Black Short Stories : Thunder-Struck (a Short Story)

Discussion in 'Short Stories - Authors - Writing' started by Scry'be, Jun 12, 2007.

  1. Scry'be

    Scry'be Well-Known Member MEMBER

    May 22, 2007
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    Grenique’s ‘Should I’ blared across the surround system transporting me from my living room to the waxed, wood grained floors of Conception, a local jazz club/eatery that catered to the needs of any individual seeking escape from real life for a life of ease and mellifluence through exquisite jazz, top-shelf drinks and a building full of the most beautiful people imaginable.
    My reverie is disturbed by the knocking on my door. I occupy a large and spacious loft complete with one single wall being a large window from floor to ceiling. The knocking sounds hollow…real detached...I place my glass of half-drunk merlot and quickly head to see who’s there.
    See me swinging the door open the smile plastered on my face…quickly it falls with all the speed and urgency of a mud slide in Sri Lanka; Dan’yel stands on the other side of what has now become my nightmares; his smile broadening when he see’s I’m in; his smile reaching his eyes turning on the ever present twinkle that is always evident when he’s exceedingly happy with something.
    Help me out Grenique…should I let him in? Should I just close my door?
    She never answers…nothing but the smooth instrumental between refrain and verse…he stands on the threshold of my nightmares; seeking entrance into my reality. I’m three seconds off of hurling a scream in his direction along with a carefully swung door to his face when he speaks.

    ‘I guess you forgot your manners pequeño, are you gonna let me in or what.’
    Grenique sits in the background mocking me…
    I feel
    I spent a lot of time trying to deal with you.
    I cannot take no more so I
    Closing the door good bye, good bye…
    Her lyrics weave in and out of my ears and I’m tempted…so tempted…but curiosit…ahh curiosity steps in and welcomes him into my home.
    He moves through the door seemingly floating on air leaving behind his signature sent; some wild fragrance from the jungles of Thailand, let him tell it, I’m convinced it comes from Foo Yung’s Emporium on Chance and 15th. I close the door…Grenique loops and ‘Should I’ looms in my aural’s background; I should take her advice and politely help him exit my home and resume his position as no-body in the suppressed recess of my forgotten memories. Curiosity is a *****…he smiles and speeds me on my way toward the sitting area see what he wants…see why he’s here…it’s been eight years….I know you’re dying to know…
    There he is…reclining on my chaise, his leather Easter Gutherie’d feet dangle comfortably…he’s impeccably attired in black…a French cut Giamvivvi suit and the Easter Guthrie shoes…he’s fine…I’m not dumb, but I want him…want him what?
    He smiles again, patting the space next to him. I take the chair opposite.
    He shrugs and checks a missed call; I decide to get right to the point.
    ‘And you’re here, right now because?’
    Subtle isn’t it? His face registers a bit of shock. Guess he didn’t see that one coming. Composure seems in and he flashes that smile again.
    ‘I was in the neighborhood mi precioso and decided to stop by. I’m actually here covering a story for Fashion International and checking out new styles and ideas for the House and naturally seeing I was in the old neighborhood, where we’ve had so many fond memories, I decided to stop by.’
    I forgot to mention that Dan’yel Castillo is Mexican and African American as well as a Designer of Haut Couture; not just a designer but one of three top-notch designers nationally and internationally.
    I sit back staring at him, eyes now cat like slits while sipping the still chilled merlot. I have the blessing of being a very well known and respected Stage Actor and Writer. I’m in between performances of Burton McCloy’s new play ‘On McClauglan’s Tree’ which is soon to be adapted into a movie with me as the lead…I’m doing pretty well for myself. I smile sweetly in his direction; he raises his right eyebrow suspiciously.
    ‘That’s nice D. but you don’t belong here. Any and every tie we ever had was severed eight years ago when you found it so necessary to…how shall I say it? Contribute some of you’re um…other assets to Mr. Broussard’s ‘fund.’
    In the back of mind I’m hoping mad. **** this *****…he comes back after all this time…just when I’m learning to get over his ***. There’s nothing here for him. He found it easy to **** Robert Broussard and I found it easy to **** him out of my life!
    Even at the mention of Robert’s name he grimaces.
    ‘That…was one of my biggest mistakes ever.’ He never did enjoy me bringing up that portion of our past.
    ‘look I don’t know what I’m doing here…I just know that for the last three months I’ve been assessing who I am and what I want. But most important I’ve been assessing us…and what we had.’ He gets up and paces the room.
    ‘I’m under the strong impression that I cannot live without you in my life, in short I’m certain that I love you more than I did eight years ago and I need you to compliment and complete me mi amor!’
    I’m under the impression that I’m about to faint dead away and find myself right under the impression he seems to be under. My river of words immediately dries up leaving me dry and stagnant.
    It’s at that moment that Synthia, my girlfriend walks through the door.
    ‘Hi baby I’m home finally after a grueling day of work. I see we have a guest, aren’t you going to introduce me?’
    Someone cue end of Act I and cart my prone figure off stage.

  2. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

    United States
    Mar 21, 2001
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    +4,174 / -2
    can't wait for pt 2 to this joint ......keep writting
  3. watzinaname

    watzinaname Well-Known Member MEMBER

    United States
    Oct 4, 2003
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    Talk about descript, your attention to detail is exquisite. Quite a love triangle you have brewing here. Awaiting part 2.