Roll With It Short Stories

Day Fourteen

Word Count 14: 1800

Prompt 18: A phantom touch on a rainy day

They walked side by side, under different umbrellas. They waited at the crosswalk long enough for Rosy to build her courage. She peered from beneath her umbrella to see the side of his face, staring down at his phone. He was wearing the same black bag were once a book had fallen out and brought him into the world of Rosy's attention.

It was an old story and she had never met a single person who had heard of it. The writing style was long-winded and she doubted many copies still existed because she couldn't find a trace of it online. She admitted it also dragged in places and while not the best story ever written it was her favorite. She had read it a number of times and still found herself dreaming of it's violet cities and singing ships, and had even had nightmares of the Dark Tree God who had come to blight the world. Secretly she imagined what it would be like if someone adapted the story to a more modernized take. Sometimes she imagined it would be her, even though she had no writing skills of her own.

When The Crescent of Andernoth had flopped onto the sidewalk before Rosy she had recognized it immediately. "Wait!" She had called to the man who was walking briskly around the corner. She rushed to catch up to him, meaning to find a way to express what it meant to her to have crossed paths with someone who had read this book. "Oh, thanks." The man had said quickly taking the book and continuing on to wherever his destination was meant to be, before Rosy had had a chance to utter a word. "You're welcome." She deflated expecting never to see the man again.

Despite her reasonable expectations, Rosy remained on the look out every time she walked that street, though she told herself otherwise. Now that she was aware of him, she was surprised to find they shared a very common route together. On her way home from work she would see him leaving the bank building around the same time every weekday. Like most anxious people Rosy seemed to specialize in self doubt and spent all her waking hours distracted with how things could go wrong or inwardly criticizing all her motives and choices. She was a one woman play acting out all the parts at once and none of the characters liked each other. After a week of mentally battling herself into submission, she finally came to a decision. She came to the obvious conclusion that if she was going to approach him, it had to be sooner rather than later. Another week spent anxiously working and reworking what she would say, and questioning if the whole thing was worth it, passed her by and another week promised to pass the same way.

"No." She told herself in the mirror, she would talk to him today. She spent extra time putting on her most presentable face and attire, telling herself she couldn't let this chance to escape her. If she waited any longer it would become weird to address him, she steeled her resolve even as she opened her apartment door to see that it was raining. Picturing the sounds of rain drowning out her words or the rush to escape heavy winds keeping them at odds with conversing, she almost managed to talk herself out of it. "No, today." She reaffirmed, picturing a cringey version of herself that let this thing perpetuate itself on and on, 'Oh hello, remember me? I picked up your book three years ago. I'm not crazy at all.' That was the one outcome she could not let happen.

Now her chance had come again, her heart thump in time with the ticking of the crosswalk display. Tentatively she reached up to tap his shoulder, her fingertips brushing his sleeve, he looked up and began walking and she pulled her hand back. He began to make his way across the street with the crowd, while she remained hand clutched under her chin. Was that it? Was that all she had in her? She returned home with a secret shame.

Parker looked back feeling the ghost of fingers touch his shoulder, even with his superior height he couldn't see over the crowd to anyone who had been trying to get his attention. He shrugged making his way home but the imprint of the touch remained with him. The sensation faded away into his dreams but he was reminded of it every time it rained.