305. The green streaks

The green streaks in an otherwise silver-grey head of hair were perhaps the clearest indication Kendra liked to live the bohemian life. If that was not enough of a hint, the cutesy kitsch of her eighties outfit did the job.

Kendra had her own vintage shop, in one of the smallest – cosiest, she insisted – properties in a cul-de-sac of a sort-of side-lane of the second busiest street in town. Which meant that hardly a customer passed by.

To kill the time Kendra had taken up smoking, but she’d sworn not to overindulge in the bad habit. She never did. Case in point: she was a vegetarian at home, but not on restaurant. A ‘flexitarian’. One not able to distribute the tobacco confidently in the cigarette paper and roll it into a decent cigarette, alas.

The guy who walked by as she leant against the doorpost failing the cigarette test once more did not look the type who could help her out. His Saville Row suit, his timely trimmed five o’clock shadow, his squeaky Italian shoes. Everything about him screamed square, dull and uppity.

“I think I can be of assistance,” he nevertheless said, and before Kendra could reply, he rolled an impeccable cigarette, lit it for her and went back on his merry way.

She looked like the kind of person that just wanted to live her own, uncomplicated life, so he never said he liked her green streaks.

He looked like he’d never be interested in a girl like her, so she didn’t dare run after him to tell him he had lovely eyes.

Yet, her shop location in mind, Kendra smiled.

As did the guy, as he reached the end of the cul-de-sac and realized he had no choice but to walk back towards her shop.

295. The jumbo jet

The jumbo jet took off and he wasn’t on it.

He secretly hoped this was going to be one of these movie moments where he would turn around and there she’d stand.

That they’d have another chance to make it together.

A chance at a common, heavenly future.

But she was definitely on the plane.

And he, the fool who hadn’t been there in time, was left alone in the terminal.

Well, not totally alone.

From all exits, security guards came running at him, as in the distance at least she made good on her promise and the plane exploded.

 

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207. Your luminescent disposition

Your luminescent disposition and affectionate temperament fill the realm of my existence with an ecstasy that cannot be designated in too euphoric an axiom, he said in an uncommon outburst of romance.

All she could think was that romance was not what it used to be since he started working for the OED.

 

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205. The small record store

The small record store was located in the Hakahana suburb of Windhoek, Namibia and attracted a clientele mostly looking for obscure Afrobeat vinyl and cult folk recordings.

When you entered, the first thing you noticed were the seven soundproof booths.

 

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182. Romcom for one

“Romcom for one. Would you agree that’s an oxymoron?”

The lone girl two seats over grabs a mouthful of popcorn and pretends not to hear the question. So he scoots over to the seat next to her.

“I’m pretty sure you just called me sad,” she sneers.

“Not sad. Puzzling.”

“In what way?”

“That a girl as cute as you should not have a boyfriend to watch a romantic movie with.”

She laughs out loud.

“Wow. How often have you used thàt line?”

“Well, do you?”

“What?”

“Have a boyfriend.”

“No.”

“You’re that difficult to live with, ey?”

“No!”

“You sure about that?”

“Look, are you hitting on me or just looking for someone to insult?”

“Bit of both, I guess.”

She rolls her eyes.

“But mostly hitting on you,” he tries to save the situation.

“You’re not very good at it.”

“I know. Until two minutes ago it was ‘romcom for one’ as well, remember?”

“It still is, technically.”

“Ouch.”

“Hurt your feelings?”

“A bit.”

“Good.”

She has boxed him into a corner.

“So why don’t you?”

“What?”

“Have a girlfriend.”

“I’m difficult to live with.”

“I could see that.”

“Ouch again.”

“Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“How?”

“Grab a movie together someday?”

She smiles. For the first time.

“Got a specific one in mind?”

“I hear that new romcom is quite good.”

“It would be sad to go watch that on your own, I suppose.”

“Exceedingly.”

He’s pretty cute too, she thinks.

“Want some popcorn?”

 

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159. I first kissed her when I was eleven and she was ten

I first kissed her when I was eleven and she was ten. It was all very shy and cutesy and twee. Eyes closed, two lips locking, no tongue of course. No spark either. We called it love but was it really anything more than liking each other’s company? A simple sealing of a close friendship?

 

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141. Ann was short

Ann was short. Short in height. Short with words. Short on luck. Short on love.

Maximilian on the other hand displayed a longitude uncommonly seen in a variety of domains, most of them already mentioned in Ann’s description but not restricted to those, and excluding love, for it had been a very long time since he last had a girlfriend.

 

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118. She hesitated to go up to him

She hesitated to go up to him. He had been smitten with her a couple of years back. Seriously smitten. He had sent her love letters, confessed his admiration for her for everyone to hear, wooed her like nobody had wooed her before or since. But she had shunned him. She might even have promised to go out with him once but she never came through. They were colleagues then and she drew a strict line between work and her private life. And Henrik had paid the price.

In the years since she had sometimes wondered if she had made a mistake. He was smart, he was funny, he was most of the things she looked for in a man. And as he was standing there in his immaculate shirt and tie he even looked quite dapper, something she had never associated him with before.

He looked up and their eyes crossed. He obviously wanted her to walk his way. For a moment she hesitated but then she went up to him.

“Hey, Henrik,” she said.

“Hey, Lana. Looking good. Though I’d probably say that even I you weren’t. But you are, just to be clear.”

He was flirting as though the years in between never happened. This time she didn’t ignore it.

“You look great as well.”

“It’s been a while. Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” she said and she realised it wasn’t a lie.

He smiled, like a boy that was falling in love for the first time.

She smiled back, equally smitten.

“Hey, Henrik, wake up.”

Henrik snapped out of his dreamy gaze but didn’t stop staring at the girl across the room. The one he had obsessed about years ago. She spotted him too now, and politely (perfunctory) waved.

But she wasn’t walking his way.

 

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110. Svea had gotten used to the cold, though not to the coldness of Ragnar

Svea had gotten used to the cold, though not to the coldness of Ragnar, the scientist she’d spent the past seven months with in the most extreme region of the Arctic.

Ragnar hardly spoke to her and when he did he was gruff and hostile. She had often tried to melt his sub-zero demeanour but to no avail. He remained a heartless brute who carried out experiments, ate the food she cooked but ignored her in every other way.

On Christmas eve she made a final attempt to thaw the ice. While Ragnar collect data from the instruments, Svea constructed a primitive Christmas tree, made from green plastic cuttings and decorated with the fluorescent goo  they used in their experiments. She prepared a three course dinner with the finest ingredients available to her. She made a list of the most Christmassy songs on her iPod and put them on shuffle. This would surely break his resistance against joy and happiness.

Only it didn’t. When Ragnar entered from the cold, icicles dangling from his thick brown beard, he shrugged at the warmth Svea had created in the sterile building. He just sat down, gobbled down his food and on his way to the bedroom shoved to the floor the plastic tree.

Svea was ready to throw in the towel once and for all when Ragnar re-emerged, took her into his arms and gave her the most passionate kiss she had ever received.

“Was it worth the wait?” Ragnar asked.

The magical glow of aurora borealis in her eyes said it all.

 

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81. The girl declared dead half an hour ago

The girl declared dead half an hour ago forced open her morgue cell and took a deep breath. She suffered from a rare condition that periodically shut down all bodily functions, creating the illusion of death. There were a couple of close shaves before but this one was the closest by far.

She wasn’t out of the woods yet though. As she threw the cold white blanket from her body her intuition made her duck a whooshing sound. The scythe missed her by a whisker. Scrambling to her feet she caught Death, intent on finishing the job.

 

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