I was told the other day that the best way for me to get some freelance or ghost writing work is to actually show some of the stuff that I've written here on the blog. The problem is I don't know how to get a "copyright" or rather THE copyrights to my own stuff, do I have to apply for one? Will it cost money? or can I just claim the copyrights? I shall look into it, but until I do I'll only post short mini stories here on the blog. This first one was written after a friend asked me if I could write something from just a single word, and the word I got which inspired this story was "meeting" or rather "rendezvous".
"My friend arrives with the next one". It’s raining; it’s cold. I have to hold the coat tight to keep warm. I’ve got my hat pulled down low; I have to look up to be able see where I'm going, but I never do, the rain would get into my eyes, I can see my feet; that’s enough. Another train storms by as I’m getting closer to the station.
I hurry up the stairs and onto the platform, only one of the light bulbs is working, the platform is gloomy and dusk. I'm leaning against a wall in the shade where the light can’t reach. My friend should arrive soon. I light a cigarette, the smoke is thick and sweet, I enjoy every drag. I’m alone. In the distant I see the lights from the train, it’s coming closer, slowly, I hear the whistle. It seems like forever but the train slows down as it’s pulling into the platform. The smoke from its chimney is almost black.
The conductor steps off the train, no one is getting on. The porter is carrying a large suitcase, he puts it down on the platform and hurries back onto the train. I catch myself thinking that it's too feminine to belong to my friend. I toss the butt of my cigarette, its embers scatters as it hits the ground, and a woman steps off the train as the porter is getting back on.
The rain has stopped. The woman's red dress is long; it covers her high heels, the dress swaying from side to side as she moves her feet. She has a white fur over her solders; a feather in her hat; and black leather gloves. I am mesmerised. My friend never enters my mind again. The woman looks around, she’s alone. As she walks with firm steps toward me she picks up a cigarette; she squeezes it between her brightly red painted lips. She never looks into my eyes, never says a word, she stares at the ground while I’m lighting her cigarette. I inhale the thick smoke mixed with her perfume, that scent; I know that scent.
She looks up, she blows some smoke into my eyes, but I never look away, never even blink, her eyes have finally caught mine; they are green and as covered by glass, they are deep and they look like they are filled with history; a dark history. Without asking I already know; she’s left her life behind, she’s left some guy who treated her like dirt, you can tell that she has left a torn but wealthy life behind.
Her eyes cries out for help. I know she's trouble, I know that someone will come after me, I know that if I let her come with me I will not survive, I know it and I don't care. I grab her pale-white chin softly and I move her head slightly to the side and as we are getting closer I can feel her warm breath on my lips, there's a spark of electricity, we seal our fates it with a kiss.
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