Thursday, August 18, 2011


So, I figured, if this an art blog, why not post a small story? I mean, literature is art, so what the hell. Well, let's get real for a sec, my writing isn't art. But, ah, I feel like posting this.

It was raining that evening. I was in the music room, softly playing Backwoods on the piano. I had left the door open because the boys were out playing soccer, and probably soaked by now. I heard the door opening downstairs and several conversations going on at the same time. Most of the boys went to the showers.Ross J. didn’t. He went to see a blonde girl who was staying near us. Àlva was her name. She was a year younger and had a boyfriend already, but he wouldn’t be there until the end of the month, so she was having a not-so-secret affair with Ross.

Ander entered the music room, bringing with him a sweet scent of black liquorice and wet grass. He closed the door and came closer to me. I finished the piece and started playing Missouri Sunrise. He sat to my left on the bench. He didn’t speak; he knew this was one of my favourite songs.
I glanced sideways at him. He was smiling, his brown hair, darkened by the rain, sticked to his forehead; his wet tee, a bit see-through, also clinged to his body. Charming.
Drops of water kept specking my blue dress. He got even closer, brushing his arm against mine. After what seemed the longest time, I finished playing and embraced him. I didn’t mind getting wet.

Hope you liked it.

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