The Record Player
by
Matthew Egan
In a small New York apartment, a blue Akai record player sits atop a deep brown table playing a silent tune. The evening sun enters the apartment from a small window in the corner and dances delicately across with each passing second. A strong, summer's breeze washes across the room and swirls around an oval coffee table. Coasters sit neatly stacked atop each other with a book to the side. The sofa remains untouched, the cushions plump and fat with a long recently polished cabinet behind it. A small vase of white roses and a note sit in the centre.
The kitchen floor dries slowly and the smell of bleach engulfs the apartment, as a faint knocking can be heard. ‘David,’ A woman says softly.
‘David, are you there? I know… I know we didn’t leave things the way we should have, but… We need to talk David. I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Please… please just open the door so we can talk about this.’ She knocks again. ‘Please.’ Silence falls over the apartment. She exhales and places an open palm on the door before walking away, the soft steps of her heels disappearing into the distance.
The apartment is still, with only sounds from the street below giving life to the peace.
A breeze swirls around the room, blowing the bleach and nudging the note from the vase to the floor.
‘Live your life. Be Free and Happy without me.’ It reads beneath his delicately hanging feet.
The kitchen floor dries slowly and the smell of bleach engulfs the apartment, as a faint knocking can be heard. ‘David,’ A woman says softly.
‘David, are you there? I know… I know we didn’t leave things the way we should have, but… We need to talk David. I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Please… please just open the door so we can talk about this.’ She knocks again. ‘Please.’ Silence falls over the apartment. She exhales and places an open palm on the door before walking away, the soft steps of her heels disappearing into the distance.
The apartment is still, with only sounds from the street below giving life to the peace.
A breeze swirls around the room, blowing the bleach and nudging the note from the vase to the floor.
‘Live your life. Be Free and Happy without me.’ It reads beneath his delicately hanging feet.
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