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Evelyn and the Blue Ribbon


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He stumbled through dampened streets at around 2:30am on a Sunday. It’d been much earlier in the Saturday when he’d awoken, and slipped on his black trousers and black shirt and tie. His clothes stunk of the somewhat awful, and familiar stench of ale, and several kinds of whiskey mixed that had seeped into his clothes. I hate Saturdays. f*ck Saturdays. His phone shone through, the screen empty.

I miss you, whispered gently against the faint breeze of the night. Did he hear those words or was it something else? Maybe those two Jamesons were hitting him. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe. Maybe. His feet clicked against the floor loudly, but to another you would only hear and not see, for the streetlights had been turned off. Only the faint moon illuminated shapes, allowing him to make out the path to his house, each slab crooked with patches of grass that protruded upwards. He made his way to the door and lifted up the rugged mat which had lost its appeal years before. The key shone underneath and he snatched it and shoved it into the door with a groan. We miss you, something in his mind said.


Ignore it.


As he slipped inside, the door clicking shut, he remained in the dark and slipped through the living room. He looked down on the mat, and imagined for a split second the ghostly figure of a familiar shape that stretched out. A repetition of spirits past, of a play that had once played what felt like eons before. The mat, however, remained untouched really. “I love you, I always have,” said the voice in his head as he watched the shape fade away suddenly with a silent moan of exasperation.


No. He flicked on the light and his eyes almost shrunk. He’d forgotten how used he was to being in the dark. His aching, sticky hands rubbed at them lightly and he went into the kitchen with his feet clicking away. It was already lit. Maybe his mom had been down, with her new partner, stocking up on food. It was like they were children again. He would catch them sneaking in and out of the room, giggling and laughing. She had seemed happy for the first time in a long time considering what had happened. Was it his fault? Yes. Was it his fault she was now happy? In a way he liked to think so, but modesty overtook, or so many said. Never seen her this happy in years!


“I miss you,” said Evelyn at the table, as if she truly was perched on that crooked chair, the one which squeaked whenever anybody made a move. She looked as beautiful as she always did, short white blouse, ruffled, chestnut brown hair tied up in a blue ribbon, and the blue skirt that went to her knees. He shoe-less feet, all pretty and painted dark blue. Why always blue? Why’d she love that color?


He ignored her as he made his way to the fridge. It opened with a clatter of glass and yanked out the six-pint jug of milk. He snatched a glass from the side, dry from the earlier washing up and set it down. As he did these things, he could feel her eyes on him, and he refused to turn to her.


“You can’t ignore it, Simon.”


I can ignore it all, I can ignore everything. It’s what I do best.


“Do you remember that day where we watched the Darkos parade and Vishka took us through the forests?”


How could he forget. What a day it had been. The new residents had a tradition of a year parade, one that lit up San Darkos District for hours, with free booze, parties, orgies. You name it, they had some form of it in recreational form. They’d watched the fireworks explode against the multi-trillioned, star-glazed sky, and sat on the roof of the library. He had bought her daisys and roses, and bluebells. She took them, smiled, and lavished them with attention. Felt like a stupid rom-com. They made love a bunch of times on that roof, and slept together every night. He would watch her, as her body gently rose and lowered. Every night was the same in Solitudos. And he wouldn’t have changed it for the world.


“We were so happy…you, were so happy.”


It wasn’t real, none of it.


“Look at you. You stood for something, once…”


He looked down at himself, covered in booze in his bartender uniform.


It’s the real world out here.


“I don’t think I’ve every loved anybody like you…I don’t think I will. And here I sit, praying you’ll come back to us all—not just me.”


You, and them, are just figments. It all was. Everything, and everything I fought for in there. You think you’re going to coax me back in by throwing your feelings in my face?


“You can’t abandon us.”


When you and everybody else needed me, I didn’t abandon you. I didn’t run. I stood and I took control.


“What was the point of that if you were just going to disappear on us?”


Because I thought when I’d solved everything, you’d all disappear.


“We didn’t.”


Why don’t you just f*ck off? Leave me alone. Don’t make me take another pill.


“You don’t believe we’re made up. You don’t want to admit you’re in love with me more than anything you ever had and it kills you because you think I’m imaginary.”


You are.


“Then why…” she stood up now and walked over to him as he placed his hands on the counter and looked down at the empty glass before him. She gripped him with a warm touch of her hands and slipped them around his waist, “why do you still wear it? Where did you think it came from?” The words struck him like lemon juice in deep cuts. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “You found it where I said, and still…You refuse to take it off, don’t you?” she poked her head around and looked at him and he locked eyes with hers for a moment. Any longer and he felt he would buckle, and turn, and kiss her, and never stop…Ever again. He looked away.


Her hands slipped from his waist gently and she spoke: “Why is it still on your arm, Simon?”


He lifted his left sleeve and looked at his forearm. Gently strung around it, covering portions of a deep scar from the hand to his inner elbow was a blue ribbon that had not lost it’s light, almost-new blueish look. The silk remained around his arm and he stared at it for moments. “Why?” asked Evelyn again as her voice began to fade and he turned suddenly, looking around the room.


“Evelyn?” he spoke, as he frantically looked around for her. His eyes flitted and then lowered, and he remained silent again.


And there he stood, silently, staring back at the empty glass before him again for what felt like hours. Sleep was not an option.


“I love you.”




This is not a continuation of Innocence and Loneliness. This is a one shot set after the events of it, which I felt like writing following a heavy work day. I like these characters and I like the fact I know what they're about and know them well enough to write about them, correctly presenting them and whatnot. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you enjoyed it.

Edited by Ziggy455

"I don't know about angels, but it's fear that gives men wings."


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Mokrie Dela

Character was definitely strong in this one. Lots of little bits that added to it. I was reading it and while I thought it paralleled Innocence and Loneliness in a way, I didn't really think of that until seeing your footnote. In truth I don't remember it too well. But this was a nice little thing. As a one shot it took my hand and pulled me toward a door, but that was it; it didn't take me anywhere else. I kind of feel like i wanted it to go further, but it was good nonetheless. Nice use of language and even at the end (before you mentioned I&L) I was very intrigued; what was real?

Nice little piece, and yes, it makes me want to see more of I&L. Get to it, Ziggs!

The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.


Click here to view my Poetry

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