Left in the Parisian night.

The cool evening September fog encased the varnished carriages like an expectant widow hurriedly welcoming back her only son, while the train came to a staggered halt, almost wary of her heavy welcome.

A herd of Stiff bodies stepped down and out, greeted by the bitter waft of coffee & cigarettes. Heads seemed to sway in perfect unison as they approached the wide barred station gates. Among the crowd there was a distinct light reflecting of a tightly curled and well-greased afro, seamlessly the reflecting light threaded in and out between the blanket of trench fur-coats, hovering ever so briefly before keeping true to course.

The whistling and cursing of the crowd dissolved into the night, minutes before a rifle ricochet would have been brushed off as one of the many chaotic mysteries the train had brought along, yet the close heels & distant hooves echoed now the crowd wasn’t present to cushion the sound. The last stiff body stood still not swinging not swaying but steadfast in the sharp Parisian breeze. The wind cut back the dark afro to reveal a slender young woman; her dark mahogany cheeks illuminated her face, making the thin gold ring that ordained her button nose only slightly visible, as it dangled above her tawny pouted lips. Shifting her warm hazel gaze downwards her she turned to her side crouching down and placing those same lips on the forehead of a younger boy no more than 12 summers old.

The boy was frail with sunken cheeks and jaundiced eyes, but his eyes were beady and sharp, only just managing to hold back this roaring flood of curiosity, darting back and forth corner to corner not even slowing down to blink.

The young lady flicked on the hood of her cape and after a cautious survey of the sea of night before them, she lifted the trailing cuts above her ankles before hurrying deep into city smoke dragging him sharply alongside her briefly stopping every so often to check behind her or steal a gaze at the spotted night sky. He called out for her to slow her pace as he was struggling to keep pace, but she paid him no mind while twisting and turning down back-alleys passages. The lad noticed the boots she wore did not leave so much as a ripple in the puddles they passed, keeping them undisturbed. He looked up at her arm extending backward towards himself it drew him nearer as her pace slowed down and staggered to a halt.

Stood there before them was an over arched tunnel guarded by tall thin metal bars, arranged near enough to prevent an outstretched hand from reaching but sadly not near strong enough to provide the comfort sought for. Reaching into her shallow pockets the young miss pulled out a key with sharp jagged edges as she placed it into the lock careful not to make a sound, she turned around ushering the boy in before herself turning and locking the gate behind her.

The 2 figures began their decent down a set steep of stairs only to be met with a side door, placing the same key in the door she twisted the lock while turning the handle. A dark damp room, a wooden bed in the corner alongside a dresser and small round table. The walls were wet, the paint cracked, revealing the bricked layers littered with holes. A gas lamp lay shattered on the tableside floor the stray pieces crunching slightly after every other footstep. The only light that came in the room was from the streetside gutter drain.

The young miss made the boy promise to never let go of the singular key that was placed in his palm, it was warm form her tight grip.

Night merged into Day & Day into Night.

The light tapping caused by the condensation woke the boy from his deep sleep alone. His eyes adjusted to the poorly lit box room. A creased note just by the table leg caught his gaze, staggering towards it on hands and knees, with his outstretched fingertips he swept it up to examine ignoring the sharp pricks of disapproval from the debris on the floor. Slowly unravelling the paper careful not to rip it he scanned it thoroughly the whites in his eyes grew with a melancholy sparkle as his gaze panned downward to a glossy kiss shaped stain tracing his fingers around the stain, he whispered to himself.

C’est la vie.

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