The Tranquility Anthology

=Science Fiction=

Alex was a lovesick sci-fi writer.

It was a topic where he severely out of his own depth. Romance. Allure. Compassion. He was used to epic battles in the stars, waging wars, conflicts with which he reflected the ugly human condition. His writing used to be pessimistic. The hand of harsh reality un-gloved itself for him long ago.

That was, until, he met Arabella.

Alex had to admit she gave him something momentarily when they first met at Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino.

He'd been sitting on his own in the busy restaurant, scribbling down new ways to destroy his characters. He toyed with religious iconography as torture for his atheist protagonist, giving them the creeps everytime they walked into a church.

He'd lost his attention to a comet flying across space before his eyes locked with hers out of many. In the same breath, he crumbled completely, rose-tinted illusions creeping over his eyes.

Tonight, Alex sat in the same spot. His hand crumpled the paper it was holding, annotations and scribbly handwriting inking the page with a short-hand sonnet.

His feet kept kicking the central table leg as his heart spasmed. Arabella walked into the busy restaurant, a big fluffy cheetah print coat and an auburn seventies' head. She passed the frontman and occupied tables. His eyes trained on the golden lit figure.

He then glanced down to the paper, rehashed his lines for what seemed like the twentieth time that evening. He looked over them again, their hidden messages. Holy shit, disco lizard tongue? What the hell was he thinking?

His other hand found its fingers brushing through his long locks and scratching his beard. For a moment, it left his memory that Arabella was coming over.

"I reckon you should get around to shaving that beard of yours, Alexander," said her melodic voice from beside him. Alex shot up from his seat, meeting her intense gaze decorated in Twiggy eyeliner.

A few heads turned but Alex was busy being rendered completely speechless by his company.

That delight he'd had upon first seeing her sparked again, now grounded by their shared memories in front of silver screens. His mind's eye rewatched these scenes so vividly, he considered a quantitative easing of his thoughts. They inflated in his headspace.

He laughed, praying his voice wouldn't catch. "Forgot me shaving razor."

The corner of his mouth smirked without him intending it to. Her features made it easy for him to smile, like a cool summer breeze.

"Come on, you're telling me you wouldn't be able to find a single razor for your face on the moon?" Arabella laughed heartily, sharing his smile as she went to sit down.

Alex raced towards her side to pull out the red chair for her.

"Please-Allow me, Duchess."

But before his hands could touch the chair, Arabella stopped them with her own. They clutched his tightly. Her brilliant smile never left her expression.

"Thank you, dear. But I can pull out a chair on my own." The heat rose to Alex's cheeks.

"Right of-of course. Sorry." He began cursing to himself before the sensation of her fingers laced themselves into his own. Alex may well have died right then and there.

Keeping their eyes on each other, an unspoken force compelled him to sit down back in his own seat, their hands still firmly linked together. Arabella was the antithesis to everything he'd ever written about. She was the love he'd deserved for a very long time.