We were creatures of the night, consuming decadence of prohibition bars, sultry jazz and acid booze; with smoke of cigarettes hanging from your crimson lips we burnt like moths in candle-light.
But depression came with harshness of a February dawn. Your poisoned pregnancy came with screams and greasy windowpanes. In blood and mold we grew apart.
Now in silence of his death our table separates, a sea of grimy Formica between us, I let my fingertips remember the double rhythms of bass and drums from our youth.
My bile of bitterness tastes of the tepid coffee in my Styrofoam mug.
It’s been a while since I joined up with Friday Fictioneers, but after 4 weeks of silence I’m glad to be back. This week I wanted to do something a little outside the box from the prompt. How I come from McDonalds to the prohibition time I cannot explain, but certainly the decadence of the time seems to fit with the moth and candlelight.
Friday fictioneers is like a virtual bar, where we bring our stories every week as Rochelle tends the bar.
it’s better to burn out than to fade away
August 12, 2015