felix felicis orig
Mar. 5th, 2006 09:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Felix pressed his hands into the railing. The metal was cool but the sun was already warm on his nape. The early morning promised heat, one of the first hot days of this summer.
He looked down into the abyss of street below. The pavement was still in shadow. He could hear the faint noise of cars and smell their fumes, sweet and sickly.
Thoughts meandered through his mind like slow clouds.
In the penthouse, Barbara slept behind billowing white drapes. She slept in the bed they had shared, once upon another season. He had slept on the left, the door side, and she had slept on the right, the window side. Now she sprawled in the middle, white sheets under white gauze. The whole room was white.
He walked back across the pebbly terrace. The texture made little pinpricks in his bare soles. The sliding doors stood open, and behind the sliding doors was the living room, with the fold-down camper bed. Felix stood on the parquet floor and looked at the bed. It was narrow. It looked ugly in the beautiful living room.
He did not fold it up. He put on shoes and tiptoed into the hallway on ginger feet.
"Why are you still living there?" that girl with the dark curly hair had said, he'd forgotten her name, one of Barbara's friends. "What happens when she gets a new boyfriend, huh? You going to crawl under the blankets with them?"
But she wasn't, and he wouldn't, and she hadn't.
"I mean, for goodness's sake," the girl had said, "either you break up or you don't. I'd hate this kind of half-way house, it's pathetic."
Felix took the lift down to street-level and stepped into the sticky petrol morning. He'd go down the block, cross at the pelican crossing, pass the chemist's and the round-topped post box and the tiny park where all the dog shit collected, turn the corner, sun spots reflected off street signs, and on to the Continental patisserie next to the Amex travel agent's. He'd check whether the poster was still in the window, the poster of that beach, and he'd buy exactly two croissants: an almond one for Barbara and a plain one for himself.
That's what he'd do. That's what he'd done every morning.
He looked down into the abyss of street below. The pavement was still in shadow. He could hear the faint noise of cars and smell their fumes, sweet and sickly.
Thoughts meandered through his mind like slow clouds.
In the penthouse, Barbara slept behind billowing white drapes. She slept in the bed they had shared, once upon another season. He had slept on the left, the door side, and she had slept on the right, the window side. Now she sprawled in the middle, white sheets under white gauze. The whole room was white.
He walked back across the pebbly terrace. The texture made little pinpricks in his bare soles. The sliding doors stood open, and behind the sliding doors was the living room, with the fold-down camper bed. Felix stood on the parquet floor and looked at the bed. It was narrow. It looked ugly in the beautiful living room.
He did not fold it up. He put on shoes and tiptoed into the hallway on ginger feet.
"Why are you still living there?" that girl with the dark curly hair had said, he'd forgotten her name, one of Barbara's friends. "What happens when she gets a new boyfriend, huh? You going to crawl under the blankets with them?"
But she wasn't, and he wouldn't, and she hadn't.
"I mean, for goodness's sake," the girl had said, "either you break up or you don't. I'd hate this kind of half-way house, it's pathetic."
Felix took the lift down to street-level and stepped into the sticky petrol morning. He'd go down the block, cross at the pelican crossing, pass the chemist's and the round-topped post box and the tiny park where all the dog shit collected, turn the corner, sun spots reflected off street signs, and on to the Continental patisserie next to the Amex travel agent's. He'd check whether the poster was still in the window, the poster of that beach, and he'd buy exactly two croissants: an almond one for Barbara and a plain one for himself.
That's what he'd do. That's what he'd done every morning.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-06 09:46 pm (UTC)Now I am trying to see how you do that.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-07 11:43 am (UTC)