Golden light poured from the glass windows of the café, spilling onto the cobblestone street. The walls of the building were painted a gentle green, like that of dried grass and aging leaves. The air was thick with the scent of rain, coffee, and Chanel No. 5.
The old came in quiet early mornings to enjoy a small black, before the noise and commotion of the city would wake. Children came during lunchtime to purchase pastries before their afternoon classes. And now it was evening, the time for young lovers to court between the flowers.
One man sat outside of the café during all such times: a Monsieur Jean Baudelaire, who himself did not know why he was so drawn to this place. He had no wife, no children, and no other family. He was a ghost of a man, sailing from morning to evening, lost in a colourless dream.
At age forty-two, he was a dreadful distance away from the autumn of life. Yet as he drifted to sleep each night, he'd often wonder if he would wake the next morning— or if he should. Then he'd find himself back at the café, staring into the dark brown pool in his cup.
Baudelaire had not always been this way. There was a time when he too, was lively and in warm company. In his teens he was a paper boy, beloved by the neighbourhood. In his twenties he was an aspiring writer, hungry for success and notoriety. Somewhere within this thirties, his mother and only family passed away. He had little money to his name after a decade of rejected manuscripts. It was in this dark period that he faced a most fearsome monster: nihilism.
He could not remember the exact day when he first happened upon this small café located on the cusp of the city, just as he could no longer recall the year that his mother had died. He had long felt disconnected from his past, just as he had long ago abandoned any thought of his future.
There was only this café and its people. There were only the quiet early mornings, bustling afternoons, and charming evenings. Only the rain, coffee, and Chanel No. 5.
But perhaps, that was enough reason to wake in the morning.
YOU ARE READING
2021 Writing
General FictionI've challenged myself to try and write (not every single day because I have miserably failed T_T) consistently in 2021. Hope to cultivate my craft as a writer! c :
