Le coup de grace
I
Darkness. Blurred and diaphanous darkness…without a single limit. Etoile has finished writing some while ago so she turned off her notebook with a violent hand movement. Something disturbed her night…something, something that not even she was aware of. Maybe it was because of her article for which she didn’t find a proper ending, maybe at fault was the short-story she promised and haven’t had the time to start ; maybe. However, something upset her so terribly that she could hardly hold back a frustrated scream of helplessness. There wasn’t enough time for her to get done all that she ever wanted to do – stories, articles, books. Not enough time…still…everything faded away when compared to that failed talk she had tonight. Etoile was quite aware of the fact that she took an oath to herself to be satisfied with a simple glance. An oath that wasn’t meant to be kept. Destiny was there, in front of her, ready to be challenged.
Serenity. Solitude. Her chamber was wrapped in orphic jazz notes; the same never-dying jazz which not long ago made her spine tremble with pleasure after only hearing a couple of songs, a couple of heartbeats. Etoile strongest wish was to teach her beloved to dance.
That girl was extraordinary in many ways, obviously beautiful. They met in college – in the crowded lecture room, there was this face covered in blond hair. Childlike, attractive, educated, she had in her a bit of that aristocratic attitude which was getting harder and harder to find. No! In fact…she was nothing like this. There was little reason for Etoile to fall for her, a pleasant presence but a woman that knew nothing. Her life knowledge was either a blackout, or incomplete. She lacked the ability of putting into practice all that they were learning about. What’s the use of reading philosophy when she thought of happiness as a way while counting it out as a purpose? She was dull, her beloved was dull – they never danced, never fooled around, but were never serious about each other.
However, every instant was fragmented into thousands of smaller instants and was framed into eternity when she was held by her soft and warm hands, by her clean and gentle hair…which she couldn’t breathe every night. Wondrous. Vile. A fool. She would have rather hanged out with her colleagues and friends than spending an evening with her lover. She could even have asked Etoile to join her and she would have smiled and refused – but in that smile there would have been so much affection and warmth that they would have loved each other in spite of the distance.
Her thoughts now play somewhere else, on another’s image. Her lit up thoughts which changed made her run to get her rusty phone and type with great speed a balmy and attractive text message. Then a cold one. Then an apathetic one. Finally, the sent one was both welcoming and cold – motionless and undisturbed, with a needy background which made use of arguments in favor of solving needs and problems and a cup of fresh coffee.
“…I will be waiting. Etoile”
Her breath slowed down as if the hardest part of her mission was already over; she created the calling and trusted that it would be heard. Then, after rising her eyes, she noticed the poor state in which her place was. Clothes, books and layers of dust were laying all over. While trying to remember who was in charge of cleaning, her thoughts turned back to her beloved, to Elena. Struck with guilt, she asked herself why did that girl come back to her everyday. Etoile was no such thing as a good girlfriend; what was it that made Elena preserve this relationship? “She must be lonely”, Etoile thought. “I offer her my body, she gives back her help.” But none seeks each other’s company.
Serenity. Solitude. Her chamber was wrapped in orphic jazz notes; the same never-dying jazz which not long ago made her spine tremble with pleasure after only hearing a couple of songs, a couple of heartbeats. Etoile strongest wish was to teach her beloved to dance.
That girl was extraordinary in many ways, obviously beautiful. They met in college – in the crowded lecture room, there was this face covered in blond hair. Childlike, attractive, educated, she had in her a bit of that aristocratic attitude which was getting harder and harder to find. No! In fact…she was nothing like this. There was little reason for Etoile to fall for her, a pleasant presence but a woman that knew nothing. Her life knowledge was either a blackout, or incomplete. She lacked the ability of putting into practice all that they were learning about. What’s the use of reading philosophy when she thought of happiness as a way while counting it out as a purpose? She was dull, her beloved was dull – they never danced, never fooled around, but were never serious about each other.
However, every instant was fragmented into thousands of smaller instants and was framed into eternity when she was held by her soft and warm hands, by her clean and gentle hair…which she couldn’t breathe every night. Wondrous. Vile. A fool. She would have rather hanged out with her colleagues and friends than spending an evening with her lover. She could even have asked Etoile to join her and she would have smiled and refused – but in that smile there would have been so much affection and warmth that they would have loved each other in spite of the distance.
Her thoughts now play somewhere else, on another’s image. Her lit up thoughts which changed made her run to get her rusty phone and type with great speed a balmy and attractive text message. Then a cold one. Then an apathetic one. Finally, the sent one was both welcoming and cold – motionless and undisturbed, with a needy background which made use of arguments in favor of solving needs and problems and a cup of fresh coffee.
“…I will be waiting. Etoile”
Her breath slowed down as if the hardest part of her mission was already over; she created the calling and trusted that it would be heard. Then, after rising her eyes, she noticed the poor state in which her place was. Clothes, books and layers of dust were laying all over. While trying to remember who was in charge of cleaning, her thoughts turned back to her beloved, to Elena. Struck with guilt, she asked herself why did that girl come back to her everyday. Etoile was no such thing as a good girlfriend; what was it that made Elena preserve this relationship? “She must be lonely”, Etoile thought. “I offer her my body, she gives back her help.” But none seeks each other’s company.
♠ ♠ ♠
I will post the other chapter, which was originally part of a bigger one, a bit later on. The story was first written in my native language which is Romanian. So, it'll take a while to translate it...P.S. I like it better in Romanian, but I hope you will enjoy this one as well. ^_^
Thank you! -bows-