Intermission - Moonlight and Razorblades

**Major assessments for the next few weeks, so updates will consist of older prose I've written.  This is something of a mood piece; certainly not comedy, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless - Jake**

He lay awake again, one more night to add to the tally.  The moonlight trickled in through the window, cautiously making its way past the frame as if it wanted not to be noticed.  It bathed all it touched in a soft blue glow, birthing ghosts in the shadows.

Spectres of the moonlight mirrored the ghosts of his memory tonight.  He rolled over, as if he could banish the spirits of his imagination by burying his head.  Into her pillow.  It still  bore the lingering scent of her perfume, her enchanting scent. It was almost like having her there again.  The awareness of her absence ran him through like a sword.  Choking back a sob, he breathed deep and surrendered to the memories.

She laughed as he wrestled her on top of him, bed sheets flying every which way.  His fingers gently made their way through her hair, and she smiled as she lay her head on his chest.  Such a radiant smile, reflected in her eyes.  God, if he could only hold on to this moment forever…

The salt in the breeze mingled with her perfume in his nostrils.  The moon mirrored itself across the black vastness of the ocean, broken by the gentle white surges of the waves.  She was pointing at the stars, making her own pictures in the night sky.  Some of them even made sense.  He pulled the blanket around them a little tighter and buried his face into her mane, whispering his love.

 

Deeper he buried his head, tighter he held the pillow, as if by squeezing hard enough he could stay forever in his memories or bring her to rest by his side.  Her scent was almost lost now, washed away with tears.  Every memory was slowly stealing away all he had left. 

Sometimes it was as if she would make argument just for something to do.  This time it was something completely trivial.  They yelled their contention, words cutting through each other like razors, tearing along emotional arteries and veins.  She screamed at him through tears and stormed out into the night.  He heard her car door slam, and the hum of its engine as she drove away.  Let her cool off a bit.  It was best that they both calmed down a while.  Already he was regretting words spoken in haste, already thinking of ways to apologise when she got back.

A knock on the door.  She must have forgotten her house keys, she did that every now and again.  As he made his way to open for her, his mind was searching for the first words, a way to let her know how much she meant, how thoughtless he had been.  Opening the door, shock and surprise at the uniforms that greeted him.  Red and blue lights broke the darkness from the driveway.  His world fell apart in that moment, crystal shattering into fragments across cold hard concrete..

Tears bathed the pillow he was buried in.  The frightened moonlight offered little comfort, choosing instead to hide itself behind some cloud.  Soon it would leave him to the mercy of the dawn, where the uncaring sun would offer no opinion.  Another day, as an indifferent world carried on without him.  Another day.  

Comments

[Coppertop]

I was never impelled to read Nicholas Sparks more than once, so I definitely believe you have a leg up on him there.

While I am relieved that this isn't auto-biographical, I am even more astounded at your ability to make it feel so real. When reading it, I actually feel as though I am in the room watching his agony, smelling what he smells, seeing the moonlight hiding in the corners, and feeling his desperation to hold on to the memories. Vivid snapshots? You have greatly succeeded in that.

Now that you have made me a junkie, have no fear. I can't help but come back to read more. Good luck on your assessments (tests?).

[Jake Mannon]

Goodness, I'm actually blushing. Having read The Notebook, that's quite a compliment!
Fortunately for myself, it's not auto-biographical. This piece actually sprung from playing with words, trying to build vivid snapshots with as few strokes of the metaphorical brush as I could. As for the inspiration, well.. as much as I love to write humour, I'm still pretty much just a hopeless romantic at heart.
Thank you, and I hope you continue to read.

[Coppertop]

I’m sorry to double post here. I’m not even sure how I managed to get to your site, but I’m glad I did. I feel compelled to let you know that I cannot get this work of art out of my head. The beauty and elegance of this love story has touched me in such a deep and profound way that I find myself unable to go more than an hour or two before I have to read it again. Addicted to mere words – how can that be?

At the risk of sounding more sappy than I already do, I am intrigued by your heart and mind. Is this auto-biographical? I have never seen a man able to feel such emotion unless he has first hand experience with it. I would liken you to an American author – Nicholas Sparks (The Notebook). Not sure if you have heard of him, but even now, I’m not sure he can hold a candle to you.

I do hope you will continue in your writings. You have an amazing talent and I feel honored to have had the pleasure of reading it.

[Coppertop]

Absolutely breath-taking...