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Fade
by J. S. McCloud The woman sat in the diner, laughing vibrantly as the server at the counter poured drinks and filled salt shakers for her and her companion. Long, red hair cascaded down her smooth dress, in bright contrast to the dull beige scenery around her and the dark hair and suits of the two other men who occupied the counter. “Do you have anything else? Water isn’t as much a drink as it is medicine.” Her red lips separated widely as the woman spoke, filling the otherwise unsound room with loud zest. When the response came… Nothing came. The server's mouth moved and his arms swayed, his body switched position and he still moved with verve, but in silence. Thinking this a misinterpretation, she spoke again, this time fuller. The sound vibrated off the glass windows surrounding them and bounced back. “I said, do you have anything else?!” Now, it was her voice that split into oblivion as she barely concluded her repetition before gasping for breath, one pale hand reaching for her intact neck. It was not breathing she was losing. Her lungs were fine, and she was wrong to think otherwise. After the surprise, her face turned an orange hue, pupils dilating as she still attempted a nervous, stinted clamor. When several attempts failed, she breathed a moment, looked around the room. She had not noticed it before. Her companion, the man sitting across the stool as well, their face had changed. The expressions showed cold annoyance, complete disregard for any real stimuli. The server worked on behind his wooden barrier, oblivious, constantly smiling, maybe whistling. The woman waved her arms at both the men, the server, and grabbed the hat from her companion’s head. Nothing changed. She thought her heart might give if this insolence continued, she has not processed its stillness, all her attention on the diner. The isolation has not set in yet, though it has existed longer than she realized. |
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