Actions reveal who we are. Emotions reveal why we are.
This is the delayed introduction post. 10 days into the new year is enough time for me to settle into the year and get started then.
So a brief introduction. If you’ve been following my blog, you’ll know the following: I’m a Wood Rat Gemini, with a love for writing and talking nonsense. I love writing and the feel the keys beneath my fingers. If you follow my Twitter you’ll also know that I’m a feminist with a short temper. If you’re on my Facebook we’ve either met each other in real life or you’re someone I trust. On G+, you’d know me as an Ingress player. No, I am still a Green Lantern. Haven’t reached Yoda yet.
So, hello! Welcome to my blog. Oh, and since [Rincredulous] challenged me to add a short story to my posts, here’s a quick one.
Tuneless
His fingers danced across the keys.
Delicate. Gentle. Mesmerising.
His movements were sure, coaxing a beautiful melody from the grand piano. The music leaped, dancing gaily through the room, persuading all who heard its melody to smile, and relax into its arms. It was easy to see that he loved to play; his eyes were closed in ecstasy as his body moved to the music. It was a joy to watch him, though few gave him attention in this place.
Except, perhaps, the solitary diners in the cafe.
Two, perhaps three tables held only one customer each. All were frozen, mesmerised by the tune he played. It spoke of ballroom gaiety, sung of romances, and promised endless love, but they all knew it to be false. Still they listened.
The man in one corner, in a sweater vest too warm for this country, was sitting in his chair, back leant against the chair. His pen hovered in the air above the notebook, as he closed his eyes and allowed the music to transport him. There was a small, wistful smile on his thin, pale lips. He looked gaunt, the lines deep in his face from lack of sleep and a day’s stubble on his chin. Yet his cheeks were flushed.
A woman withe deep red locks leant forward in her chair, elbows on table and chins on hands. Her eyes too, were closed, but the look on her face was serene. It would have been easy to dismiss her as sleeping, but her left forefinger kept time as the pianist played his piece. She had a large grin on her face, contemplating mischief, perhaps.
The third tableā¦ well, it was hard to see whether it was occupied or not. It was in the corner, behind a large fern in a deep shadow. The waiters and even the owners often forgot it was there. They would all remember though, to leave a long black, periodically. Sometimes the cup would be empty. Sometimes it wouldn’t. It would always be cold though, by closing time, for obvious reasons.
Today there was someone taking periodic sips of the long black, but no one paid attention. The pianist finished his song and got up to polite applause. The woman applauded enthusiastically, and the pianist spared her a smile. The man turned back down to his words in a hurry, resting his forehead on his palm. His cheeks were burning.
“And that makes two,” the stranger took a sip of the long black. No sugar.