Story of a lost journalist

January 13, 2017

Every step she takes

Filed under: Fiction — Cris @ 02:46

“Shh, I think she’s up”

“The second call came?”

“No but I heard the bed sheets swish”

“Well, there’s nothing”

“Yea, she hates waking up before 10”

“Ah, here comes the second call”

“If only she spoke a little louder”

“It’s a wakeup call. What would she say anyway?”

“It could be a boyfriend”

“Or a boss”

“Why can’t we just go in and see?”

“We talked about this. She needs her privacy.”

“And the routine begins. The bathroom door opens”

“The tap water flows”

“Hey, she’s humming Hallelujah”

“Cohen? Must be still missing him. She really liked him.”

“Wonder if she liked George Michael”

“She hums through brushing her teeth. That’s gross!”

“Must be a happy day. The wakeup call must’ve brought good news”

“Ok, the bathroom door shuts. The front door opens.”

“It’s my turn to take a peek”

“Fine. Tell me what she’s wearing.”

“Navy blue shorts, a white tee and unkempt hair. Messy girl.”

“Let me take a look too.”

“Keep it down. She’ll hear us.”

“Fat chance. 6 months and she doesn’t know we exist.”

“Alright. She’s gone in.”

“Is she going to read the paper or do her workout?”

“My guess is workout. Yep, the music is on.”

“More Cohen. She likes him so much?”

“Women are emotional like that. A guy dies and she’s all over him.”

“Yea, pity.”

“Hey the next is a Tamil song. ARR”

“Must be random playlist.”

“Aww, she is singing along. I love that voice.”

“I think she’s dancing too.”

“Stupid girl. She’ll be late for work again.”

“Ah, she’s headed to the kitchen.”

“Is it coffee or tea?”

“Coffee. I saw Nescafe tins on her trash”

“Gross, man! You went through her trash?”

“It’s love, concern.”

“The girl is mine.”

“No she is mine.”

“She hasn’t played MJ for a while.”

“The girl’s got seasons. I think she’s done with the newspaper and coffee ritual.”

“What’d she have with it? Cereal or fruit?”

“Bread”

“You saw that in the trash too?”

“No, that’s my guess. It’s what I like.”

“Oh the shower is running. Guessing time. What colour will she wear?”

“Blue”

“Gray”

“Shh. She’s ready to go.”

“Hey it’s grey. My girl.”

“Hah.”

“Sigh. Nine hours. Nine long hours now.”

“Where do you think she works?”

“I don’t know. Look at her walk on the road. She’s like a walking fragrance.”

“Cheesy.”

“Don’t care.”

“Finally, I hear footsteps.”

“She’s back? It’s too early.”

“Oh darn. She’s crying.”

“What happened?”

“Hush, she’s on the phone.”

“Did she say ‘Don’t wanna do this anymore’?”

“Her job? Her boyfriend? Breakup?”

“It’s just a tiff. My girl never lets go of love so easily.”

“I suppose there won’t be TV or computer today.”

“Hope she has her dinner.”

“She’s sleeping early.”

“Wish I could be there.”

“She’ll be fine.”

“Do you think she knows we still care so much?”

“We are just dead, not absent. Did you hear that mumble?”

“ ‘Dad, mom, I miss you so much’.”

“Yep, she knows we care.”

 

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3 Comments »

  1. That was beautiful, cris.

    Comment by bobbyezhuthachan — January 13, 2017 @ 21:56 | Reply

    • Thank you so much, bobby 🙂

      Comment by Cris — January 27, 2017 @ 02:08 | Reply

  2. beautiful! : )

    Comment by iamworthatry — February 7, 2017 @ 22:02 | Reply


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