Short stories to be consumed with a favourite beverage
Friday, 22 November 2019
Plavine Part 15
by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
followed Marius back down the narrow streets until we came to another house on
the other side of The Artists’ District. He lived on an equally tiny and ancient
street called Voie de Fil which had all the doors of the houses splattered in
paint – by design or accident I wasn’t sure. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up
a very narrow flight of stairs to a much-splattered door, which he quickly
unlocked. “Come on,” he whispered. I followed him into a wooded hallway and in
through a little door which led to a tiny room with a desk and two chairs and an
inkpot and a quill and lots of parchment. I sat down hurriedly – hardly thinking
– and there I began my letter. A letter from Sylvester.
My Dear Camille
I do not wish
to run away with you
I am not in love with you. I never have been. I
never will be. Please do not see me again.
informed me that I should strike through the first line. So I did. I handed it
to him and wiped my eyes. With a swift kiss, I left the little flat for what
would be the last time.
spent a long time that evening imagining Camille’s reaction to the news the
letter brought: that Sylvester – My Love – was never in love with her. Was she
heartbroken? Though I had never met the girl I so so hoped she was heartbroken.
I wanted to punish her for trying to take him away from me. Who was she to hope
to steal him away from me? I had waited for him for a deafeningly long nine
months and I had loved him every moment we had been apart and still even now,
when I still somehow truly believe he loves me, even though he seemingly planned
to disappear from my life once more and run away with her in his arms.
still loved Sylvester and it was at that moment in my life that I realised I
would always love Sylvester.
I pondered over what I had done I began that it did not really matter to me how
Camille felt and yet – and this dazzled me – I had still sort to hurt her and I
was not about to attempt to make a mends for one good reason; it felt good. I
was reveling in the very thought of her in misery, the same misery and
melancholia I had felt for the brutally long nine months that I had been forced
to spend away from my lover.
looked over from the table where I had been writing to the piano where Sylvester
was gently playing The Great Gate of Kiev by
Mussorgsky. He looked somewhat sad. He stared at his sheets of music with a
stare that seemed to lack its usual passionate flare. I wondered why. I had not
confronted him about Camille, nor did I intend to for I could not face the
prospect of all of this becoming real. I could not face the fact that Sylvester
Spence Palvine may have loved - love – someone else. He would always be mine and
mine alone in my eyes.