Short Stories (without happy end)

Dave

        It's dawn, and I'm walking with difficulty behind her, the ruffles of her white dress surrounding her legs in a luminous halo and the rays of the rising sun are caressing her golden locks. She seems to move easily towards the pinkish sky streaked with white stripes, while I almost have to start running. She's getting further and further ahead of me, and I can feel the sweat dripping down my forehead in long, icy drops from the fear of losing her. Just when I think I can finally reach her, she disappears and everything dissipates in a gray cloud.
        Everything is black, silent, lost.
        I stare at the ceiling, which I know by heart. It's cracked only by a single, very fine fissure, invisible to the inattentive eye. I stretch out my arm to my left and encounter nothing but the cold sheets of my much too large bed for me. No scent remains on the pillow that accompanies mine, it's all gone. I continue to stare at the ceiling, my mind blank.          When my alarm finally goes off, I sigh and go into the kitchen. I turn on the radio and immediately turn it off, everything is drawing me back to her. The music has become unbearable, it smells like our long evening dances, tastes like her sweet lips, and sounds like her crystalline laughter. But it's too late, the few words I've heard echo in my haunted skull, "I've kissed your lips and held your head / Shared your dreams and shared your bed / I know you well, I know your smell / I've been addicted to you". Stupid song. The sound of the coffee machine brings me back to reality. The acrid smell of the beverage draws me out of my solitary reverie. It's always the same refrain, just another day to face, moving on to quote them. Those morons. Anyway, they're not entirely wrong. What the fuck am I saying? Of course, they're wrong, they're even completely wrong. I sigh, closing my eyes before suddenly opening them again. I can't even close my eyes without seeing her image. I swallow my coffee while it's still hot, I want to feel it go down my throat, I want to feel that burning sensation.
        I put on my helmet and head for what has now become my only concern. I accelerate a little more, a little more every day. Adrenalin is the only thing that makes me feel alive. Alive. Why should I be? One more injustice.

        I park my bike and take a deep breath before getting off. Ezra calls out to me as soon as I enter. "What's up, buddy? There's a little Camaro waiting for you. The owner had a fender-bender. I didn't touch it, I'll let you take care of it." I answer with a simple "Okay" before putting on my overalls and taking a look at the Chevrolet.
        The cramped conditions of the room shut me in even tighter. I can imagine her hands in place of mine, helping me get dressed. I hurry out of the room before I go mad.
        Ezra was right, the front bumper's buggered, and the right front door's bodywork is completely dented and scratched. But I don't care about that, I'm more interested in the interior. Let's see what's under the hood. Nothing at first glance. Just like me, nothing visible. I hear that Ezra has put on some music, an old blues of the kind that makes you nostalgic for something you've never known. "Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by".

*          *          *

        I say goodbye to Ezra before leaving. He's a good guy, he understands quickly. He always knows how to behave. No wonder he has so many customers: he's cool with everyone and knows how to avoid conflict. Outside, the sky is gray, heavy clouds foretelling angry weather. The thunderstorm is just rumbling. I breathe in the fresh air, remembering the time a storm knocked out the electricity, forcing us to light candles and cuddle up together. I then took the opportunity to plunge my nose into her floral-scented hair, rocking her as I waited for the thunder to stop rumbling. Tonight no one will be there to rock her. Tonight I'll be alone.
        I decide to take a detour before heading home. I stray a little from the city to navigate between the fields, to crisscross the woods. The air is still humid and heavy. Small drops begin to fall and I know that a downpour is not far off. I take advantage of the clear road to accelerate again and again. My muscles are tense but I know I can go faster. The rain finally arrives. Large, violent, resounding drops crash against me and the asphalt. I finally slow down, almost to a halt, to enjoy the coolness against my body. I take off my helmet and turn my face to the heavens. My eyes are dry, yet it's as if the skies were filling them with everything they couldn't say. I can feel the angels' tears running down my cheeks, perhaps hers. I'm alone in the middle of this ocean of bitterness, lost, searching for what I can't find, chasing a ghost. I put my helmet away in my little trunk and take one last look between the clouds. I get on my bike, still roaring, the only song audible in the rain. As I accelerate, I feel the wind whipping my face, the wind and the drops under my eyelids bothering me. I close my eyes and am struck by her luminous smile, it's like a ray that comes to warm you when it's cold. I can't let the image dissipate as it becomes clearer and clearer. I stretch out my fingers, expecting her to run away again, but hers close between mine. I can't let her go. I can't let her go, I have to embrace her.