Aah

This is something I once started as a pet project. It's just a write for now, but it does hold.....something for me. I just wanted to share it here.

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Lights fade in.

A man and woman hold each other in a tight embrace, their eyes squeezed shut.

The man is wearing travel clothes – sneakers, pants, and shirt with a jacket. He is also wearing a backpack. The man’s face can be seen; his eyes are watering, but he doesn't let the tears flow. There is also a suitcase close to his shoes, which are battered but have been polished to a shine. The man is clean shaven.

The woman is in her nightclothes – her clothes are crumpled, and show signs of extensive use, being rather ragged, betraying that she is barefooted. Her face is hidden from view, being behind the man’s head.

They part, their heads bent down.

The man holds the woman’ face in his hands, bringing her face up to meet his eyes. Their foreheads touch, and for an unending moment, their eyes say the word their lips can't.

Then the woman turns her head away, as if she can bear this no longer. The man closes his eyes and turns his face away from her, his strength breaking as a lone tear traces a path along his cheek.

He bends down, picks up the suitcase, and slowly proceeds towards the door.

The woman is looking down, sad, she doesn't want to look at the man, and she doesn't want him to see her face. She is feeling dismal, as evident by her body - her shoulders are bent, her torso hunched in.

The man slowly starts turning about, to look at her again. To fulfill that desire, one more time.

Before he can see her, she quickly straightens, summoning strength from unknown depths smile at him, to reassure him with the love in her eyes.

A shadow of a smile appears on the man's face; and then, he turns around again, slowly turning the knob, the door creaking open. He walks away.

As soon as the door shuts, the smile on her and the light in her eyes slip away like unwelcome strangers, and as her eyes water, she cups her face in her hands.

Her body heaves with silent sobs.

Lights fade out.

______________________

Lights fade in.

The man is sitting on a chair, across a table from two men dressed in suits. Only his back as visible, as he is turned away. One of the men is sitting directly opposite to him, his opulent dress and pinched face in clear view. The third man is sitting off to the side, but he is looking at the man with rapt attention from behind his spectacles.

The men are richly attired, as shown by the fine cut of their garments and their superior condition. Their wealth is ill-hidden in their visible accouterments, perhaps for that very purpose. 

The man’s clothes in stark contrast to his company. His shirt is tattered, his trousers frayed. His sneakers are coated in a layer of mud and dust. His hair is unkempt and greasy. 

As he turns to the side for a moment, a glimpse of his face is seen; it is grimy, and he has slight stubble, just a shadow on his cheeks.

The man is wearing a forced smile.

His eyes are in pain. They speak of a man caught, a man faced with options he can't afford to choose from. Faced with a question that can break a man, and he is cracking.

A smart, new briefcase sits in the middle of the table. One of the smartly dressed men nods towards it, as if it’s the reason for this moment.

The other gentleman looks questioningly at the man, his eyebrows upturned in a quizzical manner, with a quick widening of his eyes indicating a query. However, the smile playing on his lips gives away that his concern is just a show.

The man gazes at the briefcase for a long moment. He then looks at the man in front of him, and then slowly turns to the other gentleman, his eyes asking a question the men refuse to acknowledge.

Suddenly, as quick as lightning, the man grabs the briefcase’s handle, straightens up, and runs away from the tables and through the door, all in a flash. His chair falls over in his wake, as other people gape at his rather hurried exit.

The men slowly get up with exaggerated laziness, unconcerned for the attention they've garnered. The gentleman who sat opposite to the man pulls out a cell, typing something and putting it back in his pocket.

While the other man sends the message, the third man pulls out a gun, turning it in his hands, looking at it with an amused expression. He rubs its side, as if out of habit, then replaces it in his pocket. He doesn't look amused anymore.

Slowly, he turns his face to look at the other man, who has just replaced his cell. They shrug at each other. Their faces are completely blank.

But their eyes are speaking.

Lights fade out.

__________________

Lights fade in.

The woman is sitting in a chair, in her garden, her chair angled away, hence only her side is visible. She has headphones plugged in, and is deeply engrossed in reading a book. She wears a simple shirt, and a long skirt, perfect for a summer evening. Her lips are red enough to be noticed by the audience as slightly out of the ordinary.

Except for the chair, there is not a single ornament in the rather threadbare lawn.

The man staggers slowly onto the lawn from behind the woman, bent over slightly at the waist, his body heaving, showing clear signs of exhaustion. His head is bent down, as he takes a moment to collect his breath. His face is visible, his eyes wide open and mouth gasping for air.

His clothes are utter rubbish. His shirt is torn. He has no shoes. He is coated in dust and grime. His hair is wild, and dirty. He now has noticeable stubble, almost a beard. It’s scraggly and unkempt.

His head turns up, and he sees the woman sitting in her chair. He can see the side of her face, her lost in the novel, as she turns a page.

His eyes become wistful; for a moment, he almost looks like the man he once was. A fleeting ghost of a smile plays across his lips for a moment.

His lips come together, then part, as if to say something, but then they close again.

As he slowly drags another step, a gunshot rings out from somewhere out of sight.

His body spasms, his shoulder arches back. He stumbles, his strength clearly faltering. But he doesn't fall.

His mouth opens a little wider in surprise, his eyes betraying the infinity of pain that is now his strength.

He stumbles a little, then, with visible effort, straightens a little so that he can see her across the lawn.

A small sigh escapes him. He then begins speaking something, but he simply can’t.

All he manages is, “aah”.

His eyes close, and the smile on his lips doesn't die.

A single tear leaks down his left cheek. He looks up her again, tears streaming down his face.

The smile still doesn't die.

He falls onto his knees, still looking at her, as he and his breath part ways.

For a moment, he is frozen in time. He is on his knees, his chin touching his chest, with his eyes closed and a smile on his lips, as if in prayer.

The moment passes; he falls over.

The woman turns a page.

Lights slowly fade out.