A New Story

Say, there is a character with a silly name, almost graspable hair, yellow fingernails, bruised knees, wearing a blue T-shirt with nothing written on it, and say, this character is a forty year old college professor. Say, we encounter him on a Sunday evening, under a blue moon, sitting in a park, blankly staring into a patch of grass and writing a suicide note inside his head. Here's the interesting bit: This is the first time he is writing one inside his head, the previous ones have been paper-recycled. It is 9-o-clock. Ticktockticktock. A lady in a blue dress enters the park, slightly drunk, humming a song. We don't see her face, however, but we get the feeling something exciting is going to happen. The lady clumsily navigates through the grassy terrain and reaches the bench on which the professor is sitting, and after what seems like a deliberate pause, collapses to the ground. Her head falls onto the professor's lap and the professor instinctively holds it, his right hand cupping the middle of her face and his left hand clutching her long dense hair. He gently puts her head on the grass and lies down next to her. They are looking at the blue moon now and smiling. Say, we leave them there.