A Nightmare's Fate

Nevermore

            I walk inside and observe everyone running, walking, in conversations, writing, and more, all over. Though many people think being journalist is easy, but it isn't, it's kind of like being a reporter but instead of television, it's on paper. But for me, I'm just a columnist. I write anything I'd like to, and it is fun.

            I don't have an office, just a cubical, which I think is cute in some form of way.

"There you are!" I hear a voice in the back of me, and turn around to face Wayde. "You know well enough to not mope at home." Her long, raven hair bounces as she walks over to my dull, grey desk. She wears a blue scarf and a black suit, though instead of a skirt, she wears pants and she doesn't wear a suit jacket.

            "I'm sorry, Wayde. I had . . ." I trail off, the words choking in my throat, but she shrugs.

            "I know what happened, and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry that I didn't make it . . ." she too, trails off, probably not wanting to mention anything else. "Anyways, but now isn't the time to talk about sad things. What I need from you is a column that is superb. Would you mind making something that was less dark and more . . . happy? Like something from what you do with your friends or anything. Just don't make it sad." She continues as she breathes in a light sigh.

            She gives me a small smile and leaves the cubical area. I turn on the computer in the corner of my small office desk and I open a Document as I start writing down brainstorms.

                                                *~*~*~*~*

At about five O'clock I head over to a restaurant named Cafe Ciel, a French brasserie. Well, it really isn't so French since it's owned by half French and half American people, and most that works here are American.

            Entering the bistro, I'm encountered with a delicious aroma, a woman speaking into a microphone that broadcasts her poem that she wrote, which is basically spoken word poetry. There are waiters and waitresses pacing around the eatery and waiting tables, talking to people who either eat and chat or just gossip.

            This is where Periwinkle, Jessie, Freddy, and I meet every day after work. However, it's been awhile since I've been here because of Kenton, we used to come here too, to listen to the poets well-written writes as we make up our own.

            I find the table that we all sit at and I sit in a chair where they are, as they all greet me with smiles.

"Well finally you're joining us!" Jessie smirks, taking a sip of her blue drink.

            "I just got tired of sitting around and crying," I tell. It's the truth, I'm tired of crying and doing nothing, but I don't feel like I should move on, but I am very slowly, and hopefully it'll progress through a short time.

            "So . . . are you going to go up there and knock everyone's socks off?" Periwinkle queries, itching the inside of her ear and looking at the small bit of wax on her pinky.

            "Need we have this conversation again? Mythbusters proved that knocking socks off a person is busted," Freddy sighs, rolling his eyes and glaring at her. I look at him and his eyes peer into mine. I feel like I need to talk to him about that one day where I made him rush out of his house. I wonder if he wants to forgive me, but on the other hand, it's my fault and not his. He shouldn't be the one to say the words first, I should. But then again, he did ask that idiotic question about me being the one ripping our friendship apart.

            "It was a figure of speech, Fred," Jessie argues.

            "Whatever . . ." His eyes widen for a second as they wink at me, while he takes a sip of his drink. By the wink of the eye, I say he has semi-forgiven me. He isn't talking and he isn't apologizing, but it's a sign that we're still friends. “By the way, do you have a poem for us to hear?”

            "Yes. I have a new poem––which I worked on during lunch, so I'd like to introduce it to everyone." I smile, hearing clapping hands, realizing that they're applauding the lady who was at the microphone.

            "Thank you Teresa . . ." Haley, the host for tonight, grins, seeing me as I rise my hand to gesture that I have a poem I'd like to share. She bites her lip and nods in comprehension. "For our next poet, give a round of applause for Raven Whestly!"

            I dig into my purse and pull out many different colors of roses, fake ones of course. Once I have it all in my hand, I go on the stage and stand in front of the microphone. "Hello," I greet. "I call this Nevermore . . ." I swallow and get into character.

            "A rose has many colors to define its stature, to comprehend on why it lives in nature. Is it its beauty that we love? Is it because we give one or a dozen to our companions on special occasions? Why are we fond of roses? A rose is nothing but a flower; like a tulip, a daisy, or a forget-me-not. A tulip is something for those who have a perfect lover, a daisy is for beauty and innocents, a forget-me-not? Well, its name is what it is. Memories, good and bad, that you and I shall cherish.” I pause, glancing towards the back of the room, hoping to not get a glimpse of anyone with my stage fright coming closer to me.

“But what about a rose? What does a rose mean? There are many hues of roses that mean different things; a red rose is for passion and love, coral is for desire and envy, pink is for perfect happiness as well as a dark pink means thankfulness, a black rose is for sorrow which there are those of us who have grief, and one of my favorites . . . a rosemary means remembrance.

            "Remembrance . . . it's a strong word to say, a strong word to recall from any retention that is there. I close my eyes and I can see him standing here, beside me. I can sense his pain, his agony that he went through; I can see through his eyes and observe how frightened he really was when he left me alone. So alone . . . I can feel the darkness devouring my body like I'm no more, like the demons have come forth to take my creature and make me suffer each memory of him. Never have I thought it would come down to this. Never have I even comprehended that this is my future, my life that will haunt forever. But never more will I ever take our love for granted, never will I see these flowers and not know their meaning."

            I hold out a red rose. "Red, for our passion and love." I throw it to someone in the crowd. "Coral, for my envy to be with you even when you're gone.” Again, I throw it to the crowd. "Pink, for the happiness we had together while it lasted." I pause while giving it to someone, and I look at the remaining flowers in my palm. "Dark pink, to thank you for being a loving and caring friend, also for contributing to my life." I toss it to Freddy who gives me a faint grin. I gave him the flower, since he's my friend and he understands what I'm going through, even though that Periwinkle and Jessie are here with me, they don't know how special Kenton was to both Freddy and I. "A black rose for agony and sorrow." A tear trickles down my face as I throw the fake, black flower into the crowd. "And a rosemary for remembering you in all ways that I could never find words to say because a rose gives me pleasure to stay quiet, since it tells you what I want to proclaim."

            I want to kneel down and sob my heart out. I want to scream as loud as I can without anyone telling me to stay quiet. I want to bring Kenton back, but I know that none of those will happen.

            I get off of the stage as many clap and some stay quiet with water in their eyes, trying so hard not to cry from the poem.

            My heart is like glass; it shattered in many pieces and it cannot be put back together. It is porcelain, a very delicate type of glass and it already has been broken from dwelling upon the past.