An Autumn Leaf: The first in the Seasons Saga. DMHG.
Just a little productivity. Thanks to OneRepublic, Muse, Train, Taio Cruz and DJ Earworm for the inspiration.
Sorry for any mistakes, I'm just as human as the next person.
The mist hung densely around the pavement, the dark night hovering over London like a blanket, barely any stars winking as she made her way along the road, her boots tapping on the concrete. She exhaled loudly and blinked, he eyes squinting as she tried to judge how far she still had to walk.
The streets smelt of smoke from the chimneys that adorned the houses, sitting tall like soldiers as they puffed out smoke like a steam train. The street light closest to her flickered and then went out, plunging the ten metres in front of her into darkness. She clutched her purse tighter and picked up her pace, her ponytail bobbing behind her.
The green cocktail dress she was wearing swayed around her thighs as she turned her head to the right, scrutinizing the empty street, her lips pursed. How many people would be awake at eleven o'clock at night on a Tuesday evening? She didn't know. There was the swish of a curtain and a pair of green, beady eyes watched her walk, the occupant worrying for this young lady and her safety. Being out this late at night, and in that sort of attire! But the older woman could do nothing as the girl moved out of her sight and she turned and walked away, her mind moving towards other things.
She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest, the small cardigan she was wearing doing nothing to evade the cold that clung to her on this cool autumn evening, the wind blowing softly through the road, making the swings in the nearby park creak and seem even more eerie in the dark night, decorated with graffiti of a rainbow variety, the girl chewing her lip.
At last she could see a faint light up ahead, the slightest sound of chatter and the slamming of bottles onto table and she sighed in relief. The tree next to the pub swayed in the breeze and the last fiery orange leaves fell off the tips of the branches, fluttering silently to the ground and losing their colour as the fell into the shadow of the pub, changing; evolving. Maybe it was significant, because tonight was a change.
She walked into the Pub slowly, the haze of tobacco making her breathing hitch, but the familiar warmth of alcohol taking its place as she sat down at the bar, the bartender walking over to her at a leisurely pace.
"What can I get for you ma'am?"
"A brandy please," she said.
He walked away and returned with the drink as she slipped a five pound note across the bar towards him. He nodded and disappeared, attending to a group of boys who looked barely legal, their clothes oozing college style and some were swaying dangerously, their eyes unfocused and dilated. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink, the warm alcohol trailing down her throat and stirring at warmth; a fire even in the pit of her belly.
She tried not to think of him, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he was her every thought. Her waking, her sleeping and the time in between was all for him. And yet he grew tired of her, throwing her aside as if she was a toy that he had gotten bored of, demanding something new, something shiny and bright. Something or someone new to discover; to explore and play with, until he too grew bored of her and the cycle would continue. And here she was, broken and trying to pick up the pieces.
It served her right really, she knew of all his history when she started this fling with him; she thought she would be different. True, she was different from other girls. She didn't possess supermodel beauty of the 21st Century, she was more of an elegant taste; something that needed to be acquired. She didn't whore herself out and she was thorough with her judgment; her smarts proving helpful on more than one occasion.
But not this time.
Her mask, the person she was around him was almost unrecognizable. She wanted to be new, a fresh face with a new lick of paint. But this morphed her into something that none of her friends wanted to know. They only wanted the real her, but she wanted to be noticed for a change, wanted to be doted upon. She was never in the spotlight for long, but she wanted to change that. She felt that it was her time to shine.
And yet, after all this, she had turned dull. She didn't have that spark of ingenuity or wit that she usually possessed, she didn't amaze people with her quick facts that could break the ice in any situation, she was merely a weak imitation of something she wanted to be, and yet could never reach.
Thinking about it, she had made the wrong move. She had bet everything she had on this, but she didn't think clearly about the consequences. So here she was, in a bar without friends, a boy, anything. She was merely left empty handed.
It served her right, she thought. If she wanted to be someone different, then why didn't she reassess herself rather than going off and changing herself, stripping down and baring all, adding different colours of paint until all that was left was a muddy brown that fell flat.
It was like the leaves that now lay on the cold, hard ground outside. They were beautiful on the trees, whether they were bright green, fiery gold, blazing orange or flaming red. But if you tried to strip it away from the original it would fall without a sound and lay upon the street, being walked over and forgotten, becoming dirty and fading away, never to be remembered. And in the spring, another leaf would grow in the spot she had once occupied and take her place, making them feel better.
The tree would stay there for years, but there would be countless leaves that would fall, forgotten and silent. They would have no graves, no flowers deposited or tombstones inscribed. There would be nothing left, no rhyme nor reason.
And she had been lost in the wind, scattered away and never seen again, something that once was never thought of, her colour had faded, a shadow falling over her life.
She wanted to cut the tree down, to shove in his face all of the leaves that had fallen, but she knew he wouldn't even listen; he had no time for someone he used to know.
Her colour had melted, but she wouldn't be back in the spring. She would be trodden over and she would just lie there, remembering and shedding tears for what was, and what never would be.
Her whole entity was barely a faded colour, and a discarded leave that twisted and turned on the ground and moved along silently, long since given up. She was nothing but an autumn leaf floating on the wind.
Put me on Author Alert if you liked this, hopefully I will have this Saga finished over this weekend. Each season will be posted as a separate story.
I'm not even going to ask for a flame this time. (:
Review? Thoughts? Maybe a joke or two that would help my cold? Any will do!