Scored in Love (Wattys2015)

~42~ the balcony scene

*** For M, relaxation time now!...with love. The Balcony Scene by Craig Armstrong. Anyone know which film this track is from? ***

*** Please be sure to VOTE! Thank you! ***

The moon is a bright face on an inky-blue expanse of sky. Stars sparkle with enduring energy. It feels strangely calming to be sitting on the balcony. I’m in a pensive mood this evening. The crisp night breeze touches my face with all the tenderness of a mother’s embrace. A consuming sadness prods at my heart. 

Life favours the few, while the masses wallow in mundanity…

I live a humdrum existence in a humdrum town — that’s an undeniable fact.

I had better accept my lot. 

The moon is my mother — a constant companion in my time of need. If you think about it, the female body regulates itself according to her cycles. 

Fvck Gretchen. Fvck Dad. Fvck Armand. Fvck Magnus. Fvck Mr Zeepler. Fvck my friends. Fvck Lucille.

Fvck everyone.

Let me just admire the sublime simplicity of nature.

This must be how Friedrich’s The Wanderer felt as he stood, gazing down into that beautifully terrifying abyss. The night mist is a ghostly cloak in the crisp air.

Human knowledge is limited. That both scares me and delights me in equal measure.

I’ve been immersing myself in romantic literature (Armand would be proud — oh fvck him.)

I want to imitate The Wanderer — I’m in that kind of mood.

I kick off my heels and climb up onto the stone balustrade railing. It’s a long drop. The hotel gardens are a very pretty grave indeed. I start to laugh. I’m on top of the world. This must be how pure, unadulterated freedom feels like— 

“Goodness, Amelie!” A silky voice carries in the gentle breeze.

I gasp. Shocked, Mr Zeepler stands a few yards away from me holding two champagne flutes. 

I shake my head with a devilish smirk and climb off. Smiling sweetly, I plonk my arse on the balustrade. He recovers himself and offers me a glass, which I accept.

I’m feeling slightly tipsy…

That’s probably not a good thing, but my personal motto is “live life to the fullest”. Or is it “never harbour a single regret”? God knows. I’m about as predictable as a tortoise.

Amused, he watches me down the glass and toss it below. The vague cracking of glass is music to my ears. “Quite the dare-devil, aren’t you?” 

“More than you.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“You’re a bloody banker,” I stab my finger at his chest. “You’re averse to risk.”

He chuckles. “That’s why you interest me.”

I motion for him to give me his glass. When he doesn’t budge, I simply snatch it off him. He laughs harder. His laugh is a smooth as silk — why does he have to taunt me? 

“What?” I narrow my eyes at him.

He leans closer to me and taps his nose. “Tut tut, Amelie. Chasing after an unavailable man.”

My fingers squeeze the glass so tightly, I think it may shatter. Then I’ll have blood on my hands like Lady Macbeth. I’m already going crazy like her. This financier is a curse to me. I wouldn’t touch him with a twenty-foot barge-pole.