Every so often I come to realize how many of my stories seem
to be about love, or women or the lack thereof and it starts to get to me. I
used to write stories about people’s faces getting chewed off by giant monsters
that lived under the bed or in the closet or Grandpa’s special chest of
mystery. I thought about it this morning as I saw a young couple huddling
together for warmth against the cold and brutal Chicago morning winds.
The young
woman seemed to forget that 14 degrees actually means -2 with a wind chill and
decided that she could go without a hat or gloves. Her male companion was fully
prepared with a big goofy looking fur hat with ear flaps and gloves. He had his
arms around her to keep her warm against the bone chilling 30 mile per hour
winds that whipped over the train platform. It seemed to me that they were
characters right out of one of my recent stories, or at least could have been.
I could see that they cared for each other and were depending on each other,
perhaps she more than he, but it was recognizable. It was sweet and something I
know that I would want. Although I would have made the young woman wear a hat
and we wouldn’t have left the house until she had one. They did seem to come
right from my very imagination though. My romantic imagination of late.
Then it got
to me and I suddenly wanted something bad to happen to them. I don’t know what
it was or why their romantic huddling made me wish some ice beast stormed down
the train tracks and gobbled them up in a few icicle toothed mouthfuls. I
imagined this ice beast, sparking blue in the distant winter sun, crackling as
its icy body moved and thrust after the little cold couple. The ice crystals of
it’s tiger like form whining like the top layer of a frozen lake against the weight
of your foot. Its roar was a trumpet of frozen fear and its eyes were fiery
yellow. I imagined the beast running down the length of the train tracks with
the bloody limbs of this couple dangling from its mouth.
None of
that happened of course, the train finally came and they boarded, likely
thankful to be warm again. I imagined their conversation on the train.
“I wish I wore a hat”, she’d say to her warm boyfriend as
she tried to shake the chill off.
“I told you to wear one”, he’d say.
“I left it in my car. I already told you that”, she’d say.
“What are you going to do later, when you have to come
home”, he’d ask.
“I’ll probably buy a new one at lunch”, she’d say.
He might
shake his head and wonder how he hooked up with this forgetful woman and her
silly logic. He might wonder how many other times she’d been with different men
and what kind of things the other guys had to do for her because she was so
forgetful. I can’t comment directly on their actual conversation since they got
onto a different train car than me and I didn’t see them again. I can only
wonder and let the possible story unfold in my imagination. It seems to me though that I’ll probably make
it a mushy story instead of a gory horror show. It’s just what I seem to be
writing about lately.
No comments:
Post a Comment