All Saints

Caprice spontané

Joseph himself wasn't looking good he had a bloody lip and bleeding fits. "Descamps watch it or I'll punch your other eye out too." The boy spat getting off the floor humiliated as his shirt was slightly ripped open a few white buttons scattered on the floor. He was clearly in no state to throw threats like that. A crowd had gathered around them filling every crevice to make sure they get to see a piece of the commotion. "Bet your mother had a hard time getting you out, you fat, bastard pig. Next time watch your mouth or I'll smash your head in further!" He shouted back but he was unable to see him as everything around him was blending and bleeding into one. The ridged lines of objects now ran over each other, overlapping. Twisting to form something different. The alcohol had finally hit his blood stream in one go.

The girl he had been talking to prior, pushed across the crowd. She reached out with her handkerchief in her hand offering it to him, probably to dab the blood of his face. He didn't even acknowledged her existence. Her caring gesture died there in front of an audience. She held the tears of humiliation in as she had been too drunk to cry. In a bitter move, he turned around the crowd parted for him like the dead sea, each whispering and staring into his battered face. He left the party and the people, walking into the streets. The warmth of the night engulfed him in one big embrace as he sauntered for one familiar street to another. The slight breeze brushed the cut on his lip making him wince in pain. His knuckles swelling enormously as his finger tips followed the brick line. The illuminating lights of streetlights making the boy squint as it stood above him like a blazing star. 

She sat over her papers rereading the same sentence over and over again yet it still made no sense. She had been studying all afternoon and the stress had taken her appetite. A small knock is heard at her door, "come in." She says not looking up from her work clearly in state of deep concentration. A heavy hand lands on her shoulder in which she recognised as her father's. She looked up to see her father and his stoic face, "get up let's go on a walk." He demanded. With a slight sigh she got up not protesting against her father's wishes. It was still warm outside even though it was nearing the end of summer. It made a pleasant night stroll, which from time to time her father on some spontaneous whim would be keen on going on a walk.

There is only a slight breeze and the sound of the stones being crushed under foot as they walk. The quiet streets of France were only lit up by street lamps and the occasional but rare pass of a cars headlights. "Summer has come to an end and soon Persephone will descended to the house of Hades." He spoke into the silence of the world reminding Dahlia of summers death and the constant change in the world. Theres a deep magic spoken into this world, written in books trying to make man comprehend the unfathomable. Etienne exists between them lucidly aware of the world yet not questioning at all. Man go mad searching for significance in life when it's too far from are reach.

They took a left and in the distance there was slumped figure which leant on to some shop wall. Its dishevelled appearance and sprawled so limp it was almost ghost like, something out of some horror novel. The stench of alcohol could be smelt off the mysterious figure in the gloom which made Dahlia more anxious. What if it reached out and attacked them savagely? In fear she grabbed her father's arm but his father kept going. Like a moth to a flame, Dahlia knew that her father would not be able to resist helping the drunkard. Etienne face looked down at the figure his hand reached to shake his body, "Dahlia it's only a boy." He states, with this some of the fear evaporated from Dahlia who now stood curiously above his father. The peculiar boy had blood dripping on to the floor staining it crimson along with a trail on his clothes. His head was bent down to the ground so they couldn't really see his face. "Hello, are you okay?" Her father inquired the boy simply nodded but his eyes were stuck on Dahlia's embroidered sock as if he had found something in them. The reeking figure of alcohol, head whipped up its one eye wide as it looked fixedly at the girl.

They had recognised each other and Etienne glanced back and forth between the pair suspiciously, "Dahlia?" Joseph spoke out incredulously as if he wasn't quite sure if it was the alcohol or truly her. He grimaced his hand going up to touch his lip soken in blood. She fished out her handkerchief and pressed it on his lip whilst grabbing his hand and placing on top for him to hold it. Her cold finger tips spreading its electricity across his hand. Her father sighs, "Unlucky night I suppose."  Etienne says patting the boys back comfortingly. "Papa this is Joseph Descamps a friend of mine. Joseph this my papa Etienne Beaufort." She introduced them once and for all. My friend, had they been friends? Joseph marvelled over the word in his mind for some reason it made him feel warm inside. "pleasure to meet you sir but I really wish I could have done it in a better state." He managed to slur out at her father. "The pleasure is all mine, I'm glad I met you no matter the circumstances, now get a up boy let's get you home." Dahlia father says his face harmonious for he was epitome of kindness. Dahlia was thankful to have such a dad to balance out the vileness of her mother. The father put an arm around him and instructed Dahlia to the same for the boy could barely walk. "Son if you need to vomit just tell us before hand." Etienne says with hopes that he would be able to keep it all in before they get him home.

They had made it to his home, it was on some quiet street tucked far in. She walks up the steps and knocks on the door. Footsteps could be heard and a woman appeared from behind the door. Her eyes darted from them all until he found Joseph's limp body, "My angel." She shouted jumping down the steps towards him. They guided the boy inside his modest home. His mother asked us to stay but Etienne declined and bid them farewell. "What a lovely boy." He said which made Dahlia break out into hysterical laughter at the irony of it all. If this was any other father he wouldn't be on the streets at this time rather tucked in front of some chair at home.

When they arrived home from their long, eventful walk. An alarmed mother was sat on the steps waiting for them, "Where have you been, I've been worried sick have you seen the time." She wagged her finger at them both as if they were a set of unruly children. "We helped a boy, a Good Samaritan quest from the Lord." He justified his late return, which made her mother smile proudly appeased with their answer. She shakes her head, "next time your on one of your spontaneous whims tell your wife." She says walking up the stairs to finally let this day end.

The next day Descamps awoke sore and nauseous in bed. He didn't know how he got here but he had the most bizarre dream. He had a terrible migraine and when he rose from bed it felt like the world was spinning around him. Despite his state he made a quick recovery thanks to his mother who had pressed a handkerchief with ice to most of the swelling and ointment on his cuts. Like that he was sent off by his fuming parents to get bread from the boulangerie a few streets down, regardless of how he felt.

He pushed the shop door and slivered in, it was quite full usual for a weekend morning. There Dahlia stood in the far corner waiting for her bread with change in her hands. She inspected the boy who made his way towards the shop counter. His lip had almost healed and the only thing left on his knuckles were purple shadows that emerged from his bandages, a reminiscence of what had happened Friday night. Dark clouds had appeared under his eyes and an irritable expression proved he was clearly hungover. It was physical proof that Dahlia did float into existence in front of him and that he had for what ever reason lunged at a boy. The baker and her exchange money for bread, she give the young baker a little curious smile. She made her way out of the shop towards her home, her brown hair in ringlets bouncing with every step. The boy looked back and watched her walk across the shop window into the world. On his way back he was riddled with thoughts and questions but mostly that he didn't want accept that maybe his dream was not a dream at all but a distant memory of the night.

Writers note
Cliché, I know. I feel as if every word and every scenario has been written and enjoyed.