He couldn’t remember if it was good or bad luck when a black cat crosses your path. But, with great disdain, he stood at the side of the road, watched and waited until she crossed his.
The hotel front bathed in the sun, its glass doors, framed with glaring gold, glinted with every blink. An ostentatious two steps of red carpet settled in front, bright and ruddy on the pale grey pavement. Two potted plants, proud and neatly trimmed, stood on each side with as much inviting warmth as cobras with flared hoods. Light passed the windows and every figure inside were silhouetted like dark puppets behind a white canvas. His only focus was on one, strolling in circles purposefully.
Across the street, he leaned against the naked walls, a plain, undecorated building that contrasted what it overlooks. It was tall enough, though, to shade him from the heat and the ominous lighting repelled any lingering attention towards him. Still and stiff, he mimicked the air, eyes trained on the doors as it opened and, at last, she stepped out.
The light danced on her hair, a shine like glazed cinnamon. She wore it down today – a blow to her professionalism, but, even more so, was the white shirt she tried to hide under a crisp, black blazer. It was long enough to cover her bare legs, though he knew this was not willingly. There was a rip in the hem, neat enough that it looked, deliberately, a design but, big enough that it could not be salvaged.
One designer shoe, in front of the other sauntered past the pretentious welcome mat, past the cobras and slowed nearing the side of the tarmac. Designer sunglasses looks left, looks right, left again, waiting for cars to stop before proceeding the catwalk, the click and clack of her heels getting louder distinct amidst roaring engines for an audience.
With the exception of the flash of white, she dressed in black. He attempted to remember, once more, what luck a black cat brought along with it.
Finally allowing himself to look away, he closed his eyes once, before settling them on the ground, the tip of his scuffed shoes greeting him. His ears took over the job, waiting the next three seconds for the last firm stomp, placing herself a tolerable distance next to him.
“That’s my favourite shirt, you know,” he didn’t bother greeting.
“I know.” She brings misfortune, he decided.
Though he braced h
imself for the silence that followed, it was as stifling as the air; she always had a way of coaxing discomfort without words. He lasted as long as five seconds in this round, “You look like you just got mauled.”
“Trashy chic,” she corrected. He hears shuffling beside him, another pair of pointed shoes appearing in his view. “I got robbed, too. Somebody stole my clothes.”
Misfortune came with a headache, surfacing like the tides – in and out.
He takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly, as if all the breath in his lungs carried the stress in his life, “They weren’t stolen, I put them in the wash.”
“And how – pray tell – do you propose I dry that within an hour? You know I was going to get called in this morning to get scolded, for the mess you made, by the way.” Her tone was ice, unmelting, even in the heat. She brought up a finger beneath his chin, lifting it up to face her. “Where did you go?”
Misfortune came with delusions; visions slowed, filtered like a film only he could see.
“No shit, you were out,” she hissed, her hands clenching into fist and her face a near-grimace. The sight shattered the glass bubble in him, a chuckle pushing past his lips.
Misfortune came with a warmth that spread an itch under his skin.
“Relax,” he raised his hands in a sign of neutrality, placing them on her shoulders and rubbing in circles over the fabric of her jacket. “I went out to buy breakfast, they’re in the car.”
Misfortune came and brought its troubles.
It made your palms sweaty, your heart race a little faster. It made you smile wide until your cheeks hurt, your thoughts jumbled only to spell their name. It made you nervous at the thought of seeing them and, every once in a while, it shoots a pang of pain in your direction.
But, it gives you a bliss that couldn’t be bought, a reward for enduring the headaches. It gives you a taste of heaven that washed away the tortures of hell. It gives you a brightness, something to look forward to when you open your eyes tomorrow, the day after that and the day after that – the troubles of today, long forgotten.
Misfortune came and he remembered that sometimes, when a witch is involved, it was a good omen to cross paths with a black cat. Maybe,he was under a spell, from the moment he met the witch. Maybe, he’d been enchanted by her smile, charmed by her laugh, bewitched by her wit and cursed with her kiss. Maybe, he liked the trouble, after all.
This was a much longer post than I anticipated, but, then again, most of my posts turn out like that. I’ve just finished this drabble and I’ve missed dinner because I didn’t dare stop! So it may be a little nonsensical towards the end, haha
Anyways, hope you enjoyed it! Inspired by, once again, Jessica Jung for being just an awesome lady. I bought her album – With Love, J – when it first came out and I was looking through the photobook for some inspiration and here this is! I actually really liked how this turned out and I might plan something bigger for this, though I’m not sure I’d post it here on my blog…
However, I am planning to attempt a “Daily Drabble Challenge,” where I attempt to write every day. To check out my list of Daily Drabbles and other WIPs, click here. My last and very first one was two weeks ago, so… we’ll see how this goes. Wish me luck!
As always, constructive criticism are welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts and opinions. If you also have a drabble post, I will be more than happy to read it, just comment below~
Challenge (maybe) accepted