The scrape of flint against metal.

The blue-orange flames dancing in the breeze.

A cigarette dangling between lips.

Rubber tires spinning on asphalt.

Fluorescent bulbs dimming out, then bursting back to light.

The still surface of the water, reflecting back porch light.

A nighttime scene.

Din and roar.

Mind alive, racing with thoughts.

She sits alone on a balcony.

Inhale. Puff. Exhale. Smoke.

Keys jingling, a lock clicks, door opens, shuts again. Click.

There are no words spoken. Only the symphony of the night, playing its song.

Can you hear it? Close your eyes.

You're alone again. The sole member of the audience. Conduct the scene with your mind.

How will it play out?

Pen scribbling words in a memo pad.

This can be your story. How will it play out?

She brushes her hair. A different blush applies foundation. Which lipstick will she wear tonight?

A matte red sets the mood. Liquid black eyeliner sets the view.

Will she find love? Or a fleeting night of passion?

Alone at the bar, but not alone in the room. She catches his eye. He offers a smile. And a drink. She accepts, and invites conversation.

Companionship.

A moment.

He sets money on the counter, then takes her hand.

She took a cab, but he brought his car. A silent ride.

Lights blur as they drive on. The night blurs as they carry on.

Clothes fall off. Lips press on. Skin blending with skin.

A touch. A moan.

Sweat drips down his forehead. A sigh escapes her lips. They fall asleep, tangled in each other's lives.

Dawn breaks. Light spills through a window. She makes her escape, but not before leaving her trace. A phone number written on an old receipt, placed on the empty pillow her head once lay.

She takes another cab, bringing her back home. The familiar landscape of her home, welcoming her back to her solitary life.

Labels: fiction junction