Life has completely overwhelmed me tonight. So my mind really isn't in a blogging place right now. But I really want to be consistent in updating this every night. I was looking through an old journal tonight, just a little creative outlet from a few years ago, and I stumbled upon this barely started story. I just feel like posting it just because. And since it's my blog, I can. There was no title. Just a quote and then straight into the story.
"Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life."
He sat in the dark room staring; nursing a scotch as his thoughts wandered to the gun lying on the table. The black metal popped against the white marble of the table. He took a long puff from his cigarette and asked himself: "The mouth? The temple? Straight through the heart? That's what hurts the most." He rose and stumbled across the room. On his way to the table he bumped the record player. The needle swung to life, to the record spun. Caught off guard, he ran to turn it off. The music stopped him. He slowly slunk back to the chair. His scotch replenished, he relaxed as the music filled the room:
All the boys I've known
Used to say I was made of stone
They would always leave me alone in despair
I've been on the pan
I've been called an electric fan
Told I'm even much colder than Frigidaire
"Why am I So Romantic?", he leaned against the door frame and smiled as the petite girl swung around, beyond frightened.
"Excuse me?"
"That song. Lilian Roth. 'Why am I So Romantic?' I'm sorry if I'm intruding. Its just, your door was open. And I love the song. Are you new here?"
"Yes, I just moved in. I thought I would play some music while I unpacked."
He slowly entered the room. Boxes lay scattered about. She had not made much progress in the two hours that she had been working. The record player was all that had left a box. He offered to help. Of course he did. She was cute, and he was a gentleman. She politely declined, claiming she didn't want to be a bother.
"Oh, it wouldn't be a bother at all. It really looks like you could use some help."
She stared at the boxes and felt she must concede. She smiled and nodded. He smiled back. They made their introductions. He was Erik Novak, she Carol White. She smiled again, her eyes sparkled this time. The sparkle ignited a flame in his veins. Her icy blue eyes cooled the heat.
"Well where should we start then?" he asked while removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
"Well, we could start by going through the records."
He laughed and made a quip about the records being the reason for the many boxes left unpacked.
"Yes, well, I get easily distracted" she blushed.
"That I can understand," he nodded knowingly, "I can't see a piano without touching it."
That's as far as I got. I kinda wanna finish it. Maybe I will someday.
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