Property of Will

Property of Will

A Story by Yann Bellemare


Property of Will




Melancholy hit him hard. A wrecking ball, aimed at his comparatively small figure. Icy chills down his weak spine forced him to move around, for the turmoil was too much to sit off. He mumbled under his breath, placing one foot before the other, steadily directing himself towards a possible refuge; an impervious sanctuary from the daily stabs. “How does one run away from his constant piercing thoughts” he wondered, barely audibly. He heard a voice in response, at once startled, but soon realised it was only a recollection of what once was. “Exorcise the demons” it said. He recognized that sly monotone voice. A college professor who had unconsciously changed his way of seeing and reading art. At once, he changed directions, heading now for the opposite side of town. He noticed bypassers on the main street exchanging looks at his indecisiveness. He pretended he had forgotten something, slapping his head with his palm, to justify his sudden change of heart. Almost feeling the warmth on his damp wretched bones, he quickened the pace, for he had no idea when this genius idea would turn back to dread.


Continuing towards the cafe, where emotional junkies come to weep, turning their insides out; the church of exorcism. Entering the shop, an influx of cinnamon and burnt toast converged in his nostrils. He particularly liked burnt toast, or at least the idea of it. Avoiding any eye contact with unrecognizable people, he patiently placed himself linearly to order a comforter. All he could overhear in this madhouse was the hysterical laughter of a score of college kids, who seemed to have voided all magic from his safe-haven. This contrast only reinforced how irritated he already felt with them. His eyes scurried the room for an isolated corner, and at once, couldn’t help but admire the creative process in decorating this place. Layers of brick covered half the walls, separated in the middle by an estranged tapestry with a dozen shadows of popularly cultural animals, with the top layer made out of citrus coloured wood. The dangling chandeliers and the restricted lighting gave it a certain gloomy halloween mood.


“Sir… ? Hello… ?”


He turned his head towards the voice, realising as he did, that there was a gap between him and the counter. Embarrassed, he scouted the menu as he came closer to the register, for anything that would quickly grab his attention. He could sense her beady eyes judging him from head to toes. Nothing seemed to appeal to him. The pressure accumulated. It became unbearable.


“What would you suggest?” he blurted out, charmingly, trying to find an exit from his uncomfortable situation.


Annoyed by this question, the girl sighed and headed to a half-filled coffee pot, filled a cup to the brim and topped it messily with whipped cream, dropping it on the counter with a loud *clump*.


“7.50” she requested in monotony.


He handed her a 10$ bill and gently bowed his head, admiring her unexpected expression for a split second. He pivoted his feet around to claim a place as his own, dripping a little liquid over the ceramic tiles.



Dodging the occasional leaks, he headed to the back of the cafe. He changed his footing accordingly as he crossed to the wooden floor section, and straightened his posture as he came closer to the parked students. Like a murderer at a crime scene, he avoided eye contact, and unsheathed his usual spot, being somewhat concealed whilst having a vantage point to watch and appreciate events that would or would not take place. Meddling around in his bag, looking for music to ease his transition, he pulled headphones and popped them in his ears. As he pressed play, stretching and slouching, he kicked back his right foot on a chair, and let out a sigh of relief. He felt proud. Proud that all he needed was a setting like this and god-sent sounds to appease his soul.



Hawking the room, radar spread, he caught a stare from the table across. Shy blue eyes, buttoned on a blonde head, exclaiming their surprise at being discovered, scampered away to find the material they were initially bound to study. His eyes also mechanically dropped down to his Ipod, fondling it nervously, accidently changing the song. He glanced back up. She was still reading. “Oh come on... Look one more time..” he said, silently teasing. Inspecting the only thing she showed, made him realise she was also wearing golden earrings, camouflaged in, but betraying her lower grade hair. He followed her threads to her shoulders and lower, noticing a small but relevant birthmark on her slender forearm. He couldn’t see her legs, for she was at a table with several others, angling them out. Looking over and around to make sure he was still being subtle, he went back to review. This time though, her eyes were waiting for him. They stung like daggers, sending energized sparks down his nervous system, but he forced himself to keep contact. She didn’t hold his and swiftly took refuge back in her book. “Come on..” he said, frustrated. Eventually, there was nothing left of interest to stare at and he also resigned to his book.



He scribbled a few lines in his notebook, drowning out the sound around him; clinging glasses, student exclamations and the unorthodox rhythm of the entrance door closing back and forth. Dusk was dawning. Orange-tinted lights spawned from around the cafe, illuminating the dreary air.  He felt somewhat lucky to have witnessed this change of scenic ambiance. He peeked at the blonde girl, wondering if she had noticed this light-show, this split-second supernova. Not only had she let her book rest, she was also nodding away at one of the gorillas at her table, occasionally letting a smile shine through for nothing else than sheer encouragement. He was shouting some moronic tale about eggs meeting windshields on the highway. All she did was nod with dead eyes.


As he zipped his bag up, the entrance door opened. It was as if the wind had softly cracked open heaven’s pearly gates. A feminine figure flew in. He was hungry, oh so very hungry. With insatiable eyes, he watched her majestically hover to the register. She ordered without hesitation, having no time to mingle with indecisiveness. She then looked around, untying her practical ponytail, assessing the room in as subtlety as a fox. She gently placed her long dark hair around her neck with a grooming motion, uncovering her naked ear, sprinkled with two black and white earrings sitting royally in her earlobe. “What marvelous profile” he thought. Her skin, naturally tanned, betrayed her batard bloodline, and her curvature gave insight unto her healthy sins. Although he only saw one eye, he could only imagine what glory her stare withheld. What amazing grace was pouring down and emanating from her. Oh how the vicious cycles of time, everchanging, sometimes grant the crypt, other times vertigo. How frail he was, eligible to get swept off his feet and into the clouds at any moment’s notice. She was indomitable, that though, he could tell. Grounded and tied down to a cement block. He wondered if she had the key to it. If she could consciously decide to unlock herself at will. And if she did have the key, he wanted a copy of it. The only copy. Even her copy had to go. She would probably tell him to f**k off, with such force too ! But that was the beauty of it ! But what would happen when they realised they needed each other ? Wouldn’t they be weak now, like everyone else ? Today would be fine, but what about tomorrow. How could the future withstand love ? Even by tomorrow, the flaws would be obvious, if not yet in the equation, then at least the variables.


“This time, don’t overthink it” he said to himself.


“You’ve never seen her, she might only be passing and if not, she’s new in town. It’s nothing you didn’t have an hour before.”


He laughed at his own pitiful attempt at downsizing this destined situation. But he did have a point. Overthinking brought him nothing of worth, considering his empty-hearted pockets. He raised his head decidedly, determined that he would ask her if she would sit with him. At least for a few minutes. Enough time for him to prove his worth. He was hoping he didn’t have to mention that it was to be platonically only, depending on her reaction. Was she meeting someone here soon ?


“Well evidently not, if I was meeting her here, I would’ve thrown myself at her a few seconds after she walked in.” he realised.


Although, when he did raise his head back, what he saw did not make sense. He had awoken from his daydream only to come with the understanding that his muse had left his sight. He peeked over the half wall to scout his deep left, still finding nothing. His muse was missing. Departed from the mortal world. No longer a lifeform. His heart sank. A dog without a bone. A piece of string too small to use.

© 2014 Yann Bellemare


Author's Note

Yann Bellemare
critique, theme analysis, anything that floats your boat. I'm really just happy to share it.

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Featured Review

Ah, I enjoyed this piece, and I'll have you know I'm in a place where the cinnamon and burnt toast are currently converging into my nostrils. There is something creepy beautiful about the narrater's voice, the tone. As I'm sitting in this cafe, I've identified maybe 3 or 4 who might speak just like your protagonist, one being myself;) ...When you wrote: "She would probably tell him to f**k off, with such force too !" I laughed out loud, didn't realize just how loud (earbuds) until I looked up at the couple sitting across from me, eyeing me, like a mad man. "I am," I want to say to them. "I am." ...

This was a really good story, Yann. I'm currently working on a short story too, and it's not easy to get these nuances right in such a short amount of wordage, so, respect to you... The only thing I would suggest, (and I'm fighting the structure of mine tonight) is maybe breaking up some of your dialogue, even the internal ones you use. Not sure how it would pan out but in some places it might make it "pop" off the page a bit more, or clarify it to the reader a little more. Just a thought. I'm going to come back and give this one another go later, see if I can pick up some more good stuff..

Excellent work, Yanns. Good to read you again.

Diego

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Ah, I enjoyed this piece, and I'll have you know I'm in a place where the cinnamon and burnt toast are currently converging into my nostrils. There is something creepy beautiful about the narrater's voice, the tone. As I'm sitting in this cafe, I've identified maybe 3 or 4 who might speak just like your protagonist, one being myself;) ...When you wrote: "She would probably tell him to f**k off, with such force too !" I laughed out loud, didn't realize just how loud (earbuds) until I looked up at the couple sitting across from me, eyeing me, like a mad man. "I am," I want to say to them. "I am." ...

This was a really good story, Yann. I'm currently working on a short story too, and it's not easy to get these nuances right in such a short amount of wordage, so, respect to you... The only thing I would suggest, (and I'm fighting the structure of mine tonight) is maybe breaking up some of your dialogue, even the internal ones you use. Not sure how it would pan out but in some places it might make it "pop" off the page a bit more, or clarify it to the reader a little more. Just a thought. I'm going to come back and give this one another go later, see if I can pick up some more good stuff..

Excellent work, Yanns. Good to read you again.

Diego

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Portrait of a wimpy person forging through his wretched daydreams, unable to decide on anything concrete. At the end he's left with nothing.

Excellent descriptions

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Yann Bellemare

5 Years Ago

Thank you Marie, I'm glad you see the overarching theme through the character and his self-proclaime.. read more
Ok, wow. There's a lot to be said, really. I love the way you write. I recognize this type of writing, only people with real knowledge of human emotion and tendencies can write with such detail. For instance, "he pretended he had forgotten something.." It's details like this that make writing great. I felt compelled to keep reading because of the figurative language, which I always look for in writing, it's my special interest. It flowed well, with setting descriptions in the right places and amount. And if I interpret it right, it has a theme of loneliness? That's what I got from it, or of searching from being lonely. The only thing I would criticize, and this is my own opinion, is the use of f**k. I'm certainly not a "cussing-nazi" but for this piece it seemed abrupt and broke the continuation of formal and elegant wiring. But that's just my own thinking. Either way it's still a great piece, I'm glad I read it.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Yann Bellemare

5 Years Ago

Thank you ! Everytime I read this review it humbles me to no end !!
"He had awoken from his daydream only to come with the understanding that his muse had left his sight. He peeked over the half wall to scout his deep left, still finding nothing. His muse was missing. Departed from the mortal world."

Those lines caught my eyes. A splendid story...:).........................

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Yann Bellemare

5 Years Ago

Thank you for taking the time Sami !!
Sami Khalil

5 Years Ago

You are welcome...:)......

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Added on October 12, 2014
Last Updated on October 12, 2014

Author

Yann Bellemare
Yann Bellemare

Quebec, Canada



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If I added you, it means I have read and appreciated your work. Don't add me expecting to get reviews. I am very picky and I don't review for the sake of it. Your true traveller finds bored.. more..

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