DISRUPTED - One Shot Story

DISRUPTED

𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞-𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 // 𝟖:𝟏𝟕𝐚𝐦

The aroma was warm and pleasant. A hint of cinnamon drifting in the air presumably from the kitchens behind the counter of the quaint café that had become my recent regular. It sat tucked away on a side street that captured the morning sunlight perfectly, allowing the stained-glass windows to paint dancing colours on the walls within the café. From my seat in the comforting Parisian-styled booth, I could peer out the front door and see the calm ocean at the end of the street. People breezed by on their bikes, and I felt my thoughts drift from the work on my laptop that had been occupying my morning to imagining what the passerbyers days held for them. Were they off to work? Or rather venturing to see a lover?

The idle daydreaming distracted me until a hoard of people dashed past the café, each of them pushing and prodding each other as they hurried along. Within their hands, they each held cameras of a range of shapes and sizes.

"Peculiar," I murmured to myself, picking the warm coffee up and taking a long sip. With the odd disruption, I decided it best for me to get back to work. What lay waiting for me on my laptop was the wreckage of what I call my second novel.

A desperate attempt at writing, the words on the screen blaring into my eyes somehow disturbing the automatic peace that came with the calming café I lounged in. Writer's block is what was happening, an all-consuming case of writer's block, I'd come to this city for inspiration but unfortunately found none. Although it was the closest thing to heaven I'd ever witnessed, with its orange-bricked streets, delicate lamp posts, perfectly carved hedges and the glistening ocean coasting the entirety of what made up the city of Monte-Carlo.

Somehow the beauty had grown to be a distraction rather than inspiration, a part of me wanted to say fuck it and enjoy this extended holiday.

Just as my fingers were about to land on the keys of my laptop a new distraction tumbled in. The bell of the door rung, not entirely catching my attention seeing as it had rung a handful of times since I'd been sitting here.

But what caught my attention was the figure that frantically stumbled into the seat across from me, their feet kicking at my legs as they basically crawled into my booth. Startled would be an understatement to describe what I was now feeling. My eyes wide and my brows pinched together, I silently examined the male that had appeared out of what felt like nowhere.

I inspected the figure desperately attempting to dissect whether he would do me harm or not, although I found it difficult to even see the man's face which was hidden behind a black cap and a pair of sunglasses. And the fact that he huddled in the corner of the booth with his head down, his knees knocking against mine at the proximity of our seats. And then it was all pieced together when that same hoard from moments before passed the door again.

"I swear he went this way!" One of the voices shouted.

"He went down the other street!" Another spoke.

They all retorted the same expressions, desperate to find this person. I quickly realised they were searching for the man hiding in front of me. Imaginary alarm bells rung in my head, my imagination running wild with why this man was being chased by what I presumed was paparazzi.

"Um... excuse me?" I finally spoke up, his head shooting upwards immediately at the sound of my voice clearly unaware of my presence despite our legs awkwardly nestled against one another. "Can I help you?" My voice was far from kind, uncomfortable with the rude disruption. Moments passed with no response.

"Are they gone?" he asked bluntly with a British accent. Part of me had begun to think he was French and simply could not understand me but clearly, that wasn't the case.