A Beautiful Night
T.D.
Copyright disclaimers are nigh worthless, as are my total financial assets.
Acknowledgements due:
The Guardian Prophesy by D. Ritchie
The Visitor by Gil "The Great" Ruiz
The Pride of Man by SimbaFan
All wonderful stories, all appreciated, all recommended.
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The horizon lapped from a sangria sky as the last slice of orange dipped below the mountains. Grasses became a sea of gentle waves as a calm breeze rolled across the savannah. Colorful birds chittered in the nearby baobab. Broad, the tree stretched west towards its setting sustenance. After all that had happened, he still loved the sunset. It was powerful; peaceful. Now a bit of peace: there was something to be said about a bit of peace.
Grudges and regrets evaporate on evenings such as these; all that remained were two animals beneath a baobab tree. For some time the two sat in silence, peaceful. It was hot, of course, it is Africa after all. Rolling from his side to his back, our hero pressed against the massive tree. A few spots of mud cooled his skin in the breeze. The lioness collapsed into his lap.
"Tell me about Paris again" She petitioned quietly
"It's very pretty. Enormous carved stones - taller than the gorge. At night they sparkle like stars on earth. In some places, water bubbles up and shoots into the sky. Lots of people too, more than you could possibly imagine. They're all shuffling around looking for something they lost, all day and all night. But while they look, they find time for a bit of conversation. Sound like monkeys"
She glanced up, "What are they looking for?"
"Themselves, I'd imagine."
"How can someone lose themself?"
"Paris is a big place."
She paused, "Humans are so weird."
"When you climb all the way to the top of the tall stones, you can look down and see rivers of white light that flow between the rocks. On clear nights, the moon sits right above your head. If you were just a bit taller, you could almost brush it with your fingers."
"No way!"
"Yep. If only you could reach just a bit further. But you wanna know the best part?"
She paused and glanced up again, "No."
"No?" His head tilted slightly
"I don't want to ruin it before we go."
He smirked, "Of course not" That'd be like giving away the end of a story. "But I'll tell ya, all the stars and sparkles of Paris still can't beat this. It's a beautiful night."
In the sky, orange gave way to red, and red gave way to navy. The crescendo of crickets opened around them, making it difficult to talk. That was fine, they were content to just be there. Our protagonist grew chilly in the heat of the evening.
"Tell me about somewhere else"
"I'm real tired, kid."
"Please?" Her voice broke.
His eyes fell shut, "Elsewhere."
"Where's Elsewhere?"
"Elsewhere is where you go when you're not where you are anymore."
"Is it scary in Elsewhere?"
"I've never been there." He sighed "I've only ever been where I was. But I imagine it's pleasant. What do you think?"
"I bet they have big puffy clouds in Elsewhere and you can sit on them and look down at all the colorful birds. Do you think they have spaghetti in Elsewhere?."
"I'm sure they do, Kitten."
"I want to go to Elsewhere."
"Kitten, you gotta stay here for now. Don't rush so much. That's why no one can find what they're looking for in Paris - they're in such a hurry they never stop to appreciate where they are."
She didn't argue. As the breeze subsided, our hero laid down against the roots of the baobab once more. The human pulled his friend close and hummed an old Broadway melody with the concerto of insects. He was growing tired, peaceful. His eyes closed.
"Things will work out?"
"Of course," He managed "Things always work out."
/\/\/\
His eyes opened. The room was dark. No calm or gloom pervaded the shadows. Such darkness was devoid of inky mystery or creeping figures. This darkness was, by all means, simply the lack of light. Obviously, such could be said of all varieties of dark, but it is pertinent to note that this dark was exceptionally unexceptional.
"Click, whirr"
A disgusted sigh escaped the poor creature. The sound made its way through a mist of suspended consciousness. Damn the man who invented the runaway alarm clock. Damn the friend who bought him the runaway alarm clock. Damn himself for using the runaway alarm clock.
As it goes, cursing the world with meticulous detail leaves little time for action. Just a moment later, the darkness let loose a revolting screech. No word can describe just how unsavory a sound this particular sound sounded. With a startled chirp, the anthropod shot a hand into surrounding blackness to quell the shrill. It was at this very moment, however, that he realized his position on the bed – or more correctly, not on the bed. Had his wayward hand been present, it would have assuredly provided much needed support at the edge of his mattress. But it wasn't and it didn't. A dull thud and several equivocal expletives later, the screech was cut short.
The feeble soul stepped up from a cold floor and heaved his body once again upon his bed. While rubbing the last remnant of sleep from his eyes, a stretch started up his back. He arched his spine, extended his arms, and found himself lying down once more. Just five minutes, of course, what could it hurt? As the animal settled back into his artificial nest, a battle commenced between responsibility and indulgence. On his nightstand, various handles of hard liquor stood in dominance above their ward. Which bottle was responsible for the previous evening, however, that was a tougher question. The container to the far left plead innocence – he had made a mental note a week earlier that the clear liquid filled the bottle just below the label. It had not changed. Likewise, the stout crystal flask of cognac was far too classy for the previous evening's attire. That left a box of cheap wine and a half-emptied bottle of high proof vodka. Fortunately, he was quite the connoisseur of headaches. This was a harsh, stabbing pain with a sweet pulsing of hate and short piercing draw aggravated by loud noise. Wine it was.
"Damn," he murmured. This was a soft expletive, a sort of indifferent surrender to the forces to be.
With a groan and a grit of the teeth, our protagonist pulled himself once more from the warm comfort of his sheets. Two things could be said about the time that had transpired between last evening and this very moment. First, the total entropy of the universe had increased. Second, he drank far more than healthy, and now he was going to pay.
Sighing, he stepped from one room to another. With the pull of a faucet, a thousands of cold razors tore into his skin. He gasped and jumped back from the offending stream. But his five minute respite in bed meant a cold shower to add to a throbbing headache. Drying with the same towel he'd used all week and donning last night's clothes, the hominid pushed out the door.
The events the preceded could have been taken place any day in the past three years. The details changed every now and then - a different bottle of liquor on his nightstand, a different headache to plague him. Sometimes his showers were warm and on occasion he even caught the alarm before its terrible shrill. What you should take from this, however, is the incredible monotony of his life. Just as the first ten minutes of his morning warranted a page of description, the next three months thusly require none.
Unbeknownst to the human, this exact day carried particular significance as, several thousand miles away, a tiny lion cub was born on the plains of the Serengeti. Of course, many tiny lion cubs are born on many days on the plains of the Serengeti, but this cub was… special. Biologically, she was unremarkable besides the peculiarity of a sixth toe on her left hind foot. This is of no consequence. What is extraordinary about this little bundle of fuzz is her destiny – a destiny that for now must remain in the future.
/\/\/\
Next chapter: Plot with a side of spaghetti.