Wrong room

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Frost on the Window by Robert Strong Woodward

In front of her was a door, and like most doors, this one also required her to enter. There was nothing necessarily dangerous on the other side — only people, but she didn’t find any comfort even in that thought.

When she entered, her eyes settled on the empty spaces and on the corners of the room seen from her point of view. She craved to settle in on one of the cracks between the spaces and just blend in. In those cracks, she could be herself, even when inside a large room full of strangers.

But where does she go? How does her feet begin to walk towards those cracks?

Well, she had to endure five minutes. Five minutes of searching the crowd. Five minutes of vacancy and sweaty palms. Five minutes of faltered smiles and clumsy tiptoes. Five minutes of not knowing what to do.

Knowing that she could not stand by the doorway for too long, she began to walk towards one of the spaces. However, she stopped herself short at the sight of a window on the far left.

She loved windows. Windows have offered a world of excitement and imagination to her ever since she knew windows existed. They opened and allowed warm wind to caress her. They empowered her to daydream at night and sleep during day.

There came a time when she had a season for windows. It was the season when she felt as if there were always waves crashing against her feet. It was a season where she had a place to be in. And given any opportunity, she always wanted to recreate those moments.

With newfound motivation and certainty, she changed gears – from empty spaces to familiar windows. Her five minutes were now reduced to two. She still had to pass by the crowd but her eyes were set. It was getting better.

At the last minute, she felt the dark seep in through the frames of the window. The air that came with it was cold and unforgiving. Even before she could reach her intended destination, the spot where she hoped she could lose herself in was becoming lost.

Snow came pouring in, covering the window panes and glass and she stared, helplessly, as the window vanished before her eyes.

She was in the middle of the room now. Her feet were pointing towards something non-existent. Eyes were on her. They knew where she intended to go.

Willing her already pale skin to change into steel, she took a step back towards the direction she came from and pretended that she was in the wrong room.

 

 

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He remembered

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Sketch credits to: MeganzMonkeyBusiness (deviantart)

There was sudden feeling of lightness when she walked into the club. Mr. Jones was arguing with the bartender when it happened, and even he who could never hold his tongue, paused at the sudden shift of mood.

She took very little space as she entered the room and in turn, revealed very little of herself. Other than the hems of her silky sky blue dress and the tight brown curls peeking from her cloak, there was nothing much of her that was easily seen. Most of her features were also hidden by the evening, and – Mr. Jones would attest to this days later – it was as if a cloud of shadows purposely followed her so as to hide the face of the mystery woman.

However, despite being shrouded in uncertainty, her coming felt like falling into place, as if she was exactly the thing, the person, that the club never knew it needed.

A few minutes ago, Mr. Jones had been challenged to a duel. Winner takes all – that was always the case with him. But this time, his all or nothing principle had done him wrong. If he couldn’t pack the place Saturday night, he was to lose the club to Mr. Harrison – and he wasn’t even drunk when he made the bet!

He didn’t have Silvia anymore – god knows how long he put up with that woman – and she was the best goddamn entertainer in all of Steinfield. He didn’t have a magical act either. His last resort – to convince people that watching a grown man cry was worth paying for.

But then, there she was, this stranger, walking as if floating on air, taking her time, and – call it good luck, call it intuition – he had a good feeling about her.

“Silvia sent me here,” she said once he was within earshot. A few heads perked up. If Silvia sent another one of her girls to demand for more money again, they would be in for a show.

Mr. Jones suddenly doubted his senses. “Did she now?”

“Yes,” she replied, head tilted downwards. “And she told me a thing or two about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he told her.

“She told me to stay away,” she said.

He smirked. “Yet here you are.”

“Let me ask you this,” he spoke using his salesman voice. “What is it that you want?”

She stepped closer but still kept her cloak in place. “It’s not what I want. It’s what you want.”

Slowly, she took her cloak off, letting it fall on the floor. “You need me.”

Mr. Jones said this a week after the mystery woman left – that night, he did need her and he knew it the moment she walked in. He was just pretending not to so he won’t be at the shorter end of the stick. He was hoping that she needed him more, being one of those girls looking for a job at his club, singing at night so that they’d at least be useful to their families. To some extent it was true, but with how their conversation went and what happened after, the situation proved to be quite the opposite.

What happened after the woman showed her face, he had difficulty trying to describe to those who asked. She sang, he understood that much, but then she was also doing so many things – she was existing and making him realize what existence meant; she was bringing the moon closer to the earth and making the night a tad bit brighter; and she was calling his name somewhere in between the verses of her song and he, with his eyes wide, willingly gave her an answer even before she finished singing. And, even after having said all that, he often claimed not knowing what he was saying and not having described the moment enough.

His teacher would’ve been proud of him. For a man who failed his grade school English, mustering that much words meant he was seriously smitten.

(A/N: I know this is cheesy. I was watching “A Walk to Remember” with my friend the other day and I was stuck with the play scene.)