chaotic good

amsterdam

/based loosely on the picture above and on the town of Amsterdam, especially the Red Light District/

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The Red-Light district was known for many things, none of them good. The blazing neon lights flashed, illuminating the street in a mix of bright colors. The anchor colored street lights blazed a Tuscany yellow in the hazy November evening. A couple was strolling down the pathway that led towards the pretty river, framed by withering pink flowers. The woman was deep in thought, contemplating the events of earlier tonight.

They had gone to the Van Gogh Museum for their anniversary. As usual, it was packed with tourists. The blank mindless chatter of people overwhelmed the bored guides who were pointlessly gesturing at the paintings in disinterest. They had gone along with one such group; the tour started with an unenthusiastic lady, leading them through rooms after rooms of paintings. She stopped and stared.

A vase of sunflowers. Golden petals protruded from the tawny styles. The cyber yellow vase reminded her of her sister, the bright blond frizzy hair and the yellow bubbly personality. This struck her how he reminded her of her own sister. Was it a coincidence or was it just sheer luck? He came now and stood beside her. They remained speechless. There were so many unsaid things that was passing through her head. His hand found her's and they stood there motionless just looking at the painting. Shades of colours filled her mind; yellows, reds and maybe just a splash of blue. His were not so innocent. Greys, blues and reds. Dark dark Egyptian blue.

Walking down the street now, a tendency to talk overcame her.

"Wasn't that a lovely painting?"

"What, the flower one?"

"Yeah, the flower with the lovely golden yellow petals"

"I think it was just a painting. No big deal."

She stopped. The young man on the opposite side of the pavement walked past them and into one of the brightly lit jungle green café. The unpleasant smell of cocaine hung in the air around them, enveloping them in a cloud of sickly trout grey smoke.

"Mierda, you always thought that it was all a game to you wasn't it?"

"What?"

She was tired, tired of all the lies. The lies he told her and more importantly the lie that she told herself. The lie that she loved him. She stopped walking.

"You know why I liked that painting so much? It reminded me of us. That was us. When we were happy, when we didn't care about other people's opinions. When you actually loved me. Now, you go around gawking at those sluts like nothing's ever happened between us in the first place. Did you even care that sunflowers are my favourite flower? How could you be so naïve?"

He said nothing. The butter coloured lights shone down on them with sarcastic sympathy.

"I hoped we weren't going to do this, go on this path but I can't say I didn't see this coming."

She stood up taller and looked at him. He looked down at his feet, not making eye contact with her. She started walking again, down the path and towards the pretty bridge that connected the banks of the small river. He lifted up his head and yelled after her

"Where are you going?"

She didn't turn around to look at him. She just kept walking, the sound of her heels clicking on the paved taupe coloured pathway. A few seconds later, her voice rang out.

"It's so hard to leave-until you leave. Then it's the easiest goddamn thing in the world. John Green."

He sighed, wearily. His Aegean blue eyes reflected tiredness and he looked back in her direction. She had just crossed the bridge and was now strolling down the street. He took out a cigarette from inside his blazer pocket and a lighter from his trouser pocket. He took his time lighting his cigarette, he hadn't smoke in over 3 months. Now, he welcomed the freedom. Out of spite for her, he muttered

"Drama is life with the dull bits cut out. Alfred Hitchcock"

He spun on his heels and casually walked into one of the kiwi green shops and was greeted by a pretty girl who grabbed onto his arm. He made a mental note to make up with his wife. Later.\

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painting credits : Vincent Van Gogh