I wrote this story some while ago and never really showed it to anyone, but I’m somewhat proud of it. I miss writing so much and I guess I still cling onto the old stuff I’ve written BUT ANYWAY I hope you (whoever is reading this) enjoy it!!

A Report of Time 

By mightytime.

      I’ve always been impressed with the abstraction with which people define me. The use me, make the most of me, throw me away, and some don’t even know what to do with me. I can go by faster or slower; therefore, they keep on trying to keep me organised. Pathetic. For some, I’m the most precious thing in the world; for others, I’m just a heartless bastard weighing on the shoulders. But not this fellow in particular, whose story I’m about to tell you. This one simply couldn’t make up his mind.    

      John was his name. Not very tall, not very rich, not very lucky, not very much of anything, really. He lived in London, God Save the Queen!; and despite looking like an ordinary man, worried about the weather, the traffic, the bath temperature; only two things took hold of his thoughts: Alice and me.    

      Each minute of each day he thought of us two, his thinking about her entwined with his thinking about me. It’s a funny thing, I’d say. It had been quite a while they hadn’t seen each other, John and Alice; they met at school years ago when I was still an ally and my permanence didn’t seem to interfere. Naivety, I’d say; allowing yourself into such substantial feeling, regardless of the damage that my prolonged stay might cause, is one of the sweetest innocences I’ve ever encountered.    

      She was, humbly saying, what you’d imagine an angel looks like: Beautiful, generous, caring, delicate and strong at the same time, clever and cautious, capable of making any lad fall head over heels, and specially John. He felt lucky. “How come me?” he thought; “Why me? Why the shy, unnoticed, so messed up me?” Maybe she was just as misunderstood as him, or maybe she regarded a sense of wholesomeness in him that fit perfectly into whatever was missing in her life. It doesn’t really matter, what only did matter was that they must have found something in each other that made my presence insignificant, till then, the war.    

      John had been sent to war, Vietnam. He had left Alice in tears but he had no choice. Two years in combat had been inflicted to him and it was the best offer he got, believe it or not. There was a goodbye party, friends, drinks, lots of speeches and hugs. And as before the altar and God himself, Alice and John promised themselves to each other for as long as they were apart. The makeshift wedding ring, a brooch that was gently threaded upon Alice’s coat, vouched for their hasty, yet true, vow.    

      Bombs, chaos, unceasing firing and fear. John had never seen anything like it; he’d never been capable of imagining how far the eyes could behold such horror. I’ve seen worse, in all my raging unstoppable existence, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t turn my guts or makes me sickly miserable; but to him it was immeasurably worse; to bare it all, the sweet tender John; and I must admit that my having been there didn’t help him very much.  

      John counted me, constantly thinking and avoiding thinking about me. He couldn’t decide whether to ignore me or if to just endure my lingering about would make it hurt less. Which somewhat made me upset, because it’s not nice at all to know you’re part of someone’s suffering.   

      In spite of always mailing letters to each other during their separation, as to help with coping, he had been yearning acutely to see her again since the day he left. In his words, he’d put it the same way: “Still alive, still for you”. And every night he used to sit on the edge of his bed, looking at the brooch, flipping it through his fingers, imagining her smile and the soft warm touch of her lips pressing onto his once again.    

      Given that I never, and could never, stop, he eventually came back home, thank The Lord. He had a rendezvous with Alice in a nice charming restaurant downtown London. He could just picture it: She would walk in through the double doors and ask the waiter for John, but no answer would be necessary, because before the waiter could even conclude his sentence, Alice’s eyes would meet John’s. She would then rush to his arms, and dive into his embrace; finding in it again the ease and reassurance of John’s clasp; and like in a movie, they would kiss as if it were the last time.    

      It was around midday and John was already there. He had bought her flowers. Daisies; her favourites. Even forgot to throw the receipt away, so it was still in his pocket, staining his pound notes. He was dressed up in a military uniform, sharp, and even had a dog tag tangling down his bruised neck. Was he trying to prove something to himself, to make up for the war frenzy, or was it just pride? Go figure... And again, he insisted upon thinking of me, awful things really; that I was stalling Alice’s arrival; that I had some sort of problem with him. Not fair, for neither John, nor me. They say I can drive people quite unhinged, and there are a few times I do believe that, the way they derange themselves around me.    

      By the table, John was a grenade with its pin pulled off. He would explode at any moment. Affliction took hold of his senses. At the table behind him, an old lady tried to convince her husband that The Bahamas were the best place to spend this holiday season. A bit ahead, a mother was hopelessly trying  to make her fretful baby stop crying. To his left, two parents were telling their daughter off for getting home late the night before.  

      There was a silent nervous breakdown. The shrieking sound coming from the coffee machine when filling another cup hit his ears the same way a bullet does when it grazes the scalp. Each piece of cutlery dropped onto the floor made him shiver; they reminded him of a projectile brushing the surface of his helmet. The yelled words between waiters and cooks were as unclear as those between soldiers and their commanders resonating midst the disarray of bloodshed.     

      He was back in the battle field, sifting through in his head, instructions he had received whilst in training, searching for an evasive manoeuvre: In case of running out of ammunition, check the bottle temperature before giving it to the baby. No, wait. If an air raid menaces, then we won’t have to buy any presents this year. What? What was it again? “AH!! LOOK FOR SHELTER!! “But dad I’m already fifteen!” “AH!! HELP US!!” 

      He couldn’t bring himself to hearing himself think with so much going on around. Praying for the mayhem to cease at once, he glared at his watch, that stupid little thing people use to... how is it again? Oh, right, measure me. He swore he could hear me laughing at him through it. And how heavy it was, it trapped and squeezed him like a handcuff, straining him away from his girl... 

      ...his girl.     

      Suddenly it all went mute; John could only but hear his heavy breathing when his gaze fell upon her visage. There she was, waiting across the street for the lights to go green, distracted, almost ditsy-like; and staring wistfully at a piece of paper in her hands. Alice looked beautiful, gorgeous, flaring; the breath-taking usual Alice. She’d had her hair cut, and a locket was perfectly visible around her neck. The sun reflected vividly on her golden locks, aiming straight at John’s astounded eyes, who had broken free from the trance he was deep plunged into and was now moving towards the door.    

      Stepping out onto the pavement, he tried to come up with what to say to Alice, but there were no words to express what he felt, what he had been feeling, how bad he missed her. His feet led him while he crossed the street.  “That’s odd”, he thought, “Why haven’t you seen me yet? I mean, I’m right in front of you, and the lights are already green! Why are you still looking at that silly piece of paper? What on earth is it!?” And then he saw. It was a picture he had given her before going away, so she could remember what he looked like, in case she’d come to forget it.    

        She looked over, her distracted feature was instantly undone into such a smile I swear, not even I could ever forget it. John stuffed his lungs with air: 

      - Alice! I…    

      He was swept off his feet as his legs were disassembled by a sudden bumper, tossing him away, making him soar in the air like a leaf adrift in autumn. Alice was speechless for a moment, and I must admit, so was I. People who were passing by turned at the scene. Some were shocked, some disgusted, some dismayed; but they all felt sorry for the dead man and the sobbing girl who lied hunched forward on what was left of him.  John’s soul, and then of course, his body, was withdrawn amongst the cars, that opted to just swerve the mournful scene, rather than to properly stop and demonstrate a shred of respect for our unfortunate lovers. All because they couldn’t wait; apparently, they were also worried about me...

...but that’s never done any good to anyone, has it?