Before we get on to the long awaited Symposium on Sunday we are going to end the working week strong with this brand new short piece from the multitalented
People who’ve been following along here for a while will recognise GK as a writer of essays, poetry and above all short fiction, so it is great to be able to showcase his work in this new STSC format.
The work speaks for itself.
So before I let you get on with enjoying this work I want to again quickly plug this weekends Symposium offering and also say that we will be skipping Monday’s post to give you a chance to digest the wide array of work that will be landing in your inbox on Sunday. Regular service will resume on Wednesday, you lucky things.
Enjoy.
~TJB
“There’s a short story I wish to write my friend,” I said to John as I got sidetracked by the bartender bringing us our drink. Two shots of whiskey, no chaser.
John noticed me staring at her, and looked at me, “Do go on and write it. Don’t tell me about it if it’s another sad story.”
The bartender chuckled. “Why say that in front of her?” I thought. She smiled at me as she watched me drink, walked away, and brought another shot.
“Well John, as my best friend, you bloody idiot, I want to tell you the story first before writing it.” John took his shot and before he could utter any words, “I’m willing to listen after I’m done with work if John won’t,” The bartender said.
“Well, my friend here believes every story needs to be sad. Are you sure you want to be sad?” John said.
“Is it always sad?”
“Yes. Sadly yes. I published FATE for him in the words whispers a sad flash piece. Also published Emelia which is quite sad as well. So I’m guessing this story he wishes to write next will be sad.”
John took the shot from her, drank it and looked at her, “It’s simple. It’ll make you sad just like it made me sad,” he said.
“That’s fine, I’m always sad,” the bartender and I uttered at the same time. We looked right at each other, “Haha,” I laughed, “I love that.”
“That’s sad!” John uttered. “Is the story a sad one?”
“Yes,” I said, “but with hope.”
“Hope?” the bartender asked.
“Yes. Hope during the sadness. I think.”
It got quiet for a bit. She left to attend to other customers while John and I talked about some of my work. From time to time, she checked up on us, said hi, and slipped shots here and there with chasers. After a long while, it died down at the bar. John left, taking with him my manuscripts for editing. She walked out of the bar counter and sat next to me, “Do you want to tell me your story now?” She asked.
Her beautiful green eyes smiled at me, however, her smile made my heart ache, “It is a sad story like John said,” I said.
She grabbed my hands, “ A sad story with hope. Tell me as you walk me to the theatre.”
“You’re coming to my play?”
“If you walk me there. I know it’s a couple blocks down.”
So I began as we walked out of the building, “The story - I dreamt about a few days ago, and I do wish to write about it so tell me if you find it to be a good story or a bad one. It is sad but I can’t NOT write what is whispered to me. At the top of the bridge, a woman, and two men stood, all prepared to commit suicide. These humans, looked down at the river - waiting. I’m sure they were waiting for someone to stop them, but no one passed by the bridge. In the middle of the three is a young boy. He’s choosing death because he found life to be quite miserable. In his thoughts are words like “No one cares when you think about it. Everyone lurks around to hurt one another. If I can kill myself and end this misery all will be well.”
The woman next to him is there because she had been raped a few weeks back while selling her body on the street. She couldn’t stop shaking while she stood there. And the third, the turd is an older man in his forties that committed adultery. I remember the dream so clearly that I can still see them standing on that bridge ready to end it all.
The young lady began to cry. The young man yells out ‘Stop Crying! If you want to cry, go home and hurt that one who hurt you.’ The older man began to laugh “‘we’re here because of our sins, why not jump while we’re here so we don’t have to go back to face the evil we have done.’”
They looked back at me and smiled. The older man before he jumped, “‘I understand your thoughts then, you think It’s my fault I’m here,’” he said. “‘I shouldn’t have hurt my wife. I should have loved her so much and kept her in my heart. I know that deep down.’” He jumped right after these words.
Seeing his struggles for life, the young folks got down from the edge and sat down. The woman continued to cry, “You don’t want to die? She heard. Her tears continued, “I don’t want to live, not anymore. I can’t change anything.”
“Scared. I’m scared too. Scared of going back to the world.”
They got up again, and looked at each other, “Don’t tell us not to jump, gaius,” they said, “What we were chasing has brought us here today, so do chase something that’s meaningful. Build your castles in the sky, where people can look up and smile. Something that brings joy, chase after that,” They laughed and jumped.
I don’t understand what that dream was all about but I do wish to write about it. Get a feel of what happened in their lives to lead them to suicide.
“I’ll see the actors here now, Will you stay to watch the play then?” I asked.
“Yes! I shall see you after, and then I will tell you my thoughts on the story.”
I watched the actors and actresses speak, dance and sing for 2 hours. Afterwards, the audience applauded. I saw tears in many eyes. Tears of joy I’m sure. Hope? Maybe.
“Was it a good story?” I asked her.
“It was sad. I just don’t understand the meaning behind it.”
“For some reason, it’s always sad. And I can’t understand what it means as well but that’s where my heart leads me and there I will lay and dream up some castles as they said.
“Will you tell me more?”
“I shall.”
I walked her to the bar where we ate pizza, listened to music, and laughed.
GREAT, great name for a story