Before reading this, go on youtube, type: plant life, by owl city. Keep listening to it until the story finishes.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Meet
me by the fountain of Le Petit Cube’ at seven thirty. I will be wearing a
leather jacket and a yellow rose. Dress in whatever pleases you, for it will
not matter where we are going.
Ivy bites her lower lip, and stares at
the crowd hovering around the fountain by the restaurant she was instructed to wait
at. She glances at her watch. It reads 7:28.
Please
do not be frightened. I am not a stranger, I have known you for quite some time
now, and you have known me just as well.
Ivy squints at the cluster, trying to
spot a familiar face amongst the sea of unrecognizable ones. She wasn’t used to
being around this part of town. Her mother would constantly warn her about the
dangers of being alone at night in a place cut off from the rest of the city.
However, Ivy had graciously ignored her mother’s severe admonitions and waved a
careless hand at her, assuring her that she was fine and that she needn’t worry
about a thing.
I
realize that this might seem a strange proposal, it being on paper instead of a
text or a manual phone call. I believe that those forms of communication are
meaningless and drain the magic out of socializing. I hope you find that
alright.
Ivy huffs impatiently, readjusting her
hair swiftly by re-placing the pins that held her loose curls away from her
face. She sighs, tugging at her zipper. Ivy brings her wrist to her eyes. 7:30.
Alright, she thinks, scanning the
crowd for a face she was acquainted with. Where
is he/she?
I
have one last thing to add: this evening might do one of two things. It might
unsettle you, chilling you to the very bone. Or it might open up a whole new
world for you. You are not one with a frail heart, and so my expectations draw
nearer to the second option. If you do not like it, then all you must do is ask
for a ride home, which I will gladly provide for you.
Ivy lets out another frustrated sigh. This is getting ridiculous.
Ps.
Don’t forget to enjoy yourself. You deserve the best.
“Good evening, Madame Ivy,” a voice
sneaks up behind her, and she jumps, a little startled.
Ivy whips her head around to locate the
owner of the voice. She cocks her head to the side, feeling very much confused.
“Err-“ she begins, cursing herself for sounding so uncertain.
The man in front of her was true to his
word. He was wearing a black leather jacket, a yellow primrose neatly clinging
the spot just by his zipper. “Forgive me,” he says smoothly, smiling
apologetically at her. “Perhaps you aren’t as well acquainted with me as I
hoped you were?”
“Err-“
she continues, scratching the back of her neck, red faced. He was tall. He was
very tall (this being the very first trait Ivy picks up). He had a long face,
perfectly constructed cheekbones, and a smile that was most illuminating.
Ivy
mentally slaps herself once she realizes she was staring at his smile. His teeth were so white.
“Um- I- Well...” she trails off, wincing. The man laughs, and it sounds
like he’s genuinely amused. “We met in France, in Saint Gaultier? We always had
the late lunch together?”
Ivy closes her eyes, memories flashing
quickly in her mind. “I don’t think I...”Ivy stops herself, and stares incredulously at the
man before her. “Oh my... Luke?”
Luke nods triumphantly, bowing, a smile
tugging at his lips. “The very same,” he says, winking at her.
Ivy’s eyes widen and she arches a
single blonde eyebrow. “Look at you! You were skinnier than me last time I saw
you!” she exclaims, gesturing at her small figure.
About five years ago, Ivy was taking an
internship in a miniature museum located somewhere in central France. Every
noon she would take a break and make her way towards a small café nestled in a
hidden crook, joining multitudes of other small cafes that rested in an unknown
street. After her fifth visit to said café, a very skinny man sent her a champagne
bottle, hoping he would flatter her and accept his invitation to a nearby restaurant
for dinner. Ivy had declined politely, but invited him to sit at her table
nonetheless, admitting that sitting by herself was getting a tad bit too lonely.
After
he shamelessly flirted with her, she had to remind him time and time again that
no, she wasn’t going to go out with him.
He texted her everyday, insisting that she should. She replied with a snappy
message telling him that texting drained away the magic of communication, and
that if he didn’t stop she was going to get a restraining order. Needless to
say he did stop, and she started warming up to him. They departed as mutual
friends, and Ivy had soon forgotten about him once she settled back into her
usual routine.
Now he was suddenly back in her life,
looking as attractive as ever. Luke pulls Ivy into a tender hug, receiving two light kisses on both her
cheeks. “That was a bit unnecessary...” she mumbles, feeling herself burn. Luke
laughs his signature haughty laugh, and took hold of her hand, leading her
away from the musical splashes of the fountain.
“Have you forgotten about our ways in
Gaultier, my sweet Ivy?” he asks innocently, smirking at her. Ivy scoffs,
yanking her hand away from his. “Have you forgotten about the restraining order
I was about to issue, my dear Luke?” she counters, stuffing both her hands in
her jean pockets.
Luke frowns, obviously not very fond of
the memory, and links his arm with hers. Ivy sighs, trying very hard to ignore
the heat creeping up her neck. “Are you not pleased to see me?” he asks a bit
more seriously. Ivy quickly shakes head, assuring him that this was a pleasant
surprise- but that he should have called first. “I mean, where are you even
staying at? How the hell did you know I was in Amsterdam in the first place?
You’re on the borderlines of creepy, my French friend,” she chides, tutting at
him. Luke groans, running a hand through his chestnut curls. “Let’s leave those
questions for later, shall we not?”
Ivy grudgingly nods, and they continue
their walk in silence, Luke sending her little smiles every so often. Ivy keeps
her eyes firmly on the cobblestoned steps, refusing to meet Luke’s gaze. Just because he’s hot now doesn’t mean you
like him, you aren’t that shallow, you idiot, she reasons with herself.
They suddenly stop, and Luke snakes his way behind her, shielding her eyes
before she could get a peep at whatever it was in front of her.
“Hey!” she protests, trying to pry his
hands away from her eyes. “No, no, ch’erie,”
he murmurs, wrapping her eyes with a piece of silk. “What are you...?” she
asks, glancing at everywhere uncertainly. “Just follow my voice, petite amie, and you shall be sound,”
she hears him say, his voice becoming distant. A pair of double doors creak
open, and something lightly touches the small of her back. “I will lead you,”
he says softly, extracting her jacket gently. Ivy’s shoes make contact with
hard tile (or was it marble?) instead of squishy wet earth, and she hears her
flats slapping the smooth surface.
The jacket hits the floor, causing
echoes to bounce from wall to wall. “You may unfold your blinds,” calls Luke,
giving Ivy a clear indication of just how far he is away from her stance. Ivy
obliges, untying the folds in three deft movements. She tears it away from her
eyes and her sight adjusts to the dimness of the room she is in.
Ivy inhales sharply, not paying
attention to the silk falling by her side. She glances down at what she is wearing, and her
hands suddenly clutch the poofy chiffon skirt covering her legs, replacing her
original ratty jeans. Red velvet material hugs her waist and entire abdomen,
and Ivy feels her shoulders for straps, which didn’t seem to exist. Gold
linings decorate the velvet, and she was reminded of those ancient can can girls that danced and whirled,
entertaining eager middle aged men in night clubs that littered the streets of
Paris. And instead of ballet flats, Ivy was left barefoot, the cold of the
tiles suddenly making her shiver. Her hands automatically flew to her hair,
which was now falling in unruly dirty blonde curls, covering her shoulders and
bare back. She touches her head gingerly, detecting flowers and small leaves
woven delicately into her hair.
Ivy breathes in deeply, blinking
repeatedly and occasionally smacking the side of her head in an attempt to wake
up. This is all a dream. This is all a
dream, she repeats to herself, feeling quite irked.
“Ivy!” she hears Luke call out to her.
Ivy spins around, trying to locate his luminous smile. “Luke!” she calls back,
feeling panicky and slightly agitated. “Luke where are you!” she yells after
cupping her hands and bringing them to her mouth.
“Just follow my voice, ma che’rie, and enjoy yourself,” was
his vague response.
Ivy lets out a noise of frustration,
stamping her foot. “I don’t want to enjoy myself! Just come out here!” She
looks around frantically, but no Luke. She drops both her shoulders, not
realizing that they were so tense. Ivy takes a tentative step forward, looking
properly at her surroundings. “Where am
I?” she mumbles quizzically, her eyes sweeping the view in front of her.
The furniture was the first to grasp
her attention, looking quite old and flaccid, tendrils of flower stems snaking
in and out of the worn pillows. The ceilings are adorned with spider webs of
every shape and design, sparkling as if they were the stars themselves. Pillars
stood tall and grim, vines twisting along the dull cream of the columns.
Tapestries hang limply on the walls, the art not quite showing anymore. A large
water fountain sits in the middle of the room, looking rusty and unused and
ancient.
“Ivy!”
Ivy shifts her gaze from the fountain
and looks up, finding a tall figure wearing a suit with a tail curling upwards.
He plucks his top hat from his head and rests it under his armpit, beckoning
her to come. Ivy blinks; quickly gathering the many skirts of her dress, running
towards the grand marble staircase (Ivy swore they weren’t there a second ago).
As she was nearing the final steps, the room’s lights suddenly winked out, and
Ivy stumbles on her feet. “Luke!” she screams, her hands flying for support.
She feels a strong hand grab hers and lift her up. Ivy lets out a shaky laugh,
dusting the hem of her dress. “That was-“
Ivy twirls around, her eyebrows furrowing.
Luke wasn’t there. “Luke! Where are you , you silly ass! It’s dark and you know
I hate the dark!” she shouts, fear gnawing at her insides.
“Follow the roses, sweet Ivy,” a voice
just behind her ear whispers. Ivy spins around, desperately trying to catch
Luke’s arm, but it was no use. He was gone.
Ivy gulps audibly and she feels her
legs move forward. She glances at the ground. Sure enough, there was a yellow
rose. She picks up the edges of her dress and she darts quickly, following the
yellow rose path, her feet barely making any noise.
Flashes of portraits loomed down on her
as she ran through the dark hallway, looking as if they were very much alive,
sneering at her as she sped by. Ivy reaches the end of the hallway, a wooden
door in her way. She carefully twists the knob, and the door creaks open.
Ivy gasps, her hands flying to her
mouth.
The room before her was just the
opposite of order.
A myriad of colors burst before her very
eyes. The floors were maroon, blanketed by random patches of budding daises
that burst through the floors, showering the room with endless petals of sweet
fragranced flowers. Music blasts from the quartet playing in the end of the
room, and several different fountains plash rhythmically along with the band.
The walls were covered with painting after absurd painting. Animals of
different species were roaming the dance floor, dressed in white tuxedos and heterochromatic
cocktail dresses, waltzing around the room as if it were the most normal thing
in the world.
Luke suddenly materializes by her side,
taking her hand and leading her into the middle of it all.
The room before her was just the
opposite of order.
It was chaos.
- left-foot-fowl
____________________________________________________________
This is me, making an exit! Hope it made some sort of sense. The best kind of stories always do.
No comments:
Post a Comment