just_writing | Three Colours : Parsley

Hallo. You may have seen this before. I don't usually return to stuff I've written before, but in this case I'm making an exception. Following advice, I've tightened it up a little, I think. There are two (possibly three) more short installments, one of which is already written. I first posted it (and the sequel) in my journal proper. Second piece probably to follow fast.

I.

"Daniel leant his forehead against the window-pane. It was cold, his breath turning a small area to mist. Rain ran down the outside, unconcerned.
" 'What are you thinking?'" asked Madelyne, walking quietly up behind him. She rested her head against his shoulder, one hand going around his waist, the other still clasping her delicate wineglass.
" 'I never know what you're thinking,' she said into his shoulder, and he did not hear.
" 'I was thinking how real it all looks.' He replied after a moment, without looking away from the city spread out below him. 'So real.'
" They stood close, one shape in the dim light from the city, the only light in the high room.
" 'But it isn't real, any of it.' Daniel turned away, disengaging from Madelyne, turning his back to the window and the rain and the city. 'And I think I can prove it.'
" Madelyne sipped her wine, staring through the window behind him, saying nothing at all."
Falling Up, Stephen Hewitt

II.

"What're you writing?" asked Jay. He leaned over and stared at the screen, putting his half-empty wine glass down on the desk. Dee picked it up, tipped his chair back a little, sipped.
"Fictional fiction!" He announced, with an extravagant gesture that threatened to topple him.
"What?"
"Fiction that isn't real - excerpts from books that don't exist. It's all terribly clever." Dee laughed self-deprecating.
Jay laughed as well, shaking his head.
"Sometimes I wonder what world you live in, you writer types."
"Oh, you know. The real world."
Jay retrieved his glass from Dee and looked at him seriously.
"How can you be sure it's real?" He asked.
Dee jerked one thumb over his shoulder towards me and said "I asked Andy."

III.

I stopped writing, looked down at my hands. They were pale in the light from the screen, the only light in the world. I reached one hand out for the glass next to the monitor screen and then suddenly, without warning, looked over my shoulder hoping to catch . . .

But there was nobody there.