Written On Those Sleepless Nights

All My Wonderful Charlies

The night was young but already a full moon had risen up and seated itself upon the dark canvas. The glowing globe, looking so fragile and lost in never ending depth of the night sky, shone brilliantly, illuminating the world in its silvery curtains. Everything seemed to be covered in a thin layer of pixie dust, shimmering softly as each gust of wind blew by, enchanted by the spell of the mistress of the night.

Ever so softly, the moonlight bounced off the roofs of the packed together neighborhood, squeezed itself through cracks between leaves of surprisingly tall trees in forest-like gardens, found its way between small alleyways but never venturing near the territory of shadows stroked the soft, golden hair of a curled up dog sleeping peacefully in someone’s backyard, and bathed the small balcony of an old fashion house with its magical glow.

Even to a normal person’s eyes, the balcony was a piece of art, especially in a town that was industrializing with the speed of a bullet. Thin and thick pieces of metal that made up the railings was bent to the sides into curves and elegant swirls, blooming out from its centre like an abstract image of waves parting way for the birth of Aphrodite.

Feminine and pure.

But if a person took his time and observed it closely, they might catch sight of two dried up plants on the far sides of the small balcony, hidden in the shadows, gripping onto the fancy railings in a death hold; strong and determined, but dead nonetheless.

Behind the balcony, sunk into the ivy-covered walls was a tall and thin arch with a double door made up of glass, white painted wood and metal doorknobs twisted into a renaissance design. Moonlight shone through the twenty panels of glass and printed the shape of the carved railings and twenty glowing squares neatly onto the wooden floor of the dark room. For a few minutes, the silhouette of a crow resting its wings on the handle bar of the railings contributed to the picture. But when the cursed creature departed, the shadows and moonlight were once again left alone with only their solitude for company.

A second.

A minute.

Half an hour.

An hour.

Nothing happened. Well, apart from the crickets cranking up their volumes like a static radio.

7:49 p.m.

A stream of curses erupted from the group of drunken gamblers from the house on the right. Something must be up.

A second.

A minute.

Half an hour.

8:20 p.m.

A cheer and a whole lot of applause went up from the same drunks in the same house. Apparently Italy had scored their first goal against Germany. It was Euro season after all, even in a miscellaneous and downright weird country like this one.

A second.

A minute.

8:21 p.m.

Oh, there went the crying baby from the family across the street. The little lad would never shut up. Just a little joke or a harmless touch would get his vocal chords working like a fire truck. A bottle of milk and … oh, there went the shouts and curses from his mama. That should do the trick.

A second.

8:22 p.m.

The moon’s brilliant spell was suddenly broken by a pair of blinding yellow light tearing through the forest-like property of the ivy-covered house. The car engine sounded distant, partially due to the fact that it was almost drowned out by the crickets’ summer symphonies. When the new light passed by the balcony and the glass-panelled door, every single detail of the room could be seen for a flash of a moment. Dark, reddish-brown wooden floor almost covered with dust, scratches and paint, a classic piano with a piece of thick crimson material draped over it just enough so that the keyboard can be seen, on top of it was a messy pile of books and paper, a world globe and a beautiful portrait of a young bride, multi-coloured pillows were dumped in a random fashion all over the room, jackets, hats and fedoras were hanged on a hanging rack and a working desk in one of the four corners.