Strange Stars: Chapter 2

Hi, welcome for first timers, this is chapter two of an ongoing series. If you are interested, head over to Chapter 1 for the beginning. If you are a returned reader, welcome back, hope you can enjoy:)

Intro: A small book about the little things —like interdimensional space travel, UFOs and how to make a decent cup of coffee. Also, the more simpler questions like do ghosts exist? Are we all alone in this universe? What is the meaning in life and what the hell do you do with it, will of course be answered here.

A girl, let’s call here Anna Smith—a lie, but oh well, that is the name she goes by for the night—is just riding her car, minding her own business, running away from some stuff. Checking into the Deserted Inn however, will not give her the good night sleeps she’s paying for. There she meets the penniless photographer, Sam, claiming her name is something else and constantly hinting to know more than anyone else. And as the night progress, the motel pool overflows with lies, the numbered rooms closes and the stars keep their secrets. But under them, those sparkling nightly glow, Anna will happen to run into a coincidental meeting with fate.

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Strange Stars Chapter 2: Sweet scent of cigarette smell

Leaning on the reeling outside the room, she sighs as she pulls out her cigarettes. Away. The lighter flickers and a small flame flares briefly before it dies forever. The gas is out. Away. Rolling her head back she closes her eyes for a moment to not scream out. She tries the lighter in vain once more, knowing it’s useless, like trying to breathe life into a person long dead. She curses and throws the lighter as far as she can into the dark, and hears it hit the ground below. Feeling the craving for nicotine she closes her fists around the reeling, the pressure making her knuckles white. Away.

She would have a good view of the desert if it wasn’t so dark, so nightly black, an abyss of nightmares and dreams. But she feels calmer in it, less exposed. Like the darkness itself is a good hiding place. Little does she know, does she know...

Strange how the nightfall makes everything seem more covered, a rug of darkness, covering up all the distractions and secrets of the day, something you can hide in. When really it’s a lack of something, a lack of sun rays, lack of colors, making everything black and white, thinking it would be clearer to choose sides. Either or. But you can't because the night is a cover, here you can be it all. Either as well as or, dark as well as light. This was what she was thinking about, how to be both, without becoming just a gray mass.

Thinking about it: that was her problem, her lack of decision making. That could be the reason she stranded her this night. Maybe she should blame it on the darkness? But she is wrong, so wrong. The stars know, her decision tonight is what puts the night in motion. She just doesn’t know it herself—yet.

"Need a light?"

Turning around, she sees a young man standing in front of the door next to hers. He’s leaning his shoulder against the door, looking at her. His black hair covers his ears, the denim jacket rugged over his black t-shirt, covered in a starry sky. His nose is pierced, a blue gem glimmers as the glow of the cigarette head flares up as he takes a drag.

"Yeah, thanks."

She can feel the reeling press against her lower back, trying to step back from pure instinct. But it’s something else growing inside of her—not her usual instinct to flee like she always does—as if she’s captured by an invisible lasso she senses a pull towards him. Drive away, drive away. Don’t.

"Here," he says, only holding his cigarette between his thumb and index finger, tipping his head towards her. She looks up in his eyes, glancing back in hers. The blue neon light from the signs glaring, casting an outer space light on the side of their faces. At the same time it dips their skin in darkness from the other side. Don’t drive the light away. Don’t drive away.

She hesitates a moment before putting her cigarette close to his, her hair falling forward, covering her blushing cheek that’s fighting against the smooth blue neon. The breath from his mouth hits her with a coolness in the hot droughty night. As she inhales, sparks flow like glow flies from the rolling paper, a union of glare meeting in the darkness.

Slowly, as if he isn’t moving at all, he pulls back, taking the glow with him, letting a stream of smoke out his lips, turning blue as it reaches the light, turning invisible as it fades away. She almost follows him there, like they suddenly are connected by a thin thread. She pulls back to resist the urge. He taps his cigarette with his finger, making the ash fall down, severing the thread.

Can’t she hear it ticking? The universe is a great machine, putting the pieces together, the engine is running. All she has to do is to press play. Hear the ticking, it’s her destiny on her way, away, away.

"Sam," he says, reaching his hand out to her. She takes it and shakes it, not daring looking into his eyes.

"Hi, thanks for the light," she says back and let’s go. Not yet, not yet. Not time yet.

"Okay..." he says, dragging the free hand through his feather hair. The blue neon light dances in the highlights of it. Suddenly, she feels ashamed of her own hair and tries to tuck it neatly behind her ears.

"So, what brings you to this deserted place of the world?"

"The road," she answers too quickly, taking a further step away from him.

"Ah, how very vague and massively mysterious," he says in an overly familiar tone, smiling at her as if she was in on his joke.

"Not really," she says, folding her arms across her chest, turning away from him. He notices the coldness of the turn, the shoulder bringing in a cold draft.

"Eh, sorry, didn’t mean to pry or anything,"

He is starting to turn away. She regrets being so obvious.

"No, I just don't really enjoy that game."

"What game?"

"Questions," she says, looking only at the ground. His gaze is too direct and honest to meet.

"I didn't. I… I'm sorry?"

Anna regrets her words the minute they leave her lips. He on the other hand looks mortified and raises his hands to defend his words, looking offended and hurt at the same time. He is looking at her like he doesn't understand, like he expected something else, something more.

It’s strange. it usually takes one tenth of a second to judge and make an opinion about a person. But no matter how much she tries to measure him, she’s unable to get a reading of him other than how he looks. But an eerily familiar feeling creeps across her, like a song you can’t pinpoint where you’ve heard it before, or a smell that takes you back years. He’s smiling at her like one does when meeting an old friend after a long time apart. But he is a total stranger, that makes him a suspicious creature. And she is still not sure if she wants him to like or to dislike her.

"What brings you to the desert?" Anna asks to break the silence, she doesn’t like how high-pitched her voice goes, so small and fragile it sounds out in the vast landscape. Sam takes a minute to think about it. He looks up and shrugs.

"Questions now, is it?"

"Sorry… I just”—Anna’s cheeks turn pink, purple under the neon light—”sorry, I’ve been on the road a long time. I don’t talk to people much. Must be forgetting how."

He looks at her for a second as if she has said something to make him remember an old joke, but he doesn’t let her in on it. He only smirks and taps his cigarette. The silence rules between the two as they both take a drag, looking and measuring each other.

"The stars," he finally admits. Anna shakes her head, the words they speak are just sounds, leading nowhere.

"Now who is being vague."

Sam loses his smile for a second, staring up at the stars, a flash of worry streaks across him, making Anna think he must be older than he looks. He comes up next to her, leaning on the reeling, looking out into the night.

"Eh, yeah. Touche! My brother actually," he says, fidgeting his cigarette, not looking at her anymore.

"He's a scientist. Stars are acting strange here, some say."

"Do they now..." Anna says, not doubting it.

"I don't know. Can’t ask me about science stuff. He's a strange one—anyway… I'm a photographer, I only came along to this place to get some cool shots."

"Of what?"

He takes a moment to answer again as his eyes travel across her face.

"The strange..."

There it is again. The electrical pulse. Breathing, pumping, pulling them together as much as keeping them apart, keeping them away, away, away. But the wonders and curiosity of the human race has so often won over the instinct of fear.

They are suddenly interrupted by the sound of clicking heels. Sam stands up straight at the sound of someone coming up the stairs. Looking guilty even before he sees the person.

A bucket of ice is the first thing showing in the stairs, then the woman follows. She is tall with her shiny red shoes, her red hair short, touching her shoulders. She has the face of a woman who has taught herself to become no one. There is no personality you can read from her, not more than old billboard posters telling of a world that only exists on the screen.

She wears the makeup as a mask, hiding any hint of humanity under the red lips and heavy eyelids. Even her curls don't look natural, like taken from a magazine that doesn’t exist anymore or a pin-up tattoo of a woman no one remembers the name to. A theatrically voice accompanies her:

"Oh my," she says, pressing the red painted nails right under her lips so as not to smudge the lipstick. Her voice is static, coming from somewhere else. From black and white silver screens and muffled vintage microphones.

She wears a broad hair band and a short underdress with a pink kimono draping over her bare shoulders. By the look of her she is heading to bed, still wearing red lipstick and eyeliner that would make Audrey Hepburn jealous. Her naturally round eyes widen at the sight of Sam standing outside the door. He relaxes as it seems it wasn’t her he was expecting.

"I didn't know about the gentleman caller," giggling as she twirls the pearl necklace around her finger tips. She half crosses the knees, tiptoeing on her left leg so the heel hangs mid-air. She puts the arm on her hip, hugging around the ice bucket with the other. It’s as if it’s only her and Sam present. Anna half turns away looking into the night as if the half naked lady isn’t there. But she also refuses to leave as her nicotine addiction always comes first.

"Take a picture, dreamboat, make it last!” the girl flirts and scolds at the same time. “Sorry ‘bout my inappropriate attire though."

"No problem," Sam says, not showing any changes in facial expression. His cigarette has turned to ash, the glow is out.

"Oh well, I guess there’s nothing wrong about a peeping Tom now and again."

"A peepin—"

The girl laughs at the now shocked expressions on both of their faces as she slips past the neglected woman of 205, walks all the way over to Sam, so close up he can count the painted eyelids, one by one.

"Sorry love, this is my door," she says as she twirls past him and disappears into 207. Sam steals a glance at Anna who tries to be as invisible as she can.

"Wha—" is Sam's only response as he looks from the door to Anna and smiles, trying to get her in on a joke she can’t understand.

"The people you meet in cheap motels, I tell you…"

“Aha,” Anna politely smiles and nods in what she thinks is an encouraging way. Drive away, away, away. Stubbing the smoke on the reeling she throws it after her dead lighter, still with the strained smile on her face.

"Yeah, I should let you get back to that," she says and points at 207. She puts both of her hands in the pockets of her jacket, ready to face her claustrophobic room again. Suddenly it seems like a better option than out here.

"Have a good night and thank you for the light—"

"Miriam, wait—"

Don’t. Light. Away.

Sam stops himself when he sees the look in her face. She slowly turns back to him. He lowers his hand he reached out to her with. She points her finger at herself.

"Me?"

Sam looks confused at her. She looks equally confused.

"You’re not Miriam?"

Light.

Anna has a hand on the door handle, but doesn’t push it down. Is she?

"No? I haven’t even said my name," she says. Sam smiles as if she is joking.

"Really?"

"Really."

She looks suspiciously at him. For a moment he looks confused as ever, she’s a puzzle he can’t connect, but his face breaks out in a smile and he laughs. A smile he chose.

"I’m so sorry. I was so sure you told me your name was Miriam, I must be more tired than I thought…"

"No worries," she says reluctantly, still not sure where he got the name from. Did she really tell him that name? Maybe she’s the tired one. Sam stops smiling again and looks from his room to Anna.

"Yeah, sorry about that. What is your name though?" he asks.

"Anna," she says, opening the door, lingering by it.

"Of course you are," he says, nodding. She tilts her head, tries to read him again. Something is blocking her usual radar, he wears a filter she can’t go under, expose. Doesn’t know if she even wants to.

"Well," she says, motioning with her head towards her room, preparing a goodbye. It stays under her tongue, and doesn't want to escape her lips. Sam is suddenly in a hurry.

"I… I was thinking about having a late snack at the diner while I waited for my brother. Do you… would you like to come?"

Anna hesitates just enough so it’s obvious she’s not sure and Sam is about to shrug it off, opening his mouth, ready to say it’s ok, but she hears herself speak before she knows about it. Without her consent something in her has walked past the point of no return. Possessed by an entity that acts on her behalf, and she has a feeling that this simple act of getting coffee in a diner can be one of those happenings in life you look back thinking: That’s where everything changed. And that she would be ok with that change. Her third decision that night. Third is a charm, she is now on a path.

"Yeah… ok. Why not?"

Why not indeed.