FollowingShadow

Edit: I wrote this as midnight struck on a night that hadn't been the most successful for me emotionally. This story began writing itself in my head and I knew that I had to get it out somehow, to vomit it from my brain so to speak. I always feel my sentences are small and repetitive, and my imagery common. Also, I was hoping for a bit of symbolism as well. What do you think?

In the room hazy with smoke people came and went, making swirls and eddies of bodies, blank faces rushing by and empty hellos and goodbyes shared all around. The Friday night crowd was in and the liquor flowed like a venemous river into glass after glass, down throats and past burnt lips, producing goofy smiles and drunken advances. Women had men draped on their shoulders for display and shopped around for something better. Under a grey blanket the crowd sat and talked, discussed the weather and the crops, the Gunther girl’s pregnancy and the Furlow woman’s fifth divorce. Judgement passed down the ranks from married women to single women to men to dateless men. It was a food chain where the bottom feeders were eaten alive by loneliness drowned in a bay of alcohol.

Three gentlemen in matching pinstriped suits and plain ties discriminated under their navy Stetsons.

“Finklemeyer, he’s fit to be cut loose. Been late two weeks straight and don’t work a damn after he gets there.”

Their high-end cigars were the primary tributaries to the pool of smoke above everyone’s heads. Fat guts crammed around the circular booth made for close conversation that poured out in a steady stream.

“I heard there’s some trouble at the man’s house. Wife’s been cookin’ somethin better than pie, boys!”

Potbelly laughs strained the backround banter. Under a fat leather sole crunched a peanut as greasy fingers reached for the near-empty basket in the middle of the circle. Tame grins and domestic beers hallmarked another typical night out. One flagged an overworked cute waitress and with his pudgy hand patted her rear to send her for more peanuts. The conversation continued.

“Look at that stiff over there. Sittin alone at a booth for two. See that stupid grin? What’s a dipstick like him got to grin about?”

“Betcha he’s been stood, boys. He’s so dumb he couldn’t understand it if he knew!”

Beer-nourished laughs burst out again around the circle. They all stared now, leering at a thin, blonde man whose attrativeness didn’t go past his friendly, goofy grin. Plain, cheap clothes helped him blend in with the abstract crowd. He did sit alone at a booth for two, staring off somewhere and pointedly looking past the absence in front of him. He appeared to be nursing a drink without alcohol.

“Can’t even hold his liquor! No woman, no booze, no money by the looks of him. His life’s not worth a damn! And he’s happy! Look, not a dime to his name and he’s happy as a peeping Tom in a window store!”

More laughter. One of the men pulled out a fresh cigar, checked his watch, and thought better of it. It was just about time to find a broad drunk enough to put out without complaints.

“Let’s go over and see what the hell he’s all smiles about for.”

Debilitated moves and relaxed nerves made movements slow. The target stared out the window at a sleazy motel with a neon beacon to road-weary truckers. Ignorant to the scene, he didn’t hear the heavy steps come near.

“Hey, buster! Who you waitin for?” asked a suit with a pleasant smile. A meaty hand clapped the blond man heavily on the shoulder.

“No one. Just admiring the view.” He looked up into the soused pudgy face of the sir who had intruded upon his meditation. Smoke followed his glazed stare at the blonde man’s eyes. He rubbed the sting away.

“What view? Nothin’ here to see but the bedroom your gal took her man to! Why don’t you get good and drunk. Buy you a drink, maybe some of these other girls’ll start lookin’ good.”

A smoky pause.

“No, no thanks. I’m fine. Some other time, maybe.”

A plastered amenable smile.

“Bah, no fun at all. You need somethin to put your mind off things, keep your head where it ought to be. Get laid! Do you good!” The gross man and his two heavies looked with a weighty gaze at the weaker man. His eyes flicked nervously from one to the next, unsure of what their intentions were.

The boss grunted in dismissal and stood. He indicated they were to find the women to take home and the party walked past, looking around the dizzy crowd. The blond man looked down at his drink, put his forehead in his hand and sighed, thinking over what transpired.

-----

That night he drove home and pulled into his garage. Shucking shoes, coat, and tie he marched up to his bedroom and dressed in pyjamas. A long stare he exchanged with his reflection who haggardly offered meek support in silence. Quiet purveyed the dark house except for the man’s hushed and plentiful sighs. He lay down in a bed he once shared and pulled the covers tight. Glancing at her picture and fingering the ring, he wondered what it would have been like if she had still been around to take her spot at the table across from him.

With a click, the night flooded.

Chris Miller

Hey FS,

From your preamble, I was expecting shit, not this very interesting and well written story.

Even though nothing much happens, the story held my interest to the end, and didn't disappoint. It's the characters and descritpions that did it. So easy to relate. The suits were a little stereotypic, but that is the way drunks are, and they work.

The ending is perfect, better than perfect.

Beautiful piece of work. I look forward to your next brain vomit.


Only two observations:

The 2nd sentence belongs to the next paragraph.

Lose the 2nd quiet.

__________________
the fairwriting blogs


"Almost brilliant."
My most recent peer review!

FollowingShadow

Your critique relieves me very much. I liked this piece and I didn't want to be the only one. =)

I edited my preamble because I supposed it was turning people off my work.

I meant for the drunks to be stereotypical so as to contrast with the protagonist. (He does come across as the protagonist, doesn't he?)

I made the two edits you suggested, as well.

Thanks,
-FS

Chris Miller

Yes, he definitely comes across as the protagonest. I knew that he was "you" as soon as he was introduced.

__________________
the fairwriting blogs


"Almost brilliant."
My most recent peer review!

FollowingShadow

I realize this piece is rather short. I have an urge to flesh it out a bit, an urge I will restrain for fear of tainting my mild success.

To anyone seeing this, can you suggest a better title? 'Mister Lonely' is crap IMO. I just don't know a better title because I'm not entirely sure what the reader gets out of this piece. Heh.

Cheers,
-FS