The beat is still writhing, the life within the king remains. The bells are ringing and the river is rolling.
There is a party across the way, piano man playing and older couples dancing slowly. The song ends, the music is loud and the older couples stand down while the young jump onto the floor, arms flailing and moving quickly to the beat.
An older man steps outside and lights up his cigarette. Inhales, exhales and watches the smoke disappear. Looks at his watch as a lady stands beside him, pulls the cigarette from his hand and inhales.
“It’s getting late.”
She hands him the cigarette and says, “it’s been late for a while now.”
He tosses the cigarette to the floor, steps on it and puts his arm around the lady.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Now?”
“Not from here but from everything. You and I, let’s jump on a plane.”
She smiles takes his hand.
“It’s going to be alright.”
“What if it’s not? I don’t want to know.”
“Not knowing is not going to make-‘
” I know that but let’s go live, before it’s not late anymore. Let’s go where the waves softly flow towards the shore. Where the birds are thousands of colors, the green grass gives in to the cold as we walk up the mountains and the green turns to a pure white.”
A tear formed in her left eye, she looked down and then up.
depression, Flash Fiction, Freddy Zalta, Life, Love, Stories from the F Train
The Beating
