The singing butler

“It’s so simple, my dear friend! Read her eyes and look into her soul: she wants you to belong to her and she wants to belong to you!”

Those words got stuck in John’s head, and they had been doing so since their speaker, Mr V, pronounced them. And now, as he proceeded to dance with her and had to search for her face because she kept her eyes down, John realised he did agree with Mr V. Mr V was completely right and he understood that when it was too late. 

“Please Annie… Look at me.” He begged in vain.

Graceful and elegant, she continued to dance on the top of her bare feet, careful not to step onto the incredibly clear puddle next to her. 

“Mrs Annie… You may desire an umbrella to hold!” Her old servant said.

“Why should have I? It isn’t raining.” She whispered. Or maybe she screamed. John couldn’t really tell: when you’re in love, everything sounds like a harmless and soft whispering.

“Annie, I implore you… Look at me. One last time.” John’s voice was just like a broken record player. 

Her breasts against his, her velvet glove on his shoulders, her face turned around, her hair wrapped up, her bare back and her shapely backside. She was the most genuine and charming creature John’s eyes had ever had the pleasure to see.

“My friend… I’m willing to lend you my umbrella! Just, for the Queen’s sake, stop it! You’re going to get ill, believe me.”

“Sir, what are you talking about?”. John was quite perplexed: before Annie’s governant, now Mr V… What did it all mean?

Mr V said something that John couldn’t hear because Annie dragged him away. Finally, but still keeping her face distant, she told him: “Now they won’t disturb us”.

They were far enough to be kissing and not be seen, so John seized that moment and decided to stop their dance and lend towards the woman’s lips. He had been telling himself: “Okay, now I’m stopping… now I am…” when he realised he couldn’t, he just wasn’t able to. His mind didn’t control anymore his legs, they were moving by themselves and this paralysed John’s features. 

“Do not try to stop, you won’t”. Annie said effortlessly.

The last thing John’s eyes saw were her, the woman he had always loved and cared for. He couldn’t move; Annie was his mastermind, John was her puppet. At the end, he really did belong to her.

@layalke 🐍

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Dans un café

In a café. That’s where it all started and it all ended: poor Mademoiselle Charlotte had been left alone once again, sat on the narrow and uncomfortable couch, facing that rounded glass filled with a high-alcoholic drink. She didn’t even remember what she had ordered but it didn’t matter anymore because she didn’t care; and she hated herself for it. She had always been the “special” girl, the “different” and “unique” one. Also “lunatic” and “insane”, but she preferred taking them as compliments: at least she was not like any other woman!

But now, sat on that wretched couch, facing her forgotten drink, Mademoiselle Charlotte was just like any other person in that café: lost but not confused, tired but not exhausted, angry but not evil. 

She didn’t care about anything going on anymore and pretended not to notice even when a gentleman sat just next to her, with a pipe between his lips, a bushy and dingy beard and wearing a wrinkly bowler hat.

Madame… are you all right?”

Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît.” She said, keeping on looking at the void.

Desolé. You look suffering. Are you sure everything is fine?”

Non, monsieur. Nothing is fine, but I would be surprised otherwise. Would you leave me alone now?”

The man stood up and angrily mumbled something about how her supposedly unsatisfactory intimate life was not a pretext for her to be such a hateful and unfriendly mademoiselle. Pas vraiment française.

Charlotte sighed and went back to her thoughts, which weren’t actual thoughts, but she’d rather desire them to be. She, educated and cultured, needed to think all the time. She was different.

Was she, actually? Julien, her last lover, had abandoned her just like he did to any other woman he had. That made her one of the many. They had met in that classy café a couple of hours before, he had told her those cliché excuses and, after an hypocrite kiss on her cheek, he left. She hated herself and she hated him. He made her realise that, after all, she was not so special.

@layalke 🐍

Woman in the Sun

A Sun ray woke up Eloise. She frowned and turned her face the other way, under her pillow. She knew he had left, she felt his void next to her, but didn’t dare open her eyes. She didn’t want to find that out, she didn’t want it to be true.

Eloise had always been like that: instead of facing her problems, she preferred to stop caring about them and just pretend they didn’t even exist in the first place. That wasn’t really a problem, but surely she would rather like to be in a different situation.

The Sun out of her window kept kissing her cheeks, persistent and unwavering. Eloise couldn’t do anything but grumble and eventually stand up. 

Once on her feet, she finally faced the open window and the light that came from there. Hypnotically, she smiled and, step by step, got closer to it.

What she saw, why she suddenly smiled and what at… well, we shall never know. Our view stops right here; the camera that’s been recording the whole time won’t move anymore. We are left with the view of her unmade bed, that sunshine ray which cuts the room in a half and, supposedly, takes away Eloise. But actually, we don’t know what happened next and we never will. Eloise, that as beautiful as inconsciously fearful and fragile girl; Eloise, her golden hair and her olive skin which seemed to reject those kisses, wherever they were from; Eloise, that once in her lifetime, had perhaps learnt to face her problems.

@layalke 🐍

The melody of the night

They had been walking for a very long time; neither of them two realised they had spent two hours of their lives just walking side to side, with their arms around each others’ waist.

They both couldn’t be older than 60 years each and their love had lasted for about fourty years. But, if you asked them, they would tell you that just as those two hours spent walking felt like a couple of minutes, the same went for those four decades they had decided to face together. 

The sparks of the rising moon enlightened her features. Silently and calmly, a tear was brought to her cheeks. He took her face in his hands and wiped away that tear. She closed her eyes and put her hands on one of his. Don’t you cry, my love – he said. She swiftly nodded and pretended to put herself together.

When I’m gone, don’t you cry – she said. He smiled and wrapped his long and mighty arm around her; he wanted to protect her, he did want and if he could, he would have given his own life to save her. Still, that’s not how it works. The victims are randomly chosen and, if you’re one of them, the only thing you can do is to agree with this judgement and hope you’ll be taken away as late as possible.

Once in their unlucky lives, that evening seemed endless. Every single light, shade, reflexion… it was all contributing to create something which he would later grab onto. Her sweet brown eyes, her pale face which still found the strenght to blush when she was with him, her pretty slim lips. But he preferred focusing on the colourful leaves on the trees and the welcoming ground they had their feet on and the delightful mood she was able to give birth to. That’s all he would be left with, eventually.

@layalke 🐍

Nighthawks

Linnet looked down her whisky glass; she closed her eyes, those deep and weary eyes, as she drank. The bartender smiled at her and Linnet couldn’t understand if that was the smile of someone who had pity on her, a young woman of an unusual beauty who was being destroyed by the alcohol she kept snarfing and her obsessing thoughts, or if he was just joyful.

“Another one, please”, she said as she handed out her now empty glass.

Linnet had her head in her hands and was just about to fall asleep, when a young and handsome man entered the diner. He was wearing a nice fedora and an elegant suit, which made him look like someone who ran a business; he, whose name was Finley, went next to Linnet and sat on the chair closest to hers. 

She, on the other hand, didn’t even look at him, and only turned her head when he took her glass away and, instead, put his hand in hers. She faked a smile and went back again to her whisky glass.

“I missed you.”

“No, you didn’t. You just missed the idea of me being under your power.”

“I love you.”

She distanced her glass and a tired and false smile appeared on her lips. Then she drank the last sip, laid that whisky glass on the counter and went to the door. Finley stood up and looked at her on the doorstep. Linnet turned her face and whispered, in a charismatic but, still, emotionless way: “I love you too”. She walked out the building and Finley lost her again in the dark night that the city of New York had wrapped around them.

@layalke 🐍