Story Just a "Short Story"

[Lakyr]

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Life is weird. It was a simple thought he had that moment but such a complex one at that. He felt so small out on his tiny balcony. Around him, the buildings of a monstrous city reached into the dark night sky. Smoke swirled up from the cigarette in his left hand, was blown apart by the faint wind, and became one with the night. Beneath him were the streets, just a faint sight, as far away as the horizon.

He stretched his back, took a long drag from the cigarette and then rested his arm on the cold, metal railing again. Here and there were lights in the distance, bright neon lights of the whole variety of colors, through a window flashed the light of a tv screen, somewhere a car’s headlights. But between them were far stretches of darkness and shadows. So small. Irrelevant. Alone?

Where there other people behind every window in those towering giants? Did that matter? Would it make any difference to him if there weren’t any people? Would he know it, would it change anything? He lived next to hundreds of faces he knew no name to. Did he himself matter? Of course, there were people he knew, people that knew him, but so much more that were just … there. And then again, out there with the fresh night air on his skin, he felt like he was completely alone.

Love is fucking weird. He was standing there only in his boxer shorts. He didn’t mind the cold right now, not even the numbingly chilly ground under his naked feet. He sighed and took another long drag from his cigarette, his gaze shifting restlessly through the dark outside. He was too scared to mind the cold, too scared that if he turned around again he would see nobody. That he truly was alone. That the last hours didn’t really happen. That it was all a dream. Or even worse, just imagination.

Does that sound confusing? Implausible? But how is he not to question reality, if he sometimes felt all alone in a city where millions of people live side by side. And then how he ended up in this situation, if it was real, seemed just surreal. It didn’t feel too far-fetched that he was alone and …

Just alone.

More moments went by. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Years? An eternity maybe? Or just the time needed to smoke half a cigarette? Spent by looking off into a dark skyline. He flicked the butt of the cigarette down towards the street. Looking after it his eyes quickly lost the faint smoldering glow and the feeble trail of smoke it left behind.

A smile crept up his lips. He shouldn’t waste his time with this. Why fear something you cannot change if you could just live your life instead. But that was the effect dark nights had on him, sometimes. Dark nights after days that had been too good to be real. He pushed himself off the railing and turned around. His bedroom was dark but enough light crept in to see clearly a figure lying on his bed curled up in a blanket.

He stepped inside, left the window to the balcony on tilt, and crouched down next to the bed. He barely knew her, or did he? He felt like he knew her better than anybody else. They were two pieces of the same puzzle. And they had found each other amidst millions of wrong pieces and other puzzles. Gently he brushed some of her dark hair away so that he could take a look at her face. Even when she slept it was just breathtaking. Beautiful. Cute. He couldn’t find enough words to describe it and not the right ones either. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. To an extent, he didn’t even realize how lucky he was.

He stood up again, he had to sleep as well. He walked to the other side of the bed and then, with a breathy chuckle, noticed that she had taken the whole blanket to curl up in. It was his fault, really, he had left the window open whilst he was on the balcony, she must’ve been cold. So he lay down on the bare bedsheets, without a blanket for him, put an arm around her and cuddled up close. He didn’t care for the blanket. He kissed her neck once and then just closed his eyes to sleep. He didn’t mind her hair in his face, he just needed to be close.
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A short note: Hey, thanks for reading, if anybody did. I'd absolutely love for y'all to give me any feedback you have on this. I dunno why I wrote this, really, it was a couple of months ago but I guess I only now get around to posting it here, for whatever reason. When I started writing this I had no idea what to write, but I did it anyway and this was the result, kind of just following my heart writing this. IT'S SUPER DIFFERENT FROM HOW I USUALLY WRITE! Still, if you liked this, I've just posted another thing, different, but maybe you'll like it too, I'd appreciate it if you read that as well, thanks.

 

[Hell0NHighWater]

My dude, this is really good! I really enjoyed the way you painted the scene, it sort of gave me The Stranger vibes. Not sure if you've ever read it, but the sort of existential questions made here

Where there other people behind every window in those towering giants? Did that matter? Would it make any difference to him if there weren’t any people? Would he know it, would it change anything? He lived next to hundreds of faces he knew no name to. Did he himself matter? Of course, there were people he knew, people that knew him, but so much more that were just … there. And then again, out there with the fresh night air on his skin, he felt like he was completely alone.

----caused me to think about Albert Camus' story.

If I didn't already know that English wasn't your first language, I would have thought you were a native speaker. Considering I also remember when you began writing in TLJ like this:

James was sitting with his back against a wall and with some space between him and most the other survivors in that hall. He tried to ignore their talking and all of that because he wanted some quiet whilst flicking through his comic in reminiscence. He heard the older woman raise her voice, and he understood what she was on about. He'd rather be on the move than sitting in this airport, but right now it seems to be kind of safe here and it was cold outside.

The difference now seems night and day. I'm really proud of how much you've grown as a writer. Your ability to paint details has greatly improved and I think that's evident here with the movement in your writing.
Exhibit A:

Smoke swirled up from the cigarette in his left hand, was blown apart by the faint wind, and became one with the night. Beneath him were the streets, just a faint sight, as far away as the horizon.

On a serious, more constructive note, I always think there's room for more detail. To really put yourself in the shoes of the character by describing sight, sound, taste, etc. There was a lot of detail thrown out in the second or third sentence:

He stretched his back, took a long drag from the cigarette and then rested his arm on the cold, metal railing again. Here and there were lights in the distance, bright neon lights of the whole variety of colors, through a window flashed the light of a tv screen, somewhere a car’s headlights.

While this is really, really, good for setting the scene it read a little like there was half a thought created and it didn't go anywhere. Like what did the car's headlights do? Where is the window? Is this something he's looking at or is it behind him? I'd say be a little more conscious of the space around your character when describing things to the reader.
And there was one or two sentences that I had to pause to reread just because of grammar but it's a very subtle thing ---not a big deal (Everyone makes those mistakes). I think my one recommendation would be to focus on the movement on your scene more (if that makes sense). A little detail goes a long way in some places, and this might be a personal writing preference, but I enjoy it when I can clearly tell when a character is going from one area to another. When the narrator was going from the balcony to the bedroom it felt a little blurry, I could tell what he was doing but it could have been more? I like to think of it as a "Show, don't tell" philosophy.

Another thing would be don't be afraid to mix up your sentence structures. You already do this. Sometimes, though, it adds something to the writing. It helps; It also creates the emphasis you need to paint the movie in your head.

Even when she slept it was just breathtaking. Beautiful. Cute. He couldn’t find enough words to describe it and not the right ones either. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. To an extent, he didn’t even realize how lucky he was.

Like this part was amazing, so don't be afraid to toy around with how you write. Make the punctuation bend to your will.


I'm not sure if any of this made sense -I'm certainly no Stephen King- but if you keep practicing you'll only get better and better.

I almost wish there was more, I really enjoyed reading it