13th August, 2020
I find myself pacing in a dark, chilly but equally warm cave these days. With a pandemic looming overhead, I’ve had time to sit in thought for a brief moment when I was alone. This cave was boarded up from the outside and damp but it felt like home. In this cave there are many shades of navy and a galactical pool I called Milky-way. I bathed in it sometimes. It tasted sweet.
I lay flat out, limbs sprawled, unblinkingly staring at the ceiling. I marvel at the icicle-like crystal piercing downwards. I reach up.
The tip pricks me and now I’m bleeding. How does something so beautiful hurt so much?
I listen to music a lot. I waddle in thought over Lauv’s Never Not; “We were so beautiful; we were so tragic.” I disagree, I’d say we’re beautifully tragic. I met her at Brasserie O’Neil’s in Paris. I was sitting at the bar, sipping a light beer, feeling a bit despondent as yet another record label had declined signing me. Maybe my voice wasn’t good enough, I don’t know or maybe I just didn’t fit the image. Maybe I was ugly. My Chelsea boot hooked onto the little railing beneath the stool. My head hanged low over my one third finished beverage and I was about to cry.
I wasn’t one to consider drinking in despair but I was not feeling like myself that night. It was probably about ten o’clock already and I was considering leaving with my cup half empty.
“Bonsoir.” I heard a voice like silk filter through my ears. I was only slightly startled. I looked up and saw her. I took in her long blonde hair, her wispy fringe, exciting wild blue eyes, the pointed tip of her nose. She had a clearly evident bone structure and a little teeth-less smile that had a haughty confidence about it. Her pink lipstick was very mild but could yet serve as a certain aphrodisiac to any man.
Her choice of dress was very eye-catching in its sparkly presence. There were lines of glitter going upwards towards the deep, plunging neckline. The dress pulled in at her waist and was strappy at the back. To finish it, there was a bit of a ruffle at the hem of the short skirt. She payed attention to fashion. I liked that.
“Bonsoir,” I replied lazily.
Her smile faltered a little as she asked, “Ça va?”
“Très mal.”
“Well obviously, I was just trying to be polite.” She exaggerated her tone a bit and I chuckled a little. “So, what are you doing here so late on a Wednesday?” she asked.
“Mourning my career.”
“I see, well I’m just drinking.”
“There’s nothing in your hand.”
The woman reached over to the bartender, tapping his shoulder lightly. “Je voudrais un verre de vin rouge, s’il vous plait (I would like a glass of red wine, please).”
She turned back towards me.
We sat in silence for probably five seconds just staring into each other’s eyes. I saw crystals dance about in them, and suddenly I wanted to know this person.
“Who are you?” I questioned.
“Caroline.”
“Jimin.”
YOU ARE READING
House of Cards
Fiksi Penggemar"Who are you?" "Caroline." Jimin's lived a treacherous life for 3 years now under the gaze of his love. She hurts him both physically and mentally but his love still prevails. Will his house of cards come crashing down or will he pick back up the p...
