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Randomness

  By: Tiago Viana

  Copyright

  Copyright 2016 Tiago S Viana

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or a used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Table of Contents

  First Story: Bioluminescent

  Second Story: The End Table

  Third Story: Cigarettes and Random Melodies

  About the Author

  Contact the Author

  Bioluminescent

  A notebook sat alongside John’s body when his old partner, Walt, found him at the far end of the cave. All his equipment, except for the rope, was beside his cold body.

  Maybe if you paid more attention to your work and less to your diary, this wouldn’t happened, Walt thought while picking up John’s notebook, entitled ‘In search for nothing’. Always giving stupid titles for stupid stuff.

  9am – Cave Entrance;

  I’ve followed the river as specified on the map and arrived at the cave entrance after a two-hour walk. It’s funny how over the years this walks are getting easier and easier, even with the age already weakening my bones. Of course it would be easier if Walt was here, but I couldn’t risk passing this deadline.

  About two weeks ago we were hired to go deep into this cave and look for a specific species of glowing mushroom. I personally don’t think they even exist. I was going to refuse since this place is really far away but the money was too good to refuse. And here I am, making a checklist and writing stuff down on my diary, just like a little girl would do. At least Walt is not here to complain about it.

  10am – First Struggle

  I literally never saw so much bat shit in my life. When they told us that this cave was never visited before I didn’t believed them, since this is a well-documented area. But it really seems like no one has been here before.

  I have been following the river inside the cave and it seems like I’m walking in circles, but all caves give this impression, it’s all rocks on top of rocks, and shit of course. But unfortunately I remembered how bad I am in remembering, that’s why I always brought Walt along.

  I forgot the rope. It’s not like I’m going to use it, but is always good to have it if I feel like climbing something. And I’m sure I won’t anyway, since there’s no sign of any mushrooms yet.

  11am – Mushroom Saloon

  Well, I admitted that I was wrong. There are so many green dots on this saloon that I’m not sure if I’m inside the cave or outside, looking at the stars. I might lie down for a while; I’ll take pictures later.

  I never though these things were real, I mean, I am no biologist, but how do they glow? I really don’t understand. But I guess it’s for the best. Sometimes we don’t need all the answers. Right now I just want to look at these things, dancing like the stars, forming a galaxy a couple of feet above me.

  4pm – Mushroom Saloon

  It turned out I needed the rope more than I thought. I slept too much and I can hear thunder outside. The water is rising, fast. I climbed some stones but forgot my stuff down there, except for this notebook.

  I didn’t realize I had forgotten the lantern down there, the mushrooms glow so bright that the whole saloon fells like day. They are getting brighter as I come closer. I want to touch them, I’m sure the water won’t rise this high.

  What a fool, Walt though while looking at his old partner’s dead body. Okay, let’s see if he manage to take any pictures.

  He opened John’s coat to look for the camera but instead he found something far more intriguing. The same glowing mushrooms that grew inside the cave now grew on John’s skin, except they were grey, and did not glow anymore.

  The End Table

  There’s a rustic end table at the corner of the room. It’s very simple and heavy, molded from a single oak three. Innumerous decorative objects once sat there, but now only sun marks remained. It used to be such a beautiful piece of wood. Another couple wanted it when we arrived at the store, but he just took his credit card out and bought it for twice the price. Spending money without thinking, his favorite activity. Now I wonder if the young couple that wanted the table deserved it more than us.

  “Please, we saved for this table for weeks,” the young man, said to me, almost crying.

  “Please don’t talk to her,” he answered. “I’ve already decided that we are buying it, not you.” His tone scared me a little bit, but stupid as I am, I stayed and agreed.

  Since January all nights are office nights, he is a very busy man. I couldn’t feel his presence anymore, and his scent left the house. I woke up after my daily dose of daydream. Its been too long, and too much for me to handle.

  I entered the bathroom to wash my face. I wonder who is she. I wonder if she even knows about me. Probably yes. He’s too old to be fooling around with a random, innocent girl. There’s only one innocent in this whole situation, I always thought myself as it.

  His boots no longer sat in the closet and all his jackets are gone. He moved out piece-by-piece, and I didn’t realize it until now.

  Shame on me.

  Shame on them.

  Shame on us.

  I took care of the table like I would my own son. By that time, I needed something to hold on to. The table sat in different parts of the house, and every time we moved it we ended up scratching it more than before, most of the times due to his lack of care for both the table, and me.

  “Please honey, be careful. I don’t want to scratch it again,” I said once, while moving it from the living room to our bedroom.

  “It’s scratched because you have zero sense of space, and a really bad vision,” he replied. Normally this would sound like a couple joking, exchanging insults. But I know better, I know the subtext.

  The apartment always felt empty. Now it will be completely empty, only furniture, no people. I only wish to see his face when he comes home after his 32-hour shift, and find the apartment without me. I wonder if the tears would be of sadness or happiness.

  I turned around before heading out to glimpse at it once more. The image of a brand new table still haunted me. I should try to find the humble couple and give the table to them. But they wouldn’t want it. It is now old and scratched. It is too late for it to start again, as it is for me.

  Cigarettes and Random Melodies

  The sun was still around when we arrived at the beach and collected the wood. The pile of logs got bigger as the night fell, and by the time only the stars were above us the fire was strong. The wind couldn’t extinguish the fire, but made us feel cold. All of us got together in one single improvised bench.

  “It’s beautiful how the water reflects the fire,” I said.

  “What was that? I can’t hear you,” she said.

  “Why don’t you come closer? Were the ones that aren’t paired anyway.”

  She was indeed far away. There were three couples between us, all of them together, all of them entertained with their own conversations. She walked toward me, throwing sand with her bare feet. Her skin was reflecting the bonfire as the water was. I lighted up another cigarette just to add to the light.

  “Why do you have such a dumb look in your face?” she asked.

  I laughed, trying to concentrate as I inhale some more.

  “You know that I always have this look,” I said.

  “We all know. But you know that we don’t mean it.”

  “I hope so.”

  The waves were hitting hard at the nearby rocks. But we stood there like nothing was happening.

&
nbsp; “Do you always feel like this?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Like this. You know… free. Free from all the stress. Free from all those jerks back in the city."

  “I would never imagine you being cliché.”

  She laughed again. One thing I was always proud of was my ability to make her laugh.

  “I’m being serious here. You know that next year everything will change. We’re all going to different colleges in different states. We may not see each other again,” she said.

  “I wish I could say that is not going to happen, but the truth is that we can’t be sure of anything.”

  “I was afraid you would say that."

  She reached out to my bag and stole a cigarette.

  “Can I borrow your fire?” she asked.

  I handed her my lit cigarette and she lighted hers with my flame. That is the closest thing I’ll ever get from kissing her.

  “ Damn. I really shouldn’t be smoking,” she said.

  “I know. But you sounded like you needed one.”

  “I did. Even with the sound of waves and the wind I still need this shit to relax. It’s hilarious.”

  “Hilarious? Is ridiculous.”

  “Just like you."

  “Just like me."

  The silence overwhelmed us but we didn’t care. We were confortable with the sand gracing our feet, and the bonfire warmth burning our vision. I grab my guitar as she tied her blond hair. I sang a random melody as the night went on.

  About the Author

  Tiago Viana was born in Brazil in 1995. He is currently living in Orlando pursuing a career as a writer.

  Focusing in horror and science fiction, he kills his afternoons working on his larger projects and occasionally writing short stories. His ultimate goal is to write for video games, and work on his side projects along the way.

  Tiago has been published on Down by the Dirt magazine and 50 word stories.

  Contact the Author

  Tiago can be found on the following:

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