"Half Story" for creative writing
He knew Irises were her favorite flower. She liked the delicate, almost periwinkle blue that faded across the petals. She liked the vibrant yellow center. There was something untraditional about an Iris. Something not as cliché at a rose, more complex than a tulip. She had let it die, hadn't even bothered to put it in water. A foolishly symbolic gesture, she knew, one that caused her sensibilities to cringe at letting beauty die. She had done it anyway, half hoping Jack would walk by her office to grovel and beg for her to take him back so she could wave the withered, dry flower in his face as if to say "I showed you!" Okay, so maybe that wouldn't be all that effective…at the time it was the best she could come up with.
She was about to go take a long, hot shower, possibly with a very large glass of wine nearby, when she saw the brochure. Enjoy a luxurious weekend in Paris! On the background was a stunning if not intimidating picture of the Eiffel Tower and a happy couple standing in front of it. Aubrey pursed her lips and imagined stuffing a withered Iris into the man's open, laughing mouth. And watching him choke.
A weekend in Paris? Well crap, who wouldn't want to enjoy a luxurious weekend in Paris? She bit her lip… She had saved up a little extra, and damn it, she was entitled to a little treat. Okay, a somewhat enormous treat. But she was entitled. Was she really considering this? A spur of the moment decision? Aubrey was not a spur of the moment person. Impulsivity was not in her nature. She shook her head at her foolish idea…. How ridiculous….
It was ridiculous, she thought, as her plane landed in Charles de Gaulle airport two days later. It was a short drive to Paris. A beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, striking drive to Paris. Well, there were an enormous amount of boring, slate gray buildings blocking her view of what she was sure was a beautiful, stunning, gorgeous and striking view. She grinned idiotically out the window, her hands splayed against the window, prattling off questions to the taxi driver. He rolled his eyes and enhanced his accent. He was American, living in Paris with his fiancé. He adopted the fake persona for the tourists. They were so gullible he thought. Then again, he did have a particularly nice French accent.
She dropped her bags off and without even touching up her make up, left the hotel. Who was she going to see anyway? She took a deep breath as she stepped outside, inhaling the fantastic French air. And a man's cigarette smoke. She coughed abruptly, half fearing she would do something embarrassing like pee in her pants. The man gave her a sneering look before walking away. She wanted to sneer back but got distracted by a man selling flowers on the road side. "Oh, how beautiful!" She exclaimed, touching the crimson petals of a poppy.
He nodded and pointed to the sign that said "5 euro." Disappointed that he didn't exclaim "Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady" in French or something equally romantic, which she wouldn’t have understood anyway, she walked on and arrived at L'arc de Triomphe. She stared at its magnificent height. She wanted to take out her camera and snap a hundred or so shots to brag to her coworkers with later without looking like a tourist. Debating on how to accomplish this feat, she didn’t notice the man that bumped into her. "Pardon," He said in a gorgeous French accent, flashing a gallant smile at her before turning to walk on. He hesitated, and turned back. "You look lost, do you need any help?"
Her jaw dropped against her will. He was hot. No, he wasn't hot. He was a god. She was sure of it. He was a god from ancient Roman times that had somehow invented time travel into the present day. In an Armani suit. Realizing she was standing there gaping like an idiot, she snapped it shut. Reply! She told herself. Don't just stand here staring at him like a half-brained idiot! "You are really hot." Oh my god, please tell me I did not say that, please tell me I did not say that. But she had.