Finish The Story Contest - Week #48!
The prompt was well written. Clear, to the point, and open to any number of endings. Perhaps, this is the most clear writing (fiction-wise) I've seen from @theironfelix. Well done.
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The Extraordinary Café
by @theironfelix
The warm smell of fresh brownies drifted across the cafe, ducking under the tables, squeezing through chairs, urged on by the fans; it flew. A gooey batch, chocolate chips still soft, had appeared on the counter. So loudly rang the placing of the tray, that Matt’s eyes glanced over, his mouth already watering, and so the enticing aroma managed to make him half consider ordering two.
Over Matt’s head, a clock's hand ticked a steady background beat, drawing his attention. For all wandering eyes, it was ten to two; she was twenty minutes late. A huff of impatience escaped his cracked lips, his mind drifting back to the crowded room.
An elderly man sat slouched at the table across from him, his broadsheet newspaper out of place in a room full of faces glazed by the light of phone screens. Matt‘s hand instinctively touched his own in his pocket. If he got it out, his eyes would be glued hard to it, in case the light flashed. His mind knew it would vibrate, but the flash came first. It was an addiction he couldn’t fight. Not to the phone. To her.
His mind buzzed and beeped, unable to fight the itch of wonder…
”...where was she?”
The old man‘s mouth let go of a cough, accompanying the symphony of crinkling as he flipped a page. Matt’s eyes darted up, accidentally catching his gaze, the man smiled at him eagerly folding the paper away.
Matt’s mind shuddered, cursing itself as the man rose, heading towards him. As soon as the stranger came within ear shot, Matt called out trying to put him off.
“Sorry mate, i’m waiting for someone.”
The grin over the worn face widened.
“Someone who still ain’t here yet, ‘ow about a bit of company, to help with the waiting? Whatcha say?”
Put on the spot, Matt’s thoughts already ablaze, he found himself nodding before reason could interject. The flame in his mind was inundated with worries and the urge to call her now - to see where oh where she was. Matt didn’t have the patience for small talk, but it was too late; the elderly man was lowering himself into the chair opposite.
The chair eeking with the slow applying pressure of aching joints, a wry smile found itself on the old man’s lips. In the opposite side of tension: a forced smile began forming on Matt’s dry lips, his hand quivering but extending for an introduction.
My Ending
That sweet aroma of fresh baked cookies.
Matt shook the man’s hand, whose grip was fierce and skin was leathery and he held on too long, staring at him. Matt pulled till the old man relented and let go.
The aroma came again, of cookies and delicious pastries. It wafted into Matt’s nostril’s, now making him sick. It suffocated him. So he drank his coffee and stared at that old man, smiling a dumb grin.
“Who you waiting for?” the elderly man asked. Matt saw now the creases in his face, the liver marks on his nose, the receding hairline, the teeth that were clearly replaced with fakes far whiter then then rest of his cigarette-tar-sand incisors.
“A girl.”
“She pretty?”
Matt wanted to punch him. Wanted to tell him to go get fucked and get out of the seat he reserved for Emily.
“Why?”
“Just curious. I’m waiting for somebody myself.”
“That so?”
“I’m just a bit bored, is all. I hope you don’t mind me encroaching.” The old man sipped his coffee. “Even the coffee has changed. You see, this whole place,” he motioned to the cafe and the city outside, “this whole area used to be underwater when I was your age. And a cup of coffee, well. It tasted like coffee.”
“This cafe is renowned for its beans,” Matt began.
“I’m not saying this is bad,” the elderly man motioned to the coffee. “It’s just far too good for my taste. If you get my meaning.”
“You grew up here?”
“Born and raised in New Grove.”
“But that place must have been pretty tough back then.”
“Well, you just got to let folks know that you’re not the one to fuck with.”
The man smiled again, showing off his fake teeth. Matt wondered if he lost them in a fight.
“Tell me about the girl you’re meeting.”
“She’s…”
And suddenly he found himself wanting to tell it all. So he did. About the online chats, the messages, the promises. The dances through VR, under the moonlight night of Van Gogh stars. The boat rides through Cezanne water flowers. And that kiss, so close, but never sealed.
“Sounds wonderful,” the man said. “Sounds like you really like this girl.”
“Who are you waiting for?” Matt asked.
“Changing the subject?”
“Yes,” he said, finally managing to summon his courage.
The old man nodded, thought to himself, drank some of his coffee then stared Matt square in the eyes.
“I’m waiting for my daughter.”
“Oh?”
“She’s about your age. Haven’t seen her in awhile. Some problems with home, is all.”
Bells rang, signaling another customer and entered the cafe.
Matt leaned over, expecting to see her.
But this wasn’t a blonde.
The girl came over to her father, face in shock.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Matt. “He’s not well.”
She scolded her father for leaving the home.
“Bye, Matt,” he said as he left.
Matt knew for certain he never gave the man his name.
We caught ourselves a catfish!! Ahhh this is so well written, and so much fun, I love how you essentially amp up the possibility from the first half, pushing it higher and higher, until we reach the precipice, keeping that final card close to your chest right until the last moment for such a wonderfully simple conclusion.
But then this line!!
and the sheer possibilities of the implications, for the conversation to the focus on the coffee! It's just brilliant! The potential just keeps building, until the bell rings, and a customer walks in and.. and.. it's not her, there is no her! This story is so close to a catfish itself haha! Ahhh this was a very entertaining ending, delightfully intriguing to the ultimate reveal.
Also very much appreciate your opening comments, we put a lot of effort into creating something that combined elements of both our styles with that very check list, clear and as open as possible for FTS, and not something you get that much feedback on most of the time, thank you <3
ya i missed that it was a cowrite. good stuff as always @calluna. Thanks for your comments, and watch out for online personalities
What an elegant final touch. The story took off from the talk about how the coffee changed, together with Matt's growing interest.
(Hey I read the ending, but there was a reason @calluna got mentioned in the contest page - give her some credit as well. Regardless, we coprompted it [despite yada, yada, yada and so on and so on]. Also stop with this cult of clearness, this one is equally vague when yah stop to smell the roses. That and I wonder what the actual criteria is for @curie upvotes, I swear I get them for varying qualities and differing levels of obscurity. Also I really wonder if yah had read my stuff since December 2018 with the 16 days of literature...)
La filosofía del texto (The philosophy of the text): So moving unto the ending itself :^D - It very much slowly cracked down Matt's reality, even if not by significant parts, to a broader reality he wasn't expecting. From the offhand toss-away comment of the city being underwater and mentions of coffee tasting different, to loosing teeth (never normalized in fiction, those crackheads) and then to knowing his name. I mean, this elder man's not that well, she said so herself - because he's breaking everything to make the reader uncomfortable! Gasps And that's the true horror, the creepy old guy who's clearly too well and just trying screw with us. I mean how else if Matt is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO certain and can't explain away this problem of knowledge? :p Or I can just be really bored with work and I just wanted to see if I can make a silk roll from cobwebs.
La forma: of course we get into the inner thoughts of the dope who probably told his name on accident when he was quoting his love-mate. And we get to see how the old man just screw with him, because maybe he's sane and just loves screwing with people, with just little details that make Matt wonder what the Old man is specifically doing. The one sin that's worth it in writing is saying "X said," but I almost universally avoid and stick to using dialogue markers and character accents. Then again, I don't really care if the language is free-flowing and never stutters unnecessarily - which this story does well to feel free-flowing. So blep :p
I don't try to think too much about philosophy or form when I write, much beyond finding a 'story' then just going where it leads. Maybe I might give it some check after to make sure I don't betray some subconscious bourgeois garbage, but point being, I really think fiction (for me) is about finding a thread and following it. Writing skill and mechanics is just the method of getting the story out clearly.
Nicely done, @dirge. The suggestion of sinister in the beginning takes on a human angle. The man is old. The young fear the old. Interesting the way that description of the man's physical characteristics colors our impression of his worth.
When the daughter comes, I'm left to wonder if "the home" is her home or an institution. How much of what the man said is dependable? Has he not seen her and she has come to scold him because he's inconvenient? Because a nursing home has called her and she has to leave her busy schedule to take care of this "problem".
Or is the man slightly senile, and he's actually seen his daughter at "home" a short time before?
In any event, the details bring the story alive. These draw us in and I certainly want to know more.
You are a skilled writer. But you know that :)
I wanted to tell a story about catfishing, when a person fakes an online identity.
MMMM...????
Hey, @dirge!
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Hi @crowdmind. You have given me support in the past as well. I thank you for that and wish you all the best.