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September 2009 Short Story Contest Winner
Marley with 'Late Nights'
Genre: Realistic Fiction/Romance
Word Count: 923
(September's Genre was *author's choice*, the topic was Night Activities. The word count minimum was 300 words and the maximum was 3000 words.)
You can view the other participants here as well.
Here is the story:
The door slams shut at 1 in the morning. Every night, he never fails to be on time, he never needs to make up an excuse, and I think he genuinely wants to be here. The city is quiet and he has abandoned it, after all the entire town is his office. He is my man in uniform, even though, I'd rather see him without it. He sneaks out of it and sits down onto the bed next to me and whispers.
"Honey, I'm home." In a joking tone.
"I noticed. Why the whispering, we are the only ones here." I whisper back. The TV illuminates the room. It flashes by on mute.
"It fit the mood. So how was your evening?" He says smiling and taking his shoes off.
"Lonely, it always seems that way. But only a week left of these late night shifts, correct?" I say, grinning at the thought of spending actual time together, instead of just night time chats. We had only gotten married two months ago, and it was already harder than expected.
He winces at this, his face contorted in an irritated way. "Well..." The word trails off as he walks clumsily into the kitchen and brings back a plate of leftover lasagna. He sits on the bed again, and picks at it nervously.
"There's a problem." He says, disappointed. I should have seen this coming.
"Really?" I say, in a slightly pained tone. "And that problem, does it lead to more of these late nights?"
"Yes." The word stumbles out of his mouth.
"And is this another impossible to turn down offer? I mean, is the pay that spectacular?" I say, biting at him. I'm trying not to be angry.
"Relax. I'll turn it down. If it means that much to you. I just thought we could use it. We needed to get back on our feet. I mean, we did want to buy a house. I know that might be looking far ahead, but one day, it will be time to move." He says. I agree in my mind, but no way am I going to show him that.
"You make the decision. Don't go by what I say. You're your own person. I just..." I struggle to find words that sound hopeful, "don't want this to fall apart."
"I understand, and it won't. I personally like the night. Don't you feel like you're the only person around? Like the world is all yours. I mean, we could do anything right now. There are still places to be. In fact, get your coat." He says, putting his clothes back on.
"Are you insane, it's past one!" I mumble as he drags me out of bed, and shuts off the TV. The remote misses the bed, and clatters to the ground. I am skeptical about what he is doing, but laugh at his bad aim, and put on a dress and sandals.
"Yes, quite insane, but you asked for it." He says, leading me out the door.
I slip my coat on as we walk down the stairs; he begins to walk towards the center of town.
"So, what do you want to do first, my dear?" He says, stopping by a bench in the town square. I look at the assortment of bars and closed cafes. I look for a way to torture him. Then I see the perfect outlet for my frustration.
"Karaoke." I say, pointing a bar across the road. "Consider it your punishment for taking more late shifts."
"Does that mean I am taking the job?" He says with a look of slight enthusiasm for winning the fight.
"Depends how good your singing is." I say running before a car. We enter the bar to drunken off-key duets being shoved off the stage.
We flip through a book of songs, bickering over which would be best to perform. Finally deciding on an old Seether song featuring a femal artist. Which, though quite depressing, worked out perfectly, or we thought it did, as the drunks seemed to clap graciously. He bowed in mock grandeur, making a fool of himself, and I followed him off the stage, and to the bar, where we were promptly served a drink.
"Ha, I feel sort of absurd. That was nerve-wracking." He says before downing a drink.
"It's just a house full of crazy people, the one place you don't have to worry about making a fool of yourself. Never be embarassed of things like this, they'll have forgoten how flat your notes were by tomorrow." I say.
"And here I was thinking I was a prodigy, how blunt you are." He responds.
"You are far too old to be a prodigy!" I say, finishing up my drink. "But, I'll take you even though you lack musical talent."
"Speaking of taking, can I take you home now? I think I have proven there are thrills at night. I mean, my stomach is still twisted, and my heart is still pounding, so to me that was thrilling." He says, I nod, and take his hand, pulling him out the door of the shabby bar.
"You better sleep, you have a long day of work tomorrow." I say. "And another late night. What a shame."
"Well, it can't be helped." The walk home is peaceful, it seems as though the world is empty, and we are all alone.
In a way, I like this feeling. I mean, I could do anything at night, couldn't I?
END STORY
Thank you Marley for your wonderful contribution to the monthly short story contest.
