Die Writing


Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on February 13, 2012

She stood up abruptly, tried to take a deep breath but choked on the tears. A moment’s hesitation, and then everything ended with a faded, “Goodbye.” The persistent noise of the traffic was unbearable. Her hands and lips trembled, trying to articulate something, anything, but there was nothing left. She had spent all her words, so she turned around and walked away. The heels clacked on the tiles like some old clock measuring out the rest of his damned eternity.

Where she had no more to say, he was drowning in words. The verbal vomit filled his mouth. The emotional debris flooded him, but none of it made any coherent sense. He had too much to say, and so he said nothing.

For the hundredth time, he ashes his cigarette, and the thousandth time his shaking hand picked up the coffee cup. He has lost count of how many times he looked in the cup for more coffee, but it was empty every time. The cafe would always spin, and every single time he arrived at this moment, he noticed that it was a tremendously sunny day. He had straightened out the table cloth a million times, and would do it a million times again, and every time he couldn’t get it quite straight.

Why do you keep coming back here? Why this grain of sand? Why this particular tick of the clock?

Is it truly so meaningless? Perhaps this is the point about which the whole universe turns. Perhaps the moment that door slammed shut is the instant from which all the time springs.

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