[Lonely Sea]
The evening sky perfectly blended with the golden sun rays. Clouds flocked together so they wouldn't drift apart. The freshly painted white wooden fence gleamed, and the cool breeze from the sea made the heat bearable. Birds sang from trees, and dogs played on the streets. The cats laid on the rooftops where the world couldn't reach them, and the odor of the fallen petals was faint.
The roaring sound of the engine alarmed the lazy dogs. A black car cruised through the town. As the car stopped at the gate of the house at the cliff, two attendants rushed to the car. One opened the door and the other held up the umbrella.
The brown leather shoes stepped on the grass; an old man walked out of the car. He was bald at the top, the collar of his blue shirt had turned brown, and even on a hot day he wore his checkered sweater. Golden watch loose around his wrist, and a golden pair of glasses sat on his long nose. His shaky hands held onto the attendant's arm; he had an unusually wide smile on his face.
Living a life of ups and downs, he seemed to have made peace with himself —finally accepting that fate is unbothered by the ambitions of man.
The old man entered his room, and took off his sweater. He dragged the chair out and sat on it—his elbows on the table, and his face rested on his palms. His shirt was still warm with sweat as he kept staring at the horizon. When his body itched, or even when his wife called him; he did not notice.
[Few months later]
His bed was neat; the white sheet had few wrinkles. The red rug smelled like ages; the three tall sea facing windows were open, and just beside them was a wooden table. The wind carried the papers from the table onto the sea, one after the other they glided until every word got submerged. The ink did not bleed that day; the chair remained idle. It's as though the breeze from the sea missed the view of the man, on the other side of the pane.
A Man named Oliver
The first published book, of the youngest son of a wealthy family has been a huge hit in the country. Becoming an excuse for people to gather in the huge mansion and celebrate, and have a good evening. While the hall is chaotic with chatters and music, the footsteps in the above passageway is reaching to the quieter corner where a voice speaks to himself.
"Oliver— the hero … I'm a hero of this generation!" he grooms his mustache, "I'm a voice, for the unheard. The one who brings a new era, of! … ??" he mumbles to himself, giggling, pacing around the room with his hands behind his back. He swings his hand in the air, "I! could piss words— and people would kill to fill their jars!" … he sits on a chair as he looks at the garden bathing in the evening sun. He rests his chin on his knuckles; frowning, he closes his eyes—
"Yet—he ponders beside this window, hiding in the shadows of these curtains. Waiting. Hoping—for this suffocation to end… fuck, is this—misery. Am I, miserable?" he rests his head on the head rest, "aah~ an irony, why could the world not have one simple—" the door creaks open, a smooth voice calls "Oliver", his attendant stands at the door. He looks at her— her face is blank, and eyes look sharp. "Guests are waiting, hurry up".
It took more than a year for Oliver to write the book, and it took more for him to set foot back in the house.
As they walk through the passageway, Oliver stops by the railing and stares below: music playing slow as people sway to its rhythm, and no hand held an empty glass. The walls were covered by long violet curtains, with golden hems that had been there for ages with Grace. A chandelier hangs in the middle of the hall. Observing the ones below, he felt a sense of superiority.
Oliver looks back at her "Loreal, why are they celebrating what I created."
Loreal looks at the people below, "who says you are being celebrated. You are just an excuse for their celebration."
Oliver frowns as he leans on the railing; looking around.
Loreal— "how long do you plan to keep the guests waiting."
Oliver— "are they?"
Loreal sighs as she looks up at the ceiling, and murmurs, "why wont the ceiling just crush everyone". Oliver looks up at the ceiling, then glancing at Loreal he whispers, "wait just a moment. It will fall" he taps his finger on the railing- tap, tap, tap, tap. "Nothing happens. We keep waiting, and nothing really happens". Oliver giggles, "you know, what if—" Loreal pushes him, "hurry up now". Oliver fixated at the chandelier as they walk down the stairs.
Oliver looks left and right; everyone has a smile. He feels almost nervous under his proud chest, and a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. People praise him, congratulate him, and after every few steps he glances back at Loreal, and she doesn't even notice it; her eyes look at the faces Oliver can't see.
Loreal stays behind as Oliver climbs on the small stage at the canter of the hall. The lights dim, everyone fades into the background, the spotlight is on Oliver. He stretches his shoulders and with a wide smile he welcomes the guests. Right away, Loreal's ears catch whispering voices from the dark, "welcoming? Now? We should be the one welcoming the kid at this point". Oliver pours his heart into the speech, few care to listen. Loreal stands still.
"hello~" Loreal's eyes glanced to the left, with the lights dimmed all she sees is a tall silhouette next to her, then, as professional as always, "… hello" … a silence follows, a sigh from the man, he looks at Oliver, "some are gifted aren't they … lucky, fate favors them, and some, are left in the shadows", she stays quiet, then tilts her head a little, her eyes narrowed as she looks at Oliver on the stage, "yes". The man looks at her, though he can't see her face, he sees the glow in those eyes, then, before vanishing into the crowd, a silent whisper, "~Loreal …" but, she didn't hear it.
Oliver's eyes tear up as he speaks, he paces left to right on the stage. He notices his mother in the crowd, looking up at him—proud, but not satisfied. They lock eyes, Oliver takes a long breath and goes on with his speech, he avoids looking at her. His mother however, she does not take her eyes off him.
The hall is again filled with chatter and music as if the lights never dimmed. A drink in his hand, and praises in his ears. smiles and laughter surround him, and Loreal right behind him.
"Amazing book!!" "When will your new book come out", "oh- what a talent" "star of the new generation"—Star, of the new generation, that's what spins in his head now, he turns around, Loreal still standing with her sharp glare. Oliver grabs a drink from the tray and hands it to her. Her eyes widen, confused, people around him go silent. He pulls Loreal beside him, and whisper in her ear, "you always stand behind. Tonight, let's stand together" he giggles looking at her, everyone around look just as shocked as her, "!!are they in a romantic relation?" "What!! But that's a maid", Loreal freezes on the spot. Oliver looks confused as he looks around, his smile turns into disappointment; he frowns, then slamming his glass on a tray he leaves—Loreal, still with that expression, follows Oliver up the stairs; she still holds the glass of wine in her hand. As he climbs up the stairs, he glances at the people once: from afar, his mother looking at him.
[Quiet Blue by the Window]
The moonlight lit up the passageway; the cool breeze flowing from the tall windows. Away from all the suffocation they both felt, they found comfort in the company of each other's silence. Oliver leaned against the wall between two windows, staring at the floor, his arms crossed as he pondered, slow blinks and controlled breath, he looked more depressing being in the shadow.
He looked to his right, where Loreal stood still, facing him. The usual blank face.
As he looked at her, for the first time in his life, Oliver was struck by beauty that his mind failed to comprehend. He was still, his breath slipping out of his hand, and his mind completely forgot about the incident.
The glass on the sill, reflected the moonlight on her face. Her hands pressed between her thighs, her white dress had a glow and the black sleeves kept her human. She had few grey strands mingled with the perfectly braided hair. Those long lashes took their moment to blink. The sharp—piercing eyes glaring at him like always. She has a small mole below her left eye. The shadow cast by her slim nose bridge on her cheek somewhat made him jealous. The earring shined into Oliver's pupils— yet he dared not blink.
He wondered, does she feel nothing? Her breathing seems normal, is she controlling her breath? Her thin soft lips pressed against one another as he stood there frozen. Those cold eyes softened just a heart-beat, and looked at him with a tenderness of forever, before fading into the depth of her coldness.
Tonight, Oliver finally saw Loreal.