Lyla
The room is quiet. A vase of flowers sits on a table found in the corner, few days old now but it's holding up - patiently waiting for the next sprinkle of water, ray of sunshine. Chairs are scattered throughout, the aftermath of a New Year's party. Nothing can be heard but a faint pop song coming from the stereo box placed in the middle of a cabinet that's against the wall.
The beat kicks in, chords from a piano are played, an acoustic guitar is strummed.
"It's a little crazy that.."
He sits alone on the floor with his back against the couch, sweaty from the jumping and weak from the drinks. Not alcohol, but Coca-Cola. He's never been really fond of taking shots but downing a couple of Coke cans never really seemed to bother him.
Individual cans lie and are placed all around the room, most empty yet some still half-way full. He says it's okay, but he doesn't want to clean them up just yet. Maybe he'll drop it off to the bottle depot just down the street tomorrow, a dollar wouldn't hurt; if it meant ridding the area of the red and white.
The night speeds by like a flash of light illuminating a dark alleyway; the presence of company and the absence of the usual anxieties of school and work. For just a few hours, the chance to forget and leave those piles of paper on his desk in his bedroom. The basement would be his for the night.
Now, as the dust settles and the night breeze flows in through the crack of a small window, he inhales and exhales. Breathing in and out - smelling the box of unfinished Hawaiian pizza left on the floor beside him, realizing that the next time he throws a party, he'll stick to pepperoni and cheese.
His back begins to ache and so he stands up to stretch, only for a few seconds before slumping back onto the couch, just barely missing a plate of sticky rice and chicken bones. Do my friends ever clean up after themselves? He moves the plate and places it on the floor underneath him. The feeling of impatience passes as he remains grateful for their spontaneity and willingness to come despite the short notice he gave them.
A boy with long, wavy hair tied up in a bun holding a skateboard, a girl wearing a simple black mock neck with bangs covering her forehead topped off with round-rimmed glasses on her face. A friend with a contagious laugh, wearing a polo shirt swamped with miniature crocodiles that's five times bigger than his regular size. Another friend with short hair running down to just above her shoulder, sheltered by golden glasses and a smile of Sunday morning.
He could go on and on describing these people but he decides not to. Opting instead to feel the emotions that they give him. The moments of comedy and writhing on the floor because someone said something so absolutely ridiculous that it felt as if the world was turning round; whether it was a dumb statement or an intended joke, he lived for these small glimpses of happiness. Fragments of a heaven that he witnessed take place in his small, cramped basement. Where the vase of flowers remains untouched in the corner, a painting of a ship at sea hangs on the wall opposite, a table flanked by chairs from Ikea.
The room is empty but it feels whole.
No more fractures of sadness, injuries of doubt, headaches of fear; all of which are replaced by the laughter that fills the room and echoes throughout the night. Bathing the room in love and showering it with blessings unseen to the eye but felt by his heart.
"Can't wait to see what happens next.."
The song, still playing from the radio, reverberates through the crevices and cracks of his uncertainty. Each lyric sung a ray of sunshine piercing through the clouds of an overcast sky, streetlights lighting up the path as the sky turns dark.
He realizes he is not alone.
"Hey um, I think I might pass out here for the night, just letting you know," a voice softly whispers.
"Yeah, sure," he responds jokingly.
A body is lying down on the floor, sleeping on her side; wearing black bottoms and a shirt with a massive sunflower design on the front. The room is getting colder now and so he stands up, walking over to a nearby closet and picking out a bright pink blanket that used to be his sister's - before she outgrew the colour. He lies the blanket on top of her, making sure to cover her arms and her legs so that she doesn't catch a cold. She moves around as if responding to the new source of heat, and finally settles down to the way she was found just a few minutes ago. He is relieved.
He decides not to wake her up and walks back to the dainty, brown couch just a few steps away. He collapses face first, allowing himself to be absorbed by the softness and antiquity. In this awkward position, his glasses fall onto the floor but he doesn't try to catch them; he lets them fall, making a quiet crinkling noise at its impact to the ground.
The world is blurred now but before he drifts, he catches a glimpse of the flowers. Colours of lavender and white - contained by a fragile vase.
The sight of something pink wrapping itself around a figure lying down on the floor facing the wall, a pair of glasses nearby.
The faint sound of a love song ending, and another one beginning.
https://youtu.be/---viAXSfwY
totus tuus
The beat kicks in, chords from a piano are played, an acoustic guitar is strummed.
"It's a little crazy that.."
He sits alone on the floor with his back against the couch, sweaty from the jumping and weak from the drinks. Not alcohol, but Coca-Cola. He's never been really fond of taking shots but downing a couple of Coke cans never really seemed to bother him.
Individual cans lie and are placed all around the room, most empty yet some still half-way full. He says it's okay, but he doesn't want to clean them up just yet. Maybe he'll drop it off to the bottle depot just down the street tomorrow, a dollar wouldn't hurt; if it meant ridding the area of the red and white.
The night speeds by like a flash of light illuminating a dark alleyway; the presence of company and the absence of the usual anxieties of school and work. For just a few hours, the chance to forget and leave those piles of paper on his desk in his bedroom. The basement would be his for the night.
Now, as the dust settles and the night breeze flows in through the crack of a small window, he inhales and exhales. Breathing in and out - smelling the box of unfinished Hawaiian pizza left on the floor beside him, realizing that the next time he throws a party, he'll stick to pepperoni and cheese.
His back begins to ache and so he stands up to stretch, only for a few seconds before slumping back onto the couch, just barely missing a plate of sticky rice and chicken bones. Do my friends ever clean up after themselves? He moves the plate and places it on the floor underneath him. The feeling of impatience passes as he remains grateful for their spontaneity and willingness to come despite the short notice he gave them.
A boy with long, wavy hair tied up in a bun holding a skateboard, a girl wearing a simple black mock neck with bangs covering her forehead topped off with round-rimmed glasses on her face. A friend with a contagious laugh, wearing a polo shirt swamped with miniature crocodiles that's five times bigger than his regular size. Another friend with short hair running down to just above her shoulder, sheltered by golden glasses and a smile of Sunday morning.
He could go on and on describing these people but he decides not to. Opting instead to feel the emotions that they give him. The moments of comedy and writhing on the floor because someone said something so absolutely ridiculous that it felt as if the world was turning round; whether it was a dumb statement or an intended joke, he lived for these small glimpses of happiness. Fragments of a heaven that he witnessed take place in his small, cramped basement. Where the vase of flowers remains untouched in the corner, a painting of a ship at sea hangs on the wall opposite, a table flanked by chairs from Ikea.The room is empty but it feels whole.
No more fractures of sadness, injuries of doubt, headaches of fear; all of which are replaced by the laughter that fills the room and echoes throughout the night. Bathing the room in love and showering it with blessings unseen to the eye but felt by his heart.
"Can't wait to see what happens next.."
The song, still playing from the radio, reverberates through the crevices and cracks of his uncertainty. Each lyric sung a ray of sunshine piercing through the clouds of an overcast sky, streetlights lighting up the path as the sky turns dark.
He realizes he is not alone.
"Hey um, I think I might pass out here for the night, just letting you know," a voice softly whispers.
"Yeah, sure," he responds jokingly.
A body is lying down on the floor, sleeping on her side; wearing black bottoms and a shirt with a massive sunflower design on the front. The room is getting colder now and so he stands up, walking over to a nearby closet and picking out a bright pink blanket that used to be his sister's - before she outgrew the colour. He lies the blanket on top of her, making sure to cover her arms and her legs so that she doesn't catch a cold. She moves around as if responding to the new source of heat, and finally settles down to the way she was found just a few minutes ago. He is relieved.
He decides not to wake her up and walks back to the dainty, brown couch just a few steps away. He collapses face first, allowing himself to be absorbed by the softness and antiquity. In this awkward position, his glasses fall onto the floor but he doesn't try to catch them; he lets them fall, making a quiet crinkling noise at its impact to the ground.
The world is blurred now but before he drifts, he catches a glimpse of the flowers. Colours of lavender and white - contained by a fragile vase.
The sight of something pink wrapping itself around a figure lying down on the floor facing the wall, a pair of glasses nearby.
The faint sound of a love song ending, and another one beginning.
https://youtu.be/---viAXSfwY
totus tuus
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