Later- Flash Fiction

randomchild

Thanks to everyone who gave me advice on my last, it was much appreciated and I will definitely take it on board. Unfortunately, I didn’t read them before I wrote this, so please don't think that I am ignoring your advice! Once again all reviews are most welcome and please check out my other works! I am going to try something different next, a bit longer and with more dialogue.

Later

By Jonathan Shortall

The black abyss of the coffee blankly returned Greg’s searching gaze. Aromas teasingly wafted upwards, promising the return of sensual experiences. Memories of unmatched joy and belonging were resurrected, yet failed to guarantee their return. As he hazily gauged the experience that was in store for him, Greg also pondered over what would occur once the cup was empty. He had been lingering on these thoughts for too long, he reflected; it was time to act, not reason. He took his first sip. The glorious taste shattered expectations, as he always new it would. Past and future melted away. Analysis of the present was revealed for the futile sham that it was. This glorious moment was all that mattered, until, at a merciful pace, it ebbed away. It was until Greg finally set down the cup, that he fully come down from the high.

His involuntary return to the tangible was marked by the waitress brushing past him, her thigh grazing his thin arm. This physical contact snapped open his eyes and he found, much to his chagrin, the same cup lying in front of him, in the same wooden, dated café. His hand carefully moved to pull some of his timidly elongated auburn hair out of his eyes, as a cursory glance of his watch told him it was nearly time to leave. A slight frown of annoyance appeared on his lightly freckled forehead. He had dawdled here long enough. Hurriedly, another sip seeped down his throat, the warmth spreading through his body, caressing every inch of his being. Traces of perspiration surfaced on his forehead. His current trademark of a black turtleneck now seemed reckless, given the overbearing weather outside and the distinct lack of air-conditioning in the outdated café. As beads of sweat began dripping down his long, gaunt face, Greg momentarily considered removing the offending garment, leaving him in only a t-shirt, but instantly dismissed it. Something so casual must be unacceptable. Everything has to be more than perfect. She has to feel the same…

A quick glance around him confirmed Greg’s foolishness. Desirably dressed girls walked past, clad in clothes that would have made him blush, had he been born a decade or two later. He undertook a deeper study of the rustic café, its constrained size allowing him to absorb everything in a few moments. One detail caught his eye, which he had not noticed before. Small birthday decorations were splashed over the counter, barely noticeable without strenuous effort. Perhaps the creator of this establishment was celebrating? However, nothing else had changed since the first time he came here, the same old faces and the same weathered oak furniture. The same coffee from the same aged cup... It seemed like once he had began frequenting here, he had imprisoned himself in a paper tunnel with no end, unwilling to break out of it, unable to reach the end of it; left impotent by his own entrapment. A never ending cycle of refills….

He glanced out the window to escape these sour thoughts, a taste his mind had been getting more and more adapted to. Though the windows were trendily thick, with a foggy glass that made them all but impenetrable, he could still make out blurred figures and hues. He could tell it was sunny outside; the beams of light that perkily shone into the café were giving evidence of a glorious day. And yet, Greg thought bitterly, I linger in this dingy place, waiting. Waiting for the light to shine on me. Waiting for the tantalizing temptress 4.35 P.M to come. Waiting for her…

“Do you want another?” The innocent question, said in a distinct slow drawl, triggered a sharp spike of fury that surged through Greg’s body, splintering his patient spirit. As he sat, still stooped over the cup, Greg’s delicate complexion suddenly darkened as his patience snapped. The bemused waitress adjusted her glasses, politely stalling for time, before daring to ask again. “Well, do you want a refill or not?” Greg slowly turned his face to look up at her. Her haggard features matched her raspy voice. The faded blond hair had been turned near white by years of chemical abuse. He stared into those greying blue eyes for a fleeting moment. Greg calmly stood up, politely declined her invitation and purposefully walked towards the door. Words, images and memories all swarmed through his conscious, a mind in flurry of activity. **** this. Why should I wait? Is she in some ****-hole like me, wasting away for a moment that may never come? Like hell she is. I have wasted enough of my life here.

He grabbed the grimy brass door handle and forcefully jerked the door open. He was greeted by a landscape of torrential rain rushing to meet the ground. He sighed as he threw his eyes down in despair. “Will I ever leave this hell?” he groaned to himself. A quick glance upwards gave him some relief; it was only a shower and would break soon enough, perhaps in minutes. Through the cover, traces of sunshine managed to find their way to Greg’s eyes. He squinted as he looked up. Yes, he thought to himself, this day will be worth the wait. The rain continued to fall as Greg closed the door and walked back to his table, a slight smirk on his face. There were worse places than here to wait out the rain…

© Jonathan Shortall 29-09-08

Matt Holck

Good concept
But the first paragraph is empty

It's like a Stephen King short story
or “Ground Hog Day” in a café.

but confusing as to whom he is waiting for
the seductive temptress or the cessation of rain

pickarooney

The piece is kind of clunky, quite laborious to read. There's a marked contrast between the detail of the description and the amount of information teased out. Like Matt, I couldn't make out who or what he was waiting for.

randomchild

I was trying to be vague with that detail, as this story is quite personal and wanted to be as unspecific as possible. As to what/who he is waiting for, that is for you to decide. To be honest, my intention when I was writing it was that that detail was less important to the story than the copyright information. I wanted to focus more on the effects of having to wait for something for what is an ardous amount of time.

Thanks for the comments!