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26 janvier 2022 à 22:10:45
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Le Monde de L'Écriture » Encore plus loin dans l'écriture ! » Textes non francophones » Parisian night

Auteur Sujet: Parisian night  (Lu 435 fois)

Hors ligne Ines-B

  • Plumelette
  • Messages: 15
Parisian night
« le: 16 septembre 2021 à 16:51:37 »
I pushed the door and went into the Parisian bar that looked like a jazz club straight out of the 1950s Ipanema. The soothing and crackling Bossa Nova music that was being played on the aging radio, and the acrid smoke coming out of the cigars hit me instantly.

As soon as I walked in, the few men that were present heard the sound of my red high heels clicking on the parquet and looked at me. I only came for one of them: my long-lost lover. I have been waiting for this moment for the past ten years, clinging to the tiny hope that he was still alive. The hope of seeing him, embracing him, and kissing him again got me through the absolute horror of the nights that I spent in the asylum. They all thought I was losing my mind. They were all utterly sure that I was stuck in the past, that I couldn't move on from his death, that I wouldn't be able to live without him, but there he was. As beautiful as ever. He stared at me. Intensely. I had forgotten how much I loved to dive into his beautiful eyes and get lost in them.

We had to act as if we didn't know each other. I ordered a scotch on the rocks, his favourite drink, and I sat down in front of him. I gazed passionately at his lips, at those lips that I used to kiss so lovingly, as he took a sip from his drink. "I missed you. I have never stopped loving you.", he said as he put down his glass, and smiled at me. It was a genuine and caring smile. Reassuring even. Neither of us has ever loved anyone as hard as we loved each other.

That timeless moment faded when his glass fell, shattered, and scattered across the floor. He looked at me, as he began to breathe rapidly. There was fear in his eyes. He understood that his very love had sealed his fate. Three words came out of his beautiful mouth as he began to gasp for air: "But I love..."

Suddenly, as my eyes were slowly and calmly settling on him, he collapsed.
I finished my drink while everyone was rushing outside. I looked down at his body, a body I have longed for for so long, carefully examining every inch of it. He wasn't dead yet, but he soon would be. I smiled, though there was an aching and appalling pain behind my grin. This isn't how I imagined things would end with my lover, my soulmate, but I had to do this. For me. For closure. For the unbearable pain that has been hunting and haunting me for a decade to end.

"I'm sorry", I whispered gently as I gave one last look to his lifeless beautiful body, laying on the floor. I gave him one last kiss, followed the others outside, and faded into the darkest night I have seen since I last saw him.

Hors ligne Michael Sherwood

  • Calligraphe
  • Messages: 131
Re : Parisian night
« Réponse #1 le: 14 janvier 2022 à 16:43:15 »
Wow, that's beautiful, a very strong and strange story indeed!
 
I like the atmosphere of mystery that surrounds it: whether the lady who spent 10 years in an asylum actually kills her lover now, or killed him before she was interned, and then is re-enacting her crime on the very spot where the crime was committed.

Two little things I would change:
- One verb tense doesn’t seem right: Neither of us has ever loved anyone as hard as we loved each other.
Why not “had ever loved” since the possibility of ever loving each other, or loving anyone again ended with the lover’s death?

- The choice of verb in the last sentence feels a bit awkward: “and faded into the darkest night I have seen since I last saw him.”
The darkest night I live in since I last saw him.
Maybe I’m just splitting hairs  ;)

Best regards,
MS
It's not because you're paranoid that they aren't after you.

 


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