Elena and Grace

Elena

My dull, grey eyes nervously flit around the room, the maddeningly bright, neon colors lighting up the cellar. Deafening music blasts through the speakers as sweaty people furiously grind against each other in the packed club. My co-worker Adam dragged me here tonight; I resent him for it. Miserably I stand on the sidelines and watch the others having fun, flirting, singing, laughing, and dancing.

A couple of minutes later, I burst out of the club doors, anguished to catch a breath. The club is suffocating me: it was one of Grace's favorites when she was still here, six months ago. I remember her dragging me to it, once a month, as a special treat.

"Come on, Elena," she'd say, "you're gonna have so much fun tonight; I promise you!"

I'd shuffle my feet and look at her hesitantly, "You're lucky you're my girlfriend because I have no other obligation to go to that hell-hole."

She would simply roll her eyes and drag me downstairs.

After reminiscing for a little too long, I decide that I have been tormented enough tonight, and head back to my crummy apartment. Ever since Grace left, I have lost the will to do anything but work. Work is the only thing that keeps me afloat nowadays, in the boundless ocean of my sorrow. I always imagine myself on a little boat, valiantly sailing the seas on a quest to bring Grace back, but I know it won't happen.