Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Prompt : 800 words. Dialogue between Good and Bad.
The old man stumbled down the subway station stairs. He reeked of stale booze and yesterday's cigarettes. The cherry light between his thumb and forefinger flared to life as he inhaled deeply. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he stepped over the prostrate form of a man and tottered over to the nearest bench. He seated himself beside a pretty, young Asian woman. The fluorescent lighting flickered overhead, illuminating them intermittently. He offered her the butt of his cigarette, the rich black of his skin contrasting with the dull white of the filter he held out. She shook her head.
"I should have known you'd be here first," he said, taking another drag and exhaling slowly.
He coughed then, a great hacking cough. Working phlegm into his throat, he spat onto the ground before him. The woman twitched her foot away in disgust.
"Shall we begin then?" he said, stubbing out his smoke.
The girl dipped one small hand into her purse and pulled out a tidy, leather bound notebook. She flipped it open, thumbing through a few pages before finding the one she was looking for.
She studied him, expectant and impatient.
"Right," he said. "Hang on a moment."
He dug his hands into the deep pockets of his worn, pea-green overcoat fishing out a crumpled mess of papers. Removing a few receipts and a gum wrapper, he attempted to smooth the papers out on his knee. The young woman's lips tightened, but he seemed not to notice, his attention instead on the papers in his lap. He reached again into his pockets and dug out a grimy pair of black-rimmed spectacles. He rubbed the lenses on his filthy jacket, smearing the dirt around. One hinge bent, they slid down his nose when he put them on. He adjusted them once and cleared his throat.
"Let's see," he said. "James Philip Gagnon. Is that what you have?"
She nodded.
The old man scanned the page quickly before flipping it over.
"I think we can skip through the facts," he said. "Facts don't make a person."
The woman reached over and placed her hand on his paper, stopping him from setting it aside.
"Facts are exactly what make a person," she said.
The old man snorted and tugged the paper out of her grasp. "You only say that because you've never understood people."
She arched one brow. "Don't I?"
He peered at her from over the thick frame of his glasses.
"No," he replied. "Preying on weakness is not understanding"
"And what is?" she asked, exasperated. "Love?"
The old man said nothing.
She clicked her tongue in disapproval and moved her hand back to her own notebook.
"Fine. We'll skip the facts," she said.
She flipped through several more pages, which brought an amused smile to the man's lips.
"What?" she demanded, annoyed.
He only shook his head.
"Nothing," he said, then he chuckled, "it's just--they say the devil is in the details, not the other way around."
She snapped her notebook shut.
"I have other things to do," she said, a hint of heat in her voice. "Make your argument."
The old man shrugged and fumbled around in his pocket for a pack of smokes.
"Do you?" he asked, pulling the thin white cylinder from the pack and placing it between his teeth. "Have other things to do? Is temptation so hard to find these days you need to lead them by the hand?"
He lit his smoke and took a drag, turning his head to the side to keep the smoke from blowing in her face.
He eyed her calmly.
Her beautiful almond-shaped eyes barely flickered, but one slim finger impatiently tapped the cover of her journal. He sighed.
"When will you stop being angry with me?" he asked.
"You cast me out," she said.
He reached forward to cup her face, but she jerked away and he let his hand fall back to his lap.
He smiled sadly. "It was a kindness and you know it."
She thrust her notebook back into her purse and stood up.
"Keep this one," she snapped, striding towards the stairs. She stepped carefully over the fallen man, her heels neatly avoiding the small pool of blood.
The old man sighed again and flicked his cigarette out onto the tracks. He rose and approached the dead man. Gently, he placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Come, friend," he said. "It's time to go."
A glimmer of light rose and hovered in the air before the old man. He cast one more look towards the empty stairwell and raised a hand in farewell.
"Peace be with you," he said to the departing shadows, and then he was gone.
