Forgetting – A Short Story

Author’s Note:I’ve decided to try my hand at the occasional random writing prompt to get the juices flowing. I’m hoping that doing some exercises will push me down the path to being able to write honest-to-goodness short stories. This one actually didn’t turn out too badly, in my humble opinion.

Prompt: “What does routine tell you?  Choose one hour from your daily routine that is often the same.  Write it out as a story.”

This time of year people of all sorts wandered in and out of the park in the early afternoons. There was nothing Emily liked more than getting home from work, settling in on her second story apartment, and people watching. Not to mention that later in the evening she could count on a gorgeous sunset casting the distant mountains in a myriad of purple and pink hues.

It was just such a night when he appeared. The sun had mostly set and all that remained to be seen along the horizon was a faint blue outline of the mountains, mostly visible because of the soft glow of the city to the south rather than any remaining light in the sky. The night was still warm, but it was breezy, and the tennis players and dog-walkers had long since left the park to return to their families.

The park was closed after dark, but there were lights along the sidewalk used for access to the apartment buildings that looked out over the lawn. Emily had set up a light of her own using a desk lamp and some creative clamping just inside the door to the balcony for nights such as this. By its light she was able to sit outside and read as late as she liked. She didn’t even feel self-conscious about it, because no one was ever in the park after dark to see her. And the few neighbors she knew already thought she was weird anyway.

But someone was in the park tonight. A sound drew her out of her novel, and she noticed a silhouette on the far side of the park, standing under the weeping willow that overlooked the man-made pond.

Emily found herself staring, losing track of time. The man was standing solid, not moving a muscle in spite of the wind that was beginning to pick up. She wouldn’t be able to stand so still, she knew. She was a fidgeter. She wondered if he was even moving enough for breath, though surely he was.

The pages of her book began flipping of their own accord, and she snapped out of her trance, looking down to mark her place and close the book before the pages tore. When she looked back up there was a second figure, this one a woman.

Emily couldn’t see her face, but her body language said she was upset. Her arms waved dramatically and her shoulders were square. The man didn’t respond, and the woman grew more and more incensed. Soon enough, Emily could hear snippets of what she was yelling, but it didn’t make any sense to her—the words were too few and far between, most being carried away with the breeze.

Then she pushed the man, and he reacted in a move so lightning fast Emily wasn’t sure what she’d seen. By the time her brain caught up with her eyes, the woman was nothing more than an outline on the ground. And there was a round-shaped object rolling down the hill.

It took her a moment to understand what was happening. Her shoulders were tense as she watched the oddly-shaped object until it finally came to rest looking up at her. And Emily could vaguely make out the shape of a face.

A chill ran down Emily’s spine as she realized what had happened. She knew she should do something, call someone, stop whatever was happening, but she was glued to her seat, paralyzed in shock. And fear.

The man looked up at her.

She held her breath and looked right back, not able to look away.

His eyes were blue, and she wasn’t sure how she could tell. He was too far away.

But those eyes …

She wanted to look away, to blink, anything to come back to herself. She was drowning and she couldn’t find the right direction to swim.

Then he was in front of her, standing on her balcony. She hadn’t seen him move, hadn’t heard his footsteps. Hell, she hadn’t even felt a disturbance in the air. He was just … there.

Her eyes met his, and his lips moved. “And then. You forgot,” he said.

And she did.