Misfortune

Gabrielle Veilleux checked in to Building Society Bank.

He smiled at himself momentarily, staring at the text message as the television glared unnoticed. This was the third time Gabrielle checked into the bank. Ever since she started using Foursquare, she was determined to become a mayor of something, of anything. So, every day before work, during lunch and after work, she’d visit the bank to make a deposit, withdraw some money or just check her account balance.

Her third check in meant she was on her way home. Finally, he thought, my Gabrielle is coming home. He closed the phone and almost got up to check online just how close she was to becoming the mayor of that bank, but his thoughts were interrupted - BREAKING NEWS in big red letters had caught his attention.

A woman began to speak frantically but clearly: There is an armed man in the Building Society Bank. Police have now vacated nearby buildings and have surrounded the bank. A gunshot has been heard from inside. Police fear the worst.

Gabrielle, he thought, oh no, Gabrielle. He quickly stood up and ran around the house looking for a pair of jeans and his car keys. After moments of searching, he opted on running out as is: shorts, a stained t-shirt, socks and his cell on his hand. He ran. The woman’s voiced played in his head. A gunshot has been heard from inside. Did he shoot Gabrielle? Is she dead? No, he thought, I mustn’t think this. But his thoughts couldn’t diverge from the worst. He thought of her jumping in to save someone from a bullet and lying there, dead, a tragic hero.

But she must be alive, he assured himself as he turned the corner. Just two blocks, he whispered more to himself than the man he just passed by. He wondered if each passing second was her last. Or if any of it mattered. Had her time ended before his run started? He could hear the siren and see the crowd surrounding the scene, eagerly waiting for something to happen.

He felt his pocket vibrate but he urged on. He pushed men, women and children away; nobody was going to stop him. He got passed one cop, but reinforcements kept him at bay. “I must go in and see her,” he pleaded. “My wife, my wife is in there. Please, please let me through. Oh god, let me through…I need to see her.”

The police men ignored his cries but his wish came true. The man came out with Gabrielle in his arms, a gun to her face. “I will kill her if you do not allow me to pass.” The crowd sighed and his world collapsed. Why did it have to be Gabrielle? Gabrielle was crying and her nose was dripping blood. The policemen turned to face the man and he broke free. He ran towards her without thought. He needed her to be safe.

The man shot her in the head. He saw the last of her life in her face, until she fell to the ground, lifeless. He heard other shots and saw the man fall too. He reached down to her and put her head upon his chest. S’il vous plaît Gabrielle, s’il vous plaît ne pas être mort. Gabrielle, Je t’aime. S’il vous plaît dire quelque chose, s’il vous plaît. The blood began to seep into his shirt and he felt warmth. He felt her warmth. He rocked back and forth pleading with her body to make a movement. He felt something vibrate on her jacket and remembered his phone vibrating earlier.

He opened his phone and read: Si je ne m’en sortirais pas vivant, au revoir. Aujourd’hui, j’ai découvert que je suis enceinte. Je veux un garçon. Nous vous aimons Phillip.

Hot tears slid down his face unto the screen of his phone. He had lost two loved ones today. His phone vibrated once more; he subconsciously opened the text and began reading: Gabrielle Veilleux is now Mayor of Building Society Bank. (via)

Insanity

Your hands are moving up and down the air in an exorbitant manner. I sit in the front row, your back directly in front of me. Others are watching the show too, sprinkled around the music hall. You are playing the music of the observers, at the beat of stomping feet, hand clasping and impatient finger taps; the sounds of coughs, whispers and jeers mix into a symphony of sound. Your hands gently, but quickly, create a flow of music as the orchestra sits frozen, waiting for a minute gesture to grant them life.

The violinists spring into life with an eerie sound that fills the hall. My heart begins to beat faster. Your hands follow my heartbeat in speed. The violinists play faster, faster, faster. A cellist begins to play at my heart strings. I could hear your heartbeat; it’s thrusting against your chest at the same beat as mine. I listen more intently. The whole orchestra wakes up with a cacophonous sound.

Your hands bend the sound into something beautiful as the orchestra speeds up. Allegro. The sound feels like a river, flowing endlessly out of your hands into me. I submerge myself into it and I feel at home.

With a flick of your hand the sound abruptly ends. The orchestra returns to its frozen state. Then it begins once more, the anticipation for sound; the need to hear more and the yearning to leave clash inside of me. Your hands continue to move up and down at the sound of sweet manipulation and I’m left listening to the music of silence. (via)

Memory

You’d always look at me when we slept together. I felt the warmth of the sun and your smile beam on my face. You began to kiss my forehead.

I ran towards my brother. “You’re dead!” He was too fast for me. Something flew from behind him. It was a black orange, tainted with mud. It hit me in the eyes. I continued blindly running towards him; I knew the place, I’d be alright. I crashed into a pole. My forehead had to be sewn.

I felt your breath on my hair. I suppressed a smile. Your lips met my cheeks. I couldn’t hold the smile any longer. Your lips made a path of small kisses leading to my lips, leaving behind a trail warmness created by my blushing. When our lips met, I felt your smile and I couldn’t help but smile even more. Our tongues met and began to do an intricate dance, a swordfight for dominance.

“Where is my mom?” My aunt hadn’t the slightest idea. She left the kitchen and I was sitting on the kitchen table, alone. I want my mommy, I thought. I jumped off, biting my tongue. A part of my tongue tangled, left unnoticed. Hours later doctors will sew my tongue together. They feared I wouldn’t speak properly.

I whispered, good morning while our lips parted for seconds. It became more passionate. I could feel your heartbeat on me. I could feel your happiness, but I knew long before the kiss was over, long before we were over, that we’d end up separated.

I knew that as your lips pressed against mine you’d become another scar upon my face. I knew then, that you will soon become a distant memory, someone I’d vaguely remember in my old age. (via)