I found this on my USB stick, which I've been living off of due to Piers being out of commission. *makes face*
I wrote this for Writers' Club way back in the winter time for our, you guessed it, winter publication. For the most part, I used peoples' real names because, well, it's a school publication and I don't need to make myself seem like more of an idiot than I am. >_>
The timeline for this is interesting. Written before the New Year but involving people I wasn't on the right foot with. It was...a wish.
Also, a bit of a tear-jerked at the end that was completely unseen at the time of writing.
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Sitting up on the rooftop, snow falling softly to the ground, I let in a long drag of the sharp, frozen air. It was the fabled day of New Years Eve, the turning of the year drawing close as the hours waned down. After holding in the breath, I puffed out a white smoke of vapor, watching it dance and dissipate within moments of release.
It was roughly 11pm or so…eh, little past that, since I remember hearing the bell tower chime a few minutes ago. I slouched over the edge of the roof and stared down at the street below, clearing away some accumulated snow to rest my chin on the frozen concrete ledge. Five stories below on the street, some stray party-goers were making their way to their destinations, swaggering in their step, dancing in the falling snow.
Myself? Well, I was just hanging out here, having gotten off my shift of the Writers Bloc Café, of whose rooftop I was currently sitting on. I did whatever job was needed of me, though that mostly involved bussing tables and cleaning dishes with some occasional cash register manning thrown at me. Although business had waned in the later hours, what with people running off to celebrate the countdown with friends and family, it had been a madhouse in the morning and afternoon. So many boxes of pastries and cartons of coffee that people had ordered for office or house parties…yikes. It made me never want to work a holiday ever again, due to the sheer effort it took from my shins to support me.
The roof access hatch creaked open, causing me to crane my neck and see who was coming to the roof. Judging by the scratchy blonde hair, it was my friend TC – with that guess proving correct as his small frame came climbing out. He was dressed in a black tee with an orange long-sleeved shirt underneath, along with having a spastically-colored scarf wrap around his neck. Judging by his garb alone, I assumed he didn’t mean to hang out for the long run.
“Found ya,” he greeted, sticking his hands in his jeans and plodding towards me through the snow (although he did make an effort to step in my footprints). “C’mon, Beck’s getting out all the party stuff. Now we’re all just hanging out and…y’know, waiting for the ball to drop.” He paused and looked at me curiously when I didn’t respond. “What’s wrong? You depressed?”
“Huh what? No, no, not at all.” I shook my hair out to let some of the frozen flakes out before standing upright. “I’m just ah…meditating.”
“On what?”
“On the future…what is, what has, what shall be…I’m communing with the inner essence of the universe on the one night that its connection fades as it shifts into the dawning of a new year…I’m –”
“You didn’t want to clean up.”
“Yeaaaah, pretty much.”
TC laughed before grabbing the loose ends of my scarf and pulling me towards him. “We’ve got a party to get to, Aristotle.”
Through the hatch and then racing down five flights of stairs we went, slamming straight into the bright orange wall right next to the landing on the first floor. The thump was clearly audible (and visible – the pictures hanging closest to us shook slightly) as TC and I made our entrance, though perhaps a bit more clumsily than intended.
Only five other people were hanging out in the café, sipping away at whatever coffee, tea, or cocoa they could get their hands on while the ‘free drinks’ offer still held. James, the owner, was sitting on the top of a couch located near the front window, currently flipping through channels and attempting to watch something decent until viewing the great ball drop was inevitable. Becky, the co-owner and true operator of the joint, was setting out boxes of unsold pastries, encouraging everyone to eat them since the café wasn’t going to be open for a few days anyway.
I immediately took her up on the offer, wandering over to the table she had set the box at and snatching a bear claw from the mess of confections. The three other party goers – Stacey, Michael, and Jill – were finishing up a round of some card game or another when they took note of me.
“Happy new year!” Stacy greeted, throwing her cards in the air and tearing her way towards me. She swept me up in a bear hug and, with me being 5’3” and her 5’8”, twirled me around enthusiastically. I made a noise that was more suited to a wailing platypus than a human being before she set me down in a spin, causing the both of us to lose our footing and hobble around in our dizziness.
“It’s not the new year,” I finally responded, taking a delayed first bite out of the bear claw in my hands. “Still got…forty-three minutes.”
“Psh, way to ruin it,” she responded, plucking a cinnamon sugar doughnut from the box and sinking her teeth into it. “Y’know, it’s new years SOMEWHERE in the world.”
“Yeah, but they don’t count ‘cause they’re not here,” Michael piped up, following Stacey’s example and tossing his cards in the air. Jill let out a snort before following suit and joining us at the pastry box.
“’For heeeeeeere am I sitting on a tin caaaan’,” I couldn’t help but sing, which received a backhand across the top of my head. It had been from Becky who, when I turned out to look at her, handed me a large mug of coffee.
“You’re favorite, with exactly three half-and-halfs and two packets of artificial sweetener.” She grinned before busting out laughing. “Oh God, you’re so weird.”
“Oh c’mon, I have refined taste,” I shot back before taking a large gulp. I hadn’t noticed how chilled I was from being outside in the snow. “Errgh…thanks.”
“You’re most welcome, small one.”
I stuck out my tongue in protest, but was quickly snapped out of my anger when Jill and Stacey grabbed my free arm and dragged me towards the couch, where James had given up and was watching one of the various New Years countdown programs airing.
“We’re here, live, in New York!” the news caster shouted into his microphone. Michael snorted into the coffee he held, shaking his head.
“Freezing yer butt off,” he said before taking a sip. “What kind of loser deliberately goes to New York to stand outside in the cold and watch a giant ball of lights drop down?”
“The kind of loser that likes getting on TV,” Jill offered, kicking out her feet from her pose on the armrest of the couch. “Y’know, the boozers and party people. Now us…we’re the special kind of loser: the people who are hanging out with their coworkers and worse, at work.”
Becky laughed, glancing over to us from her position at the entrance. “Oh pleeease. Where else would you spend New Years?”
“…Last year, I spent it playing Animal Crossing,” Stacey offered, a weak grin on her face. “Oh maaaaan that was a sad night…”
“Meh, I did that once, a couple years ago,” I supplied. “Nothing that sad about – okay, nevermind, it’s pathetic.”
“Damn straight,” James finally spoke, tossing the remote on the coffee table as he collapsed into an armchair. “On the ‘lame’ scale, celebrating with a video game is pretty high up there. Besides, lots of people have to work New Years Eve anyway – ”
“Shhhh!” Stacey interjected, shooting forward in her seat. “Best commercial EVER!”
I looked to the screen and nearly choked up in laughter. “BILLY MAYS HERE!” my voice chorused with Michael, Jill, and Stacey as the eccentric salesman urged us to buy some cleaning product.
“Billy Mays should be the new Chuck Norris,” James mused, scratching his temple. “Y’know, like…‘kids look under their beds for the Boogieman, the Boogieman looks under his bed for Chuck Norris’…”
“And Chuck Norris looks under his bed for Billy Mays?” TC completed as he walked up from the kitchen, a sprinkled doughnut and hot chocolate in hand. “You guys watch too much TV.”
“Oh c’mon, it’s culturally significant,” Michael attempted to reason. “It changed our whole society.”
“…Into big lumps of dough,” I countered before cracking up and forcing myself to sip from the coffee mug in hand.
