Friday, February 26, 2010

Throawae, Part 3: Chasing a Forgotten Tune

        Like any good detective you must start from the scene of the crime. For this case that means the front steps of my apartment. It was here that I stood the fateful day I decided to throw my heart away. It was here that I stood the last time it was rejected. It was here that I stood in the rain and watched her walk away from me. It was as I watched her go that my grip loosened in preoccupation and my heart slipped from my fingers, landing on the ground with a splash. It began to cry and I looked down. It was crying so loud it hurt my ears, it hurt my mind, it hurt my everywhere. So I left it there; I shut the door and went to lay down in the dark where things were quiet.
        From these steps I had to start, but where to go from there? Left or Right? The answer struck me before I'd even finished asking the question: it would have gone after her. To the right and across the street. Past the diner where I first met her, over the sidewalk where she'd try to dodge the cracks. Under the overpass where it gets so icy every winter and she'd always slip and cling to me tighter. The route to her place was irreversibly intertwined with memories and I dashed along its course, but still no sign of what I'd lost.
        The sun began to peek out of the clouds as I ran, a ray hitting my eyes. I was putting my hand up to block the beam when I heard something that made me stop: a snatch of a faint tune I had long forgotten. I had to strain my ears to even hear it, but it was there. Where it was emanating from, however, was another thing. Left, right, back, front, up...down. It was coming from the gutter.
        It was pouring that night. The rain must've washed the heart into the gutter and down the drain. I had to go down. It was a challenge to get the cover of manhole off, but eventually it came loose and I began my descent into the darkness. The cover slipped back on easily, but tiny rays of sunlight were still seeping through. I began to walk, ever so cautiously, forward and disappeared into the darkness of the sewer's tunnels, following the sound of a forgotten tune.


  1. Walking in the sewers=gross. I think it's a great metaphor for the state that poor heart must be in, but it still makes me shudder...She'd better be worth it!

  2. She? The only girls mentioned were the one that dumped him and a random stranger.