Accents 2

This is part 2 of a short story I am working on. You can find part 1 here.

“I am really really sorry about that!” I turn around to see him standing there next to me. He gives a 10 to the bartender and says “I’ll have what she’s having!”. Having not ordered anything yet, I feel like it is time for a lesson. I lean over the bar and whisper to the bartender, Dean, to make us two of the most fruity pink tasting all sugar mocktails. He laughs and sends us back to our table.

As we return, Livy is texting somebody, not paying attention to us.

“I never did get your name” he says as we wait for our drinks.

“No.. you didn’t” I say, matter-of-factly. “And you’re not gonna!” I think to myself.

“Well, I’m Anthony. And I really am sorry! I haven’t slept in two days, and I would not blame fatigue for my poor jokes, but I was just so happy with our victory today!”

“So, you really think we have a chance?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Every little counts, especially after last night. Did you hear about the fire at the Central Museum of Art? I was there…I was never a fan of Expressionism, but seeing Starry Night burn before my eyes? I must have looked like The Scream. It’s not right. I have a friend…you might know her, she was in Livy’s art class, Alejandra.” As he says this, he gestures with his head towards Livy. “She was enrolled in a Master of Arts at the University, and she told me they are only allowed to paint flowers for their final project. She’s furious.”

“I never realized things have gotten so far!” I think of my bass guitar back home. I think about not being able to play, and it makes me sad.

Dean comes back with our drinks, looking like a unicorn puked them. Anthony throws me a half smile and says

“If you think something that pink scares me, think again! I grew up with a younger sister. No pink fruity drink is ever going to scare me!” He raises his hand and shows me his pinky finger, with the nail painted a fuchsia color.  “This is Jenny’s work. She wanted to test the color, but didn’t want to spoil her manicure. At least I’m color-coded now!” Livy laughs and I feel a little jealous. I always wanted a big brother to torment.

“So, let me make it up to you for my comment earlier. Let’s go grab a pizza, my treat!”

“Pizza sounds good!” Livy says. “I’ll text Josie, let her know we’ll be late!”.

“No,” I say as I make a face. “If we stay out any longer, we won’t get any cabs tonight. You know they enforced an 11:00 curfew.”

“Even better” Anthony laughs “James is out of town, so I have the apartment to myself. You guys crash with me tonight, and I’ll serve you both breakfast tomorrow morning! Maybe I’ll even get your name!” he grins.

“Oh come on, Dana,” Livy chimes in, “we can come back here tomorrow morning, grab a coffee and go back to the protests. This Emotion Law doesn’t sound too good!”


Accents 1

Hello everybody! 

I mentioned when, and if, I ever get around to start writing, I will publish my writing here!

Here below is a glimpse at a short story I am working on! More to come next Sunday! Any feedback is welcome, so please let me know in the comments what do you think sould / will happen!

Have a nice week ahead!

We were celebrating the first victory of the year. The governors had decided against the Emotion Law because of the protests in the last few days. Livy was sitting in front of me, sipping her beer and pointing towards something with a cigarette in her hand. We were free. For now, anyway. A tall guy with a strong jawline and baby blue eyes entered the bar. He stopped and grinned when he saw Livy, and started making his way towards our table. I left to grab a drink, realized maybe I was being impolite and came back to hear him talk to Livy.

“So…” he said after he caught her in a bear hug “who’s your friend who’s gonna serve me breakfast tomorrow morning?”

Livy smacked himover the arm and made an apologetic face my way. Who does this guy think he is? God’s gift to women?

“I don’t “do” breakfast!” I answered, slightly annoyed. “I actually came back to ask if I could get you something from the bar, but I see you can’t stay! I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I don’t lie to people as a first impression!” I headed back to the bar, leaving him to collect his jaw from the floor. I honestly don’t know where that came from. I am never confrontational, and the best replies I have are usually at five thirty in the morning, after about two years, when I cannot sleep due to social anxiety. My blood was boiling. Who treats people like that?