Hello Cee, CAPpers and all!
I need to blog. But nothing signinficant is happening. Debate camp is on, but nothing blogworthy. So I shall stick in a random short story I wrote for my CAP portfolio. Criticism is always appreciated.
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The bartender placed the champagne flute onto its stand and twirled the cloth around index finger. It was twenty minutes before his shift would end and the bar was empty. He could cut corners a little. As he walked from behind the counter, a man stumbled in, legs unbalanced and arms limp. Drunk, depressed or both, the bartender decided, quickly figuring out the suited man.
“A scotch on the rocks” the man slurred a little at the end, though still coherent. The bartender looked at the clock, then sighed. He didn’t have much to look forward to, except a hard couch. He and Sarah hadn’t slept in the same room for a month now. He handed the man a glass of orange juice and informed him, rather unnecessarily, “You’re drunk.” The man smiled into his orange juice, staring at his skewed reflection.
“What’s your name?” the man asked, looking up to face the bartender.
“Gabriel”
“Like the angel? That’s a good Catholic name. Honest, like a man who’d keep to his promises. You’re that kind of man, aren’t you, Gabriel? I can see it in your eyes.” Gabriel flinched slightly. It wasn’t like he believed the man. It was the way he said it, suddenly sober and earnest. Unsure of what to say, he mumbled something about not being anything like an angel. The man chuckled, and downed half of the juice.
“Tell me, Gabriel, have you ever been in a confession box? I’ve sinned tonight, and I need a priest.” He paused. “Will you be my priest tonight, Gabriel?”
Gabriel hadn’t been to church since he was eight. His parents had never bothered to pretend that they believed in God and so he never felt the need either. But besides that, this man confused, even scared him. Whatever this man had done, he’d rather not know.
“Father, forgive me for I have sinned tonight,” the man started, pausing expectantly.
“Tell me of your sins.”
The man cupped his hands around the glass with his eyes closed, almost as in prayer.
“I killed a woman tonight, Lord. I was sleeping with her although we were both married. She was so beautiful when she slept, her bare legs tangled in mine. Her skin would be flushed with the glow of our sex and the moonlight would be dancing off her plump lips.”
The man paused to take off his hat and Gabriel caught a glimpse of the thinning ring of hair on the man’s head. This man sounded so truthful, but drunkards played stupid pranks sometimes. He would know.
“I gave her everything I could, told her I’d leave my family for her but she didn’t want me to. So I stopped giving. I didn’t stop loving, just stopped giving. She called me last night and told me she’d give my wife pictures of us together, unless I kept my gifts coming. I loved that bitch! But instead, she was married to that bastard, and was blackmailing me!” the man growled. clutching the glass as the orange juice shook violently, and Gabriel drew back. He could still get home to Sarah before she fell asleep and this would never have happened. No, he had made a promise to this man.
“So I went tonight, with the key she’d given me. I saw her as she slept, naked and bathed in the moonlight and the summer heat, just waiting for me. I took the pillow upon which I had lain so many times, and I smothered her beautiful face in my memory. I imagined her gasping for air, those moonlight-kissed lips spluttering and her eyes popping out. Her husband would have reached home. He will find his wife dead, and that makes me so happy.
For these hateful thoughts and sinful actions, I ask for your forgiveness, Lord.”
The man sat silently for a while. Gulping down the rest of his orange juice, he placed the glass down slowly. As the man picked up his hat and calmly adjusted it, Gabriel wondered why he wasn’t reaching for the phone. Instead he stood still, palms sweaty, eyes still wide open, watching the man walk past the tables to the stairs. What did he feel? Sympathy, fear, revulsion? What should he feel? Everything? Nothing, he decided as he curled into an emotional foetus, protected from the bombardment of emotions. But one question remained.
“Why me?” he called to the silhouette of the man in the suit as it reached for the door.
“I told you. I could see it in your eyes”
Gabriel stared at the door, as though the man remained there. Forcing himself to look away, he averted his attention to the glass the man had left. He rinsed it under the tap, distracting himself with the swirling movements of orange pulp in water. But the man came back, complete in hat and suit, with the words ringing like sirens. He was like a baboon, clinging to his back, unwilling to be shaken off. If only he could forget. Forget! He fiercely told himself. Still there. Forget, forget, FORGET!
He snatched the keys off the counter, chanting his mantra to himself, blocking out the haunting imprint the man had left on him. Flicking the lights off, he charged up the stairs, to find an officer pulling open the door.
“Mr. Abbot?” the policeman offered, tentatively, as though he hoped he was the wrong person.
“Yes?”
The officer cleared his throat. “Your wife Sarah was found dead in your bedroom an hour ago. Neighbours said they saw an unfamiliar man enter your residence. Preliminary reports suggest that it was death by asphyxiation. This may be hard, but do you have anyone you would suspect?”
“I don’t know.” He forgot.
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