Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Head to Head Death Match Writin'... 

One more reminder about the story contest going on currently at the forum. DEADLINE IS WEDNESDAY! The rules, for those of you who haven't ventured over to find out, are as follows:

There are a set of words. You must integrate these words into the story. Also, sometimes there's a theme. In this case, the theme is that all stories have to take place in England. The words for this round are as follows:


Story writin' is FUN! Head to Head Death Match style Story Writin' is even more so. You shall participate, if you haven't done so already. Big "ups" (as the kids say) to those who have already participated! To fill space, I will now share MY entry in this contest with you...now...

As Sergei stepped out of the jetway into the terminal, he scanned the seats for a familiar face, any face that could bring him some sort of comfort. It had been a rough flight in every sense of the word and, making matters worse for him, his thoughts had been anything but serene. She had told him when he left that she'd be right here, waiting for him. She had spoken her promise, but her eyes, he thought, told a different tale. He was fearful that, not only would she not be at the airport, but that he'd never have the pleasure of her company again. It seemed that they'd grown apart during the last few months and his having to return to Chelyabinsk to tend to the death of his mother only strained their relationship further. Certainly, it had been a bittersweet relationship at best, but he knew that he loved her. He loved her more than he could say, perhaps it was the language barrier between the two of them or perhaps it was merely Sergei's own insecurities, but he never felt that he was expressing his feelings effectively, nor was she offering him the opportunity to do so...

Standing at the baggage carousel, Sergei allowed himself to reflect on the first time that he saw her in the restaurant, so quiet, so demure. The fact that she was absolutely mutilating her lunch while she ate belied her petite stature and was instantly endearing to him. He recalled how he had offered to lay down a tarp for her and how she had smiled wryly back at him and asked him, politely, to kiss her ass. This led to their first conversation and, of course, their first date. It was no wonder why he insisted upon invoking her wrath every time he got the opportunity to do so. Seeing her get all kerfuffle, as she was apt to say that he made her, gave his heart a flutter. Simply put, she was mesmerizingly beautiful in his eyes, even when she was at her worst.

As Sergei emerged from his daydream and collected his baggage, he scanned the faces around him one more time, desperately searching for her, hoping against hope that she would, indeed, be there to comfort him and to take him home where she would rub the tension from his shoulders and listen to him ramble on about his homeland and all of the people he had seen during his trip. How strange, he thought, that he hardly missed his own mother, whom he had just buried, but that the girl who has been on his mind so much over the last few days seemed to consume his whole being, even though now it was clear that she didn't even care for him enough to keep a simple promise. Forlorn and defeated, carrying his heavy luggage and an even heavier heart, Sergei hailed a taxi and headed for his flat.

As the driver negotiated the streets of Manchester, heading toward Sergei's home in Macintosh Village, Sergei came to the realization that had never felt more alone in his life than at that moment. Like a crushing weight, the knowledge that he'd no longer have the pleasure of dancing with her, or dining with her or drifting off to sleep with her securely in his arms, made it increasingly harder to breathe. Sergei now felt trapped in a dark world, filled with despair. He had to find a way out, he thought to himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sedan pulled up to the curb outside his home. Sergei emerged and handed the driver the fare, augmented by whatever else he had on him. Cash, jewelry, credit cards, it didn't matter anymore. He'd have no need for those things where he was going anyway, he thought. On the ride up to his flat in the elevator, he planned out the whole scene. His handgun was in his top desk drawer, the bullets for that gun were in the second drawer in the kitchen and the tarp...Yes, the tarp that he'd lay out as a courtesy to whomever found him was underneath his bed. He'd enjoy his last glass of wine and pull the trigger in front of the far window, he thought, so that he could enjoy the view that she had loved so much one last time.

About this same time, a lovely young woman who had been napping at the airport rose from her seat and looked around. She had drifted off to sleep while waiting for a friend and was suddenly aware that it was well past time for his arrival. Strolling over to check the arrival screen, she saw that his plane, indeed, had arrived as scheduled but at gate 12, not at gate 4 as she had originally expected. Scurrying around the baggage claim and the taxi stand, but not finding him in either location, she decided that he had simply gone home on his own and that she should depart too. She was eager to meet up with him so she could comfort him and share the special dinner that she had prepared for the both of them. It surely would be a special night tonight, she thought to herself as she buckled herself in for the ride home...

A very special night indeed.

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