Distorted Light (standard:drama, 1609 words)
Author: Lusa	Added: Oct 22 2001	Views/Reads: 3402/2353	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A girl meets up with a boy from her past and finds what has changed . . . and what hasn't.

"Long time, no see, Elsa Craven." 

I should have reacted; by all rights, I ought to have jumped three feet
in the air, my heart should have started pounding a crazy calypso, the 
blood should have drained from my face. But, save a sudden cold 
crawling of my skin and a queasiness in the pit of my stomach, I felt a 
bleak, empty nothing. Like I somehow expected him to be there. 

"Not long enough, Mick," my voice came out gravelly, stifled, and I
turned, almost against my will. It was not quite twilight, and he was 
visible, lounging on the park bench, looking up at me like it had been 
yesterday instead of years ago. So long ago, so it seemed another life. 
One which had passed, and died. 

"Too long, Els. Way too long." As I completed my pirouette to face him,
his mouth cracked and one corner slid up hesitantly, almost cautiously. 


Seven years had taken their toll on Mick Oliver; aged him, drained him,
scratched out a third of his life so far with barbed talons. His 
nondescript sandy-blond hair was shorter than I remembered, but long 
enough to stick out every which way in tufts of matted brownish wheat. 
The pale hazel eyes, never still, always shifting, blinking, rolling, 
searching the nooks and crannies around him, shadowed by demons from 
his past, overcast with brooding eyebrows. His face was gaunt, his body 
emaciated; but then, maybe it had always been like that. A colourless 
stubble was spread over his hollow cheeks and jaw, lips pale around his 
awry grin; yet he was the same. Seven years had aged him; but they 
hadn't changed him. 

Oblivious to my intent scrutiny, Mick fished around in his pocket,
finally coming up with a cigarette that had obviously seen other use. 
Flipping out a lighter, he held up the flickering flame to the butt; 
his fingers were trembling and stained, the cigarette stub twitching 
until he was finally able to catch the flame to the end. 

He exhaled away from me, but as it had often done before, the biting
smoke swerved, dissipated, curling around my nostrils like a bitter 
laugh. I brushed at it, but it was like intangible spidersilk; eluded 
my hand, seeped deeper into my lungs. "You're back to tobacco, I see," 
I commented, flatly, watching as his eyes ceased their aimless roving 
and centred on the cigarette. 

"Yeah. Gotta admit, it doesn't do sh-t for me now." He tapped his ashes
against the edge of the bench, drawing my attention downward. The cuffs 
of his loose beige pants were worn and frayed, his shoes scuffed, 
completely split around the heel so that they flapped against his feet 
when he walked. And where had those feet taken him? Did he remember? 
Did it matter? They had brought him back. Back to me. 

A few people were still passing briskly through the park, the
trenchcoat-and-briefcase type mainly, only then on their way home from 
work. The sun had sunk halfway behind the trees, a select few rays 
still peeking out to scrape across his face, tearing through the inky 
blackness of the branches. Crickets chirped, dogs barked, yet there was 
such an oppressive stillness in the air, like a hot, heavy blanket laid 
over your face, rasping in your ears, your breath hitting the thick 
shroud but not escaping. Nothing escaped. 

His head snapped up abruptly, mouth working, eyes holding a desperate
beseeching I found hard to accept. "Come here. Talk to me Els, please. 
It's been so long since I--just, please, I need you to c'mere." He 
dropped the cigarette, embers smoldering on the pavement until he 
ground them out savagely beneath his heel, ducking his head into the 
shadows. 

"I need you." What had it cost him to say that? He who never needed, he
who was never dependant. Or so he had told himself; it had taken years, 
but gradually he had sunken into the part, had begun to back up his 
words with actions, with callous indifference. He hadn't needed 
anything. But he had wanted everything. 

"I screwed up my life big time, Els. Maybe I was screwed from the start.
But there was always you holding me back, y'know? I mean, we always 
crossed the line, jumped the fence; but you kept me from going the next 


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