Status: finished. (:
The Letter
without
They were coming out of nowhere, and he was pulling at his hair for the next one.
A sign.
A symbol.
They had been appearing sporadically since November. It had began in Los Angeles, California, with the deposition of the letter to which he so desperately clung. He read it every night, at least twice. He had no idea why it had become his equivalent of the Bible, but he relied on it almost as much as he relied on sleep to survive, if not more. Ironically, as it was, he usually lost the latter to read the now thinning paper. There was a smudge where his thumb always sat, a wrinkle where he tugged anxiously at the corner of the second page as his eyes scanned the spidery writing.
He had seen her again, in Florida, not even a month after she had shyly passed him the envelope. Had it been a pure coincidence, an accident, or fate bringing them together again, he saw a flash of red as he scanned the crowd that night. It disappeared as soon as it came, confusing him as to whether or not it had actually been there. But as he approached the end of the catwalk, between the row of jumping teenagers, he saw her. She had a black ring-shaped bruise around her right eye, like she had just been hit by a baseball made of charcoal, and his eyes lingered on her. She simply stood there, a smile twisting at her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. He wanted to reach out to her, to touch her in some way. He had to tell her how much her letter had affected him, his thoughts, the way he saw his music. So he smiled at her as he sang, and the crowd let out a roar of approval, mistakenly thinking the smile was for them. But she knew; she bent her head, hiding beneath her curtain of fire red and biting her lip. He saw the slight shine of her hidden smile in a flash of spotlight, and then it vanished as the stage fell into darkness.
He had never been one to stay in one spot during a concert, but he found himself continuing towards the end of that stage protrusion just so he could see her. She did not jump like the rest of them. She did not clap, nor did she scream and cry. She stayed in the same spot, occasionally staggering from the force of the pushing going on around her. She sang along to herself, not for the benefit of those around her. And her eyes never left his, as if she could not look away. He would consistently catch her eye, and when he did, he nearly lost his train of thought. Out of all the people, pushing and yelling and having the time of their lives, she still managed to look the happiest without doing any of it. He dragged Ray down the catwalk with him right at the end, and Ray bent down to hand his guitar pick to her. Her eyes shone like the Christmas lights lining the stage, and she took it, as if unable to believe that it existed. And as she looked up at the two of them, he felt elated that he could bring her to smile like that.
He had really expected her to be at the meet and greet that night. He had convinced himself that she would be there, that she would shuffle in with her scuffed up shoes and her worn out shirt that said, ‘Ray Fucking Toro.’ He was going to ask her if her eye was okay. He was going to ask her why she came across the country to see them.
He really just wanted to ask about the letter.
He felt himself leaning around Mikey to look further down the line of people. He wanted to see the flash of red hair, to know for sure that he would get to speak to her. He signed papers and posed for pictures. He was cried on and hugged, hand shaken and congratulated.
She never came.
A sign.
A symbol.
They had been appearing sporadically since November. It had began in Los Angeles, California, with the deposition of the letter to which he so desperately clung. He read it every night, at least twice. He had no idea why it had become his equivalent of the Bible, but he relied on it almost as much as he relied on sleep to survive, if not more. Ironically, as it was, he usually lost the latter to read the now thinning paper. There was a smudge where his thumb always sat, a wrinkle where he tugged anxiously at the corner of the second page as his eyes scanned the spidery writing.
He had seen her again, in Florida, not even a month after she had shyly passed him the envelope. Had it been a pure coincidence, an accident, or fate bringing them together again, he saw a flash of red as he scanned the crowd that night. It disappeared as soon as it came, confusing him as to whether or not it had actually been there. But as he approached the end of the catwalk, between the row of jumping teenagers, he saw her. She had a black ring-shaped bruise around her right eye, like she had just been hit by a baseball made of charcoal, and his eyes lingered on her. She simply stood there, a smile twisting at her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. He wanted to reach out to her, to touch her in some way. He had to tell her how much her letter had affected him, his thoughts, the way he saw his music. So he smiled at her as he sang, and the crowd let out a roar of approval, mistakenly thinking the smile was for them. But she knew; she bent her head, hiding beneath her curtain of fire red and biting her lip. He saw the slight shine of her hidden smile in a flash of spotlight, and then it vanished as the stage fell into darkness.
He had never been one to stay in one spot during a concert, but he found himself continuing towards the end of that stage protrusion just so he could see her. She did not jump like the rest of them. She did not clap, nor did she scream and cry. She stayed in the same spot, occasionally staggering from the force of the pushing going on around her. She sang along to herself, not for the benefit of those around her. And her eyes never left his, as if she could not look away. He would consistently catch her eye, and when he did, he nearly lost his train of thought. Out of all the people, pushing and yelling and having the time of their lives, she still managed to look the happiest without doing any of it. He dragged Ray down the catwalk with him right at the end, and Ray bent down to hand his guitar pick to her. Her eyes shone like the Christmas lights lining the stage, and she took it, as if unable to believe that it existed. And as she looked up at the two of them, he felt elated that he could bring her to smile like that.
He had really expected her to be at the meet and greet that night. He had convinced himself that she would be there, that she would shuffle in with her scuffed up shoes and her worn out shirt that said, ‘Ray Fucking Toro.’ He was going to ask her if her eye was okay. He was going to ask her why she came across the country to see them.
He really just wanted to ask about the letter.
He felt himself leaning around Mikey to look further down the line of people. He wanted to see the flash of red hair, to know for sure that he would get to speak to her. He signed papers and posed for pictures. He was cried on and hugged, hand shaken and congratulated.
She never came.
♠ ♠ ♠
well, here's chapter two. i know this is obscure and not what i usually write, but this is just sort of unfolding in my head. comments are always appreciated. thank you. (:xx sophie.