Of Light and Water

              Harrison was used to working in the long hours of the evening and well into the night. His sleeping pattern was a bit bizarre, and during times like this, when he ached for company, there were not many people in his mind. He requested a caravan, a circular brown thing as dull as dirt, once he reached the city’s centre and gave them an address. Through bumps and jerks, he soon got to his destination.

               Lanterns covered the street, hung high, casting an air of melancholy and tranquillity. Harrison paid the driver in coins of copper before making his way towards the white door that seemed too intense within his own murky cocoon. The bell seemed to echo in the silence for a breath too long before it was opened.

               A woman stood, short in height, but her features were sharpened in the faint light. Her eyes, a peculiar blue that reminded him of the ocean fluctuating in a storm, stared at him with peak interest.

               “Seems like a ghost has come to visit,” she greeted in an enticing tone, rehearsed well over the years. “It has been far too long after all.”

               He took off his withered coat and hung it at the rack as she gestured him in. The light stung his eyes for only a moment before he gradually adapted to it. The house was pretty, a model of what he would see in pamphlets. There was nothing personal in it. At times, he would wonder if Charlotte even lived here.

               “I was occupied in creating my masterpiece.” He returned simply, walking towards the yellow stools that were placed across the bar.

 The slight sound of tinkling anklets announced her approach. She took her place behind the bar, as it usually was when it came to them. A questioning relationship for sure, but it worked well for both of them.

              “Ah, the masterpiece. How many tries did it take this time?” She poured him a rum and coke, seeming to know what he was in the mood for. He took the drink and sipped on it, his thoughts turning just as bitter.

              “Eight. This is the ninth one. It is going to be my final one. I can feel it.”

              “And how many more times before you get frustrated and become morose?”

               He glanced at her sharply. “That won’t happen this time.”

               She laughed, a sound that seemed too rehearsed and too perfect to be just that. It was as if she took pleasure in his failures. She leaned down, forearms resting on the counter, as she stared at him with a face that was as stoic as the dolls he had previously created. “So, you say every time.” She took her time, pouring herself a drink before continuing, a pause between each word as if letting it sink into him. “And every time, you fail.”

               “That’s why I came today.”

               “To talk about your impending failure?”

               “To talk about my imminent success.”

               “You seem so sure this time.”

               His lip turned at the corner. “This is going to be my final work.” A crack in her demeanour showed Harrison her shock before it was filled once more.

               “This doll that you are creating, does it have a purpose?” She asked after a long breath.

               He sat there for a moment, trying to clear his own thoughts as the alcohol increased his anxiety and fear. “It is merely made to be imperfect.”

               “Being your life’s work, wouldn’t your doll be a perfection of yours then? A temporary triumph, quickly diminished?” She countered, sipping her drink.

              “Ah, see now that’s where you’re wrong. She will peruse the world in a manner, not of ours. I want to know whether she will be able to grasp this world’s elements - what is the meaning of living? What is right, and what is wrong? It does not matter what becomes of my name. I only care to invent.”

              “Invent to the point of madness? Are your inventions so important, Harrison?”

              “I trust that it is essential, an existence needed for us.”

              “You truly believe that your doll would be different from humans?”

               “More so, that her thinking of the world will be particularly distinct. I would like to see how she will perceive such things. What is beauty in truth, for instance? Is it the complexity of thinking, or is it the way we attain awareness to the shape of a brow and the outline of lips?”

               She was silent for a moment. “I fear that you might be losing yourself in your project.” She spoke instead.

 In answer, he let out a chortle. “I have to confess that it does seem to feel wonderful having a lady such as yourself worry over me. But, to answer, I must say that I had strayed from sanity long ago. Even today, I am unable to see the lines within morality.”

               They sat together in silence for some time, minutes ticking by.

               “Have you chosen a name yet?” Charlotte asked as she moved onto the empty stool beside him. She did not let go of the empty glass that she clutched onto.

               “Madelyn.” The small name seemed to ring in the air as if his action was absolute. “I will give her the name tomorrow night.”

               The sound of glass hitting the floor went unacknowledged by both. When Harrison glanced over, Charlotte’s face was as indifferent as before. “So, this visit is your final farewell.”

              Harrison was unsure whether it was a question or a statement, so he let it go unanswered. Instead, he put his drink down. He had enough that his thoughts were hushed and pushed to the utmost corners of his mind. He reached a hand towards Charlotte, and she met him halfway, clasping it in a tidily matter before he swept her away.

              That night, under false lights, they danced to their own tune. Both swung each other in a rhythm unfamiliar yet pleasant, only stopping when their feet ached. They moved to the shadows where they moved with each other in another intimate dance, both knowing it was their last. But none wept when they held the other tightly, each lost in their own thoughts. Even within each other, they were unfulfilled and lonely; their time together only a temporary intoxication.

              Come morning, Harrison had left, with only a print of red lips on either cheek as a parting gift.