The Coffee Break
in
It was a rainy evening, yet CCD was crowded. And, he was late. Again.
From the empty tables and occupied chairs, she could guess that most of the crowd was there to seek a stylish refuge from the rains than fill themselves up with Black Forest Gateaux and Cappucino.
Seated near the glass window, in a pretty white dress that she’d taken much pain to shield from the flying wet brown spots, she checked her watch and sighed as one more call to his phone went unanswered.
Coldplay could still be heard amidst the noisy chatter, as the vehicles clogging the roads outside made their way along in silence. Every now and then, the door opened with the ringing of the tiny bell, and the honks filled the room for the few seconds before the door closed again.
After a substantial amount of time had passed, the waiters passed by a little too often, looking at her, then at the empty table. The plastic chairs outside were filling up, and a noisy group of boys has just been asked, unceremoniously, to leave.
The two girls on the next table get up to leave, and an old man whose been waiting for a seat for a while now, ran to stake claim. His wife soon joins him. On their tray are two black coffees and a single sandwich.
She looks on as they eat, sharing the sandwich between them. Smiles, their only conversation.
It’s been nearly half hour and the couple are on their way out. They have no umbrella and wait under the already crowded awning. The old lady places her head on her husband’s shoulder, and they silently watch the traffic go by.
She wonders if 50 years on, he and herself would share moments like these. .
The ringing of the bell and the accompanying blare of horns interrupt her thoughts. It’s him. Without a glance in her direction or maybe he hasn’t seen her yet, he makes his way to the counter for some coffee, maybe.
Without a first or second thought, she gets up and leaves. He does not notice.
On her way out, she passes the old couple, and smiles at them.
Tells them that it’d be a pleasure if she could drop them home in her car.
The man smiles his gentle smile, and tells her that they’d rather walk.
It’s cold, and he pulls his wife closer to him.
It’s best to leave them alone, she thinks, as she makes her way to her car.
Fifteen minute’s later she is at a traffic signal. Her phone rings, it’s him.
The signal turns green.
She drives on, leaving the phone unanswered . . . .
7 comments:
Interesting. It needs a little editing though, to avoid redundancy.
There are a few observations I'd like to make, if you're open to criticism. Do let me know.
Very open . . Please go on!
Show, don't tell. It practically sounds like you're reciting something. Where is the depth to your characters? The old couple bit is cliche, you really should have concentrated upon the guy. There are two sides to every story. When I read this one, I'm left with this vague feeling of not really having understood the purpose the guy served to the story. I mean, I wasn't introduced to him, his thoughts and what makes him the way he is. All I have is an altogether obtuse perception of him in a one or two sentences. Your narration is protagonist-cetnric, and the problem with this is that you have written this story entirely from her perspective i.e. you placed yourself in her position and narrated from there. Also, through this narrative, you are unable to lend any depth to your protagonist. She seems hollow and cerebral, and therefore the old couple storyline does not work well. When you're unable to show the reader the dichotomies of the protagonist's emotions, that is when the reader sympathises with her. Also, the lack of adequate emotion or passion and the cerebral nature of the story results in the lack of a pulse. The story does not live. It merely exists. Read it again, you'll understand that has a lot to do with your style. Do not 'say' something, 'express' it.
'unable' should be 'able'
nice. if the literary criticism is still open, ill jst add that at points, i was slightly confused as to the tense of the matter. Nd whoever the shogun is, he's wrong; lack of adequate emotions or passions doesn't result in your story not living; in that case tim burton, frank miller, and I could go on, have already gone six feet under.
No, everyone has their style, and that's what distinguishes you, me, or our clandestine scirocco from the mass of writers in this world.
Tim Burton and Frank Miller?
Do you REALLY want to compare this piece with ANYTHING they've written? You have to be joking. Genre wise, they're at the other end of the rainbow, if one does exist in the dark noir labryinth that is miller.
And yes, emotions drive a story. Characters drive a story. To disagree, is to have an altogether sci-fi outlook to writing. That is clearly the case here Jay. It's Siddharth, by the way.
*layman*
Its pretty good !
~fiazio
http://www.fiazio.com
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