He put his hand into his pocket and watched the righteous waiter walk back towards him, in a very defined sense. Among keys and pills, his hands touched a bill. He pulled it out and held it up.
"Change is to keep." It must have been quite a bill because the waiter's spirit and determination readily flailed. The man dragged himself off the seat and tried to understand if the atmosphere around him was really draggy or it...
THE man looked across the room, at a texture that stood out. It was a floral representation on a dull black color. It was not the nature of the café but the alienating properties of the texture's combination that made it stand out. He liked it- in an odd way, like a stress-releasing ball. He knew he was zoned out and he enjoyed the feeling of letting go. There was an uplifting hue in the way the girl shouted at him. There was a mean satisfaction in how all her attempts to get his attention were a waste. It felt like throwing your prized project into the wastebucket. scrunch scrunch
She was shaking his arm. Harder and harder. There was another distant sound. A waiter, perhaps. An angel, maybe. He drifted back to his senses- at his own slow pace. It felt like she was crying. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The noises in the room grew on him and weighed on his conscious mind. The sound of heavy sobbing, consoling words, mumbled speech and the piercing energy of the strangers. The depressive atmosphere of the café had him choking on his breath. She was pulling harder yet. Hard enough to tear the jacket. She was shaking and hitting him.
He opened his eyes against the depression and saw her smeared out face. The waiter's wasted efforts to calm her made him want to chuckle. He couldn't however. Even he knew how inappropriate that would be. It would be mean. It would be bad. But he did it. He couldn't stop himself. It felt as if he could no longer control his chuckling muscles. It was a bad reflex but he chuckled. Then, he laughed- like a ringing laugh, that rings and increases in volume till it engulfs all emotion.
Her hands dropped from the fabric of his jacket. She wobbled out of her chair and walked lifelessly out of the café- helped by the culprit waiter. Everything was silent but he couldn't contain his laugh. It ringed on and on. Then, it died out. Everybody stared at him for some time- waiting for something else. But he was back to his lifeless state and so they indulged back into their merriness, once more.
He put his hand into his pocket and watched the righteous waiter walk back towards him, in a very defined sense. Among keys and pills, his hands touched a bill. He pulled it out and held it up.
"Change is to keep." It must have been quite a bill because the waiter's spirit and determination readily flailed. The man dragged himself off the seat and tried to understand if the atmosphere around him was really draggy or it...
