1. Full Story

He pushed himself up the hill, each step a heavy lunge. He could feel his shaky legs giving in, and though they got him the final distance, he tripped and fell down with his back against the grass. The bottle in his hand freed itself from his trembling grip, and laid next to him.

He chuckled. It had been fifteen years since he last came here. It was so easy back then. He used to sprint up this same hill almost every day, pushing against the elements. Past the wind blowing on his face and the sun glaring in his eyes. Now, though, it was eerily quiet. The winds sat still and the only thing in the skies were the stars sparsely scattered apart. Yet it was harder than ever.

He took a deep breath in, and forced himself back up. Picking up his bottle, he walked towards a small cliff on the hill and sat himself down, his legs hanging just off of the edge.

From where he was, he had a whole view overlooking the city in all of its glory. So, he stared. Each building towered over the roads below, their lights illuminating the world around them in a way that looked like a cluster of stars fallen from the empty sky above. People sped by in their cars, one by one. Each one with their own families, their own plans, their own lives.

He chuckled to himself. Uncorking his bottle, he took a large drink of his wine. The bitter red liquid perhaps passed its date, but he forced it down his throat with a gulp. Some unwillingly, and he coughed it out.

“Dying already?”

He slowly turned his head around.

“You came,” he said, a small smile of relief forming on his lips.

She started to walk, and sat beside him. She placed a small CD player onto the ground between them from her hand.

“There isn’t much else to do,” she responded.

“Your family?”

“They’re hiding in the bunkers. Yours?”

“Not here.”

“Not staying with them?

“Not worth it.”

“Mm.”

They both stared mindlessly towards the city, a long silence sweeping over them like a cold breeze.

She chuckled. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“We used to come up here almost every day and talk for hours on end about what we’d do when we grew up,” she sniffled. “Now, look at us.”

He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were bloodshot yet as dry as he had ever seen them. “You can cry, you know,” he said.

She turned around to look at him, and saw him wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket before he quickly turned back to the view. She chuckled, again. “No tears left in my eyes.”

The winds of silence blew back onto them.

“Oh, pass me the drink,” she said, as she jerked the bottle from his hands and turned it over her mouth.

“I’ll have you know, it’s foul.”

She choked on her drink, some of it spilling. “It really is.”

He pointed towards the CD player she put down. “What’s that?”

“Oh. I almost forgot.” She lifted her arm from the ground and pushed the play button on it.

A lovely, calming smooth jazz filled the air, slipping through the silence, and the two of them listened intently. Everything else was tuned out of their senses, and they just listened. They could feel themselves being transported. A nice club, the lights dark and moody. The tapping of glasses upon tables, the dark brown of the walls that was easy on the eyes. Then they looked towards the stage. The band played like it was just another day. Their minds were clear, and they just focussed on giving another great performance. The two savoured every note from the piano, every beat from the light drums, the clear and crisp melody of the saxophone. At that moment, nothing else had mattered. At that moment, it was just them.

Then the music stopped.