Without You

Where's Jude?

--- *** ---

--- 2 Years Later ---

--- 19th of November, 1969 ---

The last 2 years of lost hope and loneliness flew slowly but surely.

2 years of another lost and false hope that Shachath promised to the former man of the cloth, in his humble opinion. 2 years of loneliness, knitting him in a lethal cold embrace with exception when he's reuniting with his family once per a few months, in order to forget about the loneliness for awhile. 2 years of heavy rain of poured crystal, salty tears, staining his face.

A month or so abided until the beginning of the imminent decade. Nevertheless Timothy didn't stop believing of finding somehow his rare bird whether in Boston's outskirts or in the bar where's he going to have a drink tonight.

As the British compatriot has donned himself in casual garments such as a mere, cashmere pale navy shirt with a handful of undone buttons, exposed partly his hairy, toned chest; midnight black with its ebony exquisite nuances slacks, hugging his legs with casual ebony oxford, shoeing his big feet. His hair was the same with lack of white hairs due to the inescapable aging process. The same chestnut pigments friendly glistened like dew, baptized the vert grassland in the wee hours of the pale morning. The flawless porcelain, lily-white skin tone highlighted his round, masculine face with its well-defined cheekbones, the thick eyebrows with its sardonic quirk in certain situations, the baby pinkish lips and his chocolate brown orbs that once were as glossy as velvet have already lost its warmest chocolate hue, pigmenting the irises. His lips haven't even flexed his jaw in a choir to contour a slight smile.

His oxford clicked against the tiled in extravagant colors flooring of the old bar after the security guard checked his I.D card. The British aristocrat was encompassed recently in the bar by 2 inebriated couples, dancing on the dancing floor, whilst a handful of young adults' hysterical laughs after boozing insane quantity of the sweet, sinful liquor, lacing their tongues, searing the corners of their mouths and throats by sedating with its tranquilizing effect their bones and muscles.

"Oh hey! Watch out, kids!" Timid, austere caution almost died on the former priest's tongue by cautioning the tipsy young couple, who visibly looked in the beginning of their 20s as their surroundings were mistily oblivious along with their blurry visions.

"Get your motor runnin'! Head out on the highway! Lookin' for adventure and whatever comes our way! Yeah Darlin' go make it happen! Take the world in a love embrace!" Steppenwolf's song Born to be Wild was currently playing in the background in the old bar.

As soon as Timothy seated on the bar stool gingerly since he's been a few times in a bar and it wasn't a long time ago. In another lethally lonely night, the loneliness and the drink were his best friends. The bar's music was his ears' temporal friend, jingling its silver-tongued, rejoicing tunes by transmitting him in the musical realm, dwelling out of the reality as the song's lyrics were the landscape's colors, painting the scenery with its genuine colors, depending on the song. If it was romantic or happy one, on the contrary, the colours and pigments would be as vibrant as the exhilarating sunset. If the song was rather melancholic or a requiem, the colours were far from oblivious. As dark as the death and the fatal midnight.

"What would ya like to drink, sir?" The bartender's distinct feminine voice caught off guard the aspiring former Monsignor with a cockily seductive smile, gently brushing her ravishing red lips. Lightly or even a bit his plump, well-shaped cheeks tinted pinkishly as his throat flushed. Meantime, his chocolate brown pools landed in a haphazard shift at her sapphire blue pools, as piercing as the icicle's edge.