Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33201530-20171113032531

 The wind is stale tonight. Literally. It tastes just like that piece of bread I ate earlier to make sure it was stale. A dip in molten cheese would improve the bread’s flavor, but you can't really dip air in anything.



 There is that air-gel substance I've heard of online. The one NASA makes that's basically air, but actually solid. I think? I might be misremembering. But if it’s solid after all, well, you could dip it in fondue and maybe then it wouldn't taste stale. We've been planning fondue night for a week.



 I'm just trying to distract myself. Me talking to me. I’m sc- concerned about him while I walk down the sidewalk. That sounds redundant. Using “walk” twice in one sentence even if they're technically different words. He'd probably make fun of me if I said that out loud. This night feels weird. I don't like it, this wind.

Or, I do like it, but in the wrong sort of way. I like when it's a quiet night, the wind gusting every so often and shaking the trees with ominous intent. It's a creepy, weird sensation that makes me shudder excitedly with both fear and joy. You only get this kind of feeling in Fall when it’s nice and cool. I'm usually looking forward to it.

But tonight it makes me feel so scratchy. I mean inside, like a mosquito bit my soul and now there's a red lump itching where I can't get at it. I keep having to stop myself from scratching at my chest since it's not going to help. I don't know why, maybe I'm forgetting something from earlier?

The wind feels off, but “off” feels like the wrong word? It's off compared to a Summer wind, with that creepy vibe I like, but it’s also off in some kind of way I don't like. I can't quite describe it. It's like the stale air and the bread; one you can dip in cheese and enjoy, the other you can't. Unless you work for NASA, I guess. And make fondue, like we are tonight. We've had it planned for a week.

It's probably because of his call. Why is he at our friend’s house? We’d planned this night for a week. Fondue isn't something you just slap together. Not in my mind anyways. I saw the recipe online and mentioned it to him. I was excited, and he seemed to be happy because I was excited. Did I read him wrong? Did he think it was a boring idea?

He did say it was only a short visit to Jessie’s, and she lives within walking distance. Well, walking distance for me since I try to get 10,000 steps a day even though I work a desk job. Someone else probably would have just driven, but I hadn't been able to get my afternoon walk in since I'd been preparing for the dinner and this seemed like a great opportunity to make it up. And the wind felt so great, smelled so fresh when I first stepped out the door...

Am I imagining things now? It smells so stale. And it's quiet. I like scary, creepy things, this wouldn't be the first time my paranoia got the better of me after dark. I'm probably just seeing things again. Or hearing-slash-smelling them, I guess. Did I just say “slash” in my own head?

I should call him. Not because I'm nervous, but because I'm nervous. Ah! Damn. Well, at least I'm admitting it, I guess. No point in false bravado. I pull up his name on my phone and hit the call button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe!” I say, mentally shoving my nervousness down.

“Oh, hey, what's up?” he says.

I frown at his tone more than his words. It's too flippant for this situation, like he actually doesn't know why I might be calling. We planned the dinner for a week!

“I-”

I stop myself, already hearing the angry tone rising in that single syllable.

“Mhrm,” I reset myself to speak more calmly, but make sure he hears it. “Why are you at Jessie’s house again?”

“She invited me for a drink after work. I know it was a surprise, but I thought you would like the walk. How far are you? I can come pick you up.”

“No. No. It's fine,” I sigh. “It's just something about the weather that's bothering me.”

I run my hand down my face, feeling dumb and frustrated. This stupid, stale smell was messing me up. Something like this is always an omen in the stories I like to read. I should probably cut down on them since they're clearly getting to me.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah. I'm already halfway there at least. I dunno. I’ve been kinda lost in thought with this weather. Did it smell stale to you at all today?”

“Stale? Not really? It's pretty nice out, I think.”

“Yeah, I thought that too at first, but it got kind of strange after a while.”

“Huh, weird. Do you want me to stay on the phone until you get here?”

“No, I'm just in a funk. But can we leave soon? I've really been wanting to do this fondue thing…”

“Of course! See you soon!”

I hang up the phone, feeling better as I see my house come into view. As I approach, the stale scent in the air suddenly disappears and the wind smells so crisp and feels so wonderful on my skin. Wait, why did I ask if we could leave soon? We’re doing the fondue thing tonight. Or, hm, wasn't I going somewhere else? Am I forgetting something?

I open the door, shaking my head to clear it. I'm confusing myself. I see Jessie sprawled awkwardly on the living room couch and give a wave. I'd say “Hi!” but I didn't know she was going to be over. Did he invite her? Did he forget I was making fondue tonight? That's a date kind of thing!

I'm annoyed as I head into the kitchen. I walk to the bowl on the counter, feeling angry. I'm not sure why, but Jessie being here makes me so, so angry. Angrier than a surprise visit should make me. I like Jessie, I don't want to be angry at her. I reach into the bowl and take out a piece of stale bread. I put it in my mouth and bite into it.

It's bland and a little painful as the rough edges bite into my gums. I don't like it without the fondue. It feels like the staleness is seeping into my teeth, into my bones. I walk to the window over the kitchen sink and open it. I want to feel the Fall wind. Maybe it will blow away this staleness.

But it tastes stale itself. We said that before, says a part of my mind. It's not truly a separate part from the rest of me, but it didn't feel exactly like I said it since I was busy looking at his body laying in our backyard.

“Did we? I forgot,” I murmur.

Stale bread. Stale air. A stale night all around. But it’d be better when we got to the fondue. We’d planned that for a week. I feel my phone ringing and pull it out of my pocket.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hey babe,” he says. “Look, I stopped by Jessie’s for a bit. Do you want to come over too?”

“No,” I say bitterly.

“Oh come on, it'll just be for a bit. You could walk it. You love the weather this time of year and you’re always talking about how you need more steps to hit 10k!”

I grumble irritably.

“Would you prefer to find me and Jessie together at our house?” he asks.

I stare at his bloody body again. “No,” I say.

“Then come on over! I'll see you in a bit.”

He’s so cheery, even when he’s dead. I walk to the front door, looking again at Jessie’s body on the couch. Harsh screams and red struggles flash vaguely in my ears and eyes. The memories of it all are so fuzzy and distant, like that separate piece of me talking a few minutes ago. The air in this house is so stale.

I open the door and the wind blows, smelling fresh and crisp. I feel like I've suddenly forgotten something, but I decide not to worry about it. I have to meet my boyfriend at Jessie’s house and I need the st- oh. Weird. I’m checking my step counter and I'm already past 10k. Well, extra steps can't hurt. The last breeze didn't smell as fresh though...  