Deviation Actions
Literature Text
The faint twist of fresh citrus enters my nose and I inhale;where was this heavenly smell coming from?
I turn northwest, towards the Side Street Market, and see the old woman hunched over her cashbox, counting bills as if her life depended on it. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. I pick up my pace and make a path towards her; I want those oranges.
When I see them, I snatch one up, along with a peach. Juggling them, I approach the lady, and wait for her to calculate the cost.
Her eyes are full of questions; why didn't you come by last week? The week before that? Have you found somewhere better to buy these treats from?
One by one, I pick the answers, as carefully as I had chosen my fruit; I was busy last week. I was out of town. No; nothing can measure up to the delightfullness that these fruits bring
me.
Instead of asking, she gives me a toothy grin, which I return and hand her ten dollars, telling her to keep the change.
I walk on, crossing streets and intersections at perpendicular angles and rising slopes, wanting to reach my destination. I had to get to that pub; he would be there.
He didn't know I was coming; if he did, he would drink himself to death, and I didn't want that.
The scenes and shops that I pass, begin to melt to together, one big melted ice cream puddle after another. What I was doing was crazy; pity made a person that way.
The peach in the pocket of my jacket pulses against my stomach; a heart that was beginning to beat. I trip and it spills out, smashing onto the pavement; its beating has stopped. I walk on, mouring my crushed fruit and still clutching the orange.
At the corner of Madding Street, I see him; he's playing the guitar with one illustrated arm gripping the neck, while his other hand plucks at the strings. At one time or another, he held me like that; one arm holding me steady, his hand strumming through my dreams and making them into a beautiful melody.
My heart locks up in my throat; how do you tell a broken man that you're sorry--when you're the cause of the pain?
My pace slows until I realize that I am only a few feet away; I begin to listen to his music.
Quiet. Pulsing. Heart-breaking.
I wait until he stops before I make my move. My airways get tight and I hack out a cough that makes him turn to me.
We stare at each other for a moment before he speaks.
"Hi."
I try and smile back, but it comes out as a grimace.
He begins to back away, his eyes angled towards the ground, the sky, into the pub; look anywhere but at me.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out.
He process this for a moment too long, and I thrust the orange into his hands, letting our brief touch send bursts of warmth through my fingertips.
His lips curve upwards, mumbles his thanks and slips past me; this time he's leaving me instead of the other way around; and I pretend that I don't see him slip the fruit into the garbage.
What a waste of an orange XD