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Description
“There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.” - Dante Alighieri

* * * * *

Dream Girl

Smoke flew from Spike’s lips as he stared into the sky. He watched the gray haze drift from the tip of his cigarette and fade into the even grayer sky, then blinked away the stray raindrops that flew near his eyes. The bouquet of roses in his hand brushed against the blonde hair of the woman resting her head on his neck.

Spike wasn’t the type to make extravagant claims about love. But if he had to define it, he’d just have to describe how he felt when he held Julia while she held him back. Everything that chewed at him--frustration, fatigue, boredom--just blanked from existence.

No matter how many times he did it, it sent a relaxing warmth rippling through his body when he held her. It was times like that which he didn’t want to end. Pulling her tighter, Spike closed his eyes, savoring every single one of his senses. For a moment, he managed to make himself believe it could just go on forever.

Spike had tried to describe it in words before. If anyone cared to listen, he’d go off blabbing about the color of her hair and her eyes, using all the fancy words he knew, as if he was some kind of poet. But when it came to how it felt to hold Julia, he literally lost his words.

Was that love? Was it really so good that it was just too much for words? Spike knew it sounded like the kind of mushy song lyrics he’d roll his eyes at when he was younger. But being with someone special changed that. Instead of ignoring the melodramatic tunes, he’d smile at how well they described what he was feeling. Regardless of musician or genre, they all said the same basic message: someone cares about me and I care about them. And it feels great.

When he opened his eyes, he just blinked. He let it all sink in: shock, disappointment, sadness. There was no blonde lover standing in front of him. In Julia’s place was the dingy ceiling fan in the living room of the Bebop. He stared at it for some time, as if it was taunting him. Right then, Spike couldn’t have hated anything more that spinning piece of junk.

It was easier to hate than the truth, too. Spike wasn’t the most patient man, but he vigilantly waited there on that street, rooted there by hope and the tolerance that loving someone builds. Spike couldn’t remember just how long he stood there or how many drunken, desperate times he went back. Not that it mattered, anyway. What mattered was that the woman he loved abandoned him.

Inevitably, he did what everyone does when they wake up from a treasured dream. Spike shut his eyes and started to take long, relaxed breaths; begging his body to go back to sleep. Back to the dream.

Back to his girl.

Spike lay still on the yellow couch, listening to the tiny motor of the fan and the hum of the ship’s engines. He even tried to lie to himself. I don’t want to sleep just because of the dream. I’m just tired. Eyes closed, he had to scoff at that. Yeah, sure.

It wouldn’t matter what he told himself. He wouldn’t go back to sleep because he actually wanted to. ‘Cause life’s fair like that.

Grumbling, he sat up and swiveled to sit up on the couch the way it was designed to. His shoulders involuntarily slouched forward like an idle gorilla. Jet always nagged him about his posture, talking about how it was bad for his back. It wasn’t that Spike was too lazy to sit up straight. It felt like an invisible weight was pulling him down, as if his heart had become too heavy for him.

Spike snickered. More sappy song lyrics. Maybe I should quit bounty hunting and get into music.

Even though he could laugh at himself, he couldn’t lie to himself. He was hurting on the inside, and had been for the last three years. Despite how well he hid it from others, it was the times when he was alone to himself when it hurt the most. He had nobody to pretend to, nobody to cover it from. Aside from Jet’s barely audible snoring from his bunk and the soft monotony of the ceiling fan’s motor, Spike’s true thoughts and feelings were all he had to listen to.

It’s not like it was complicated. Julia made him forget his troubles, made Spike happy. With her gone, he had nothing but cheap booze and sleep to chase away the blues. It wasn’t a proud thing to do, but when you felt sad, temporary comfort was always welcome. Spike stood up, stretched, and searched for some alcohol.

It’s been said people only realize how much they appreciate something only after they’ve lost it. That was very much the case when he opened the fridge to find that it was still empty. But Spike always loved Julia. He treated her like the angel she was since the moment they met. Did I do something wrong?

Spike tried to push that thought out of his mind as he sauntered back to the couch. He sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Are you safe? Spike slouched his shoulders even further down and bowed his head, staring at the grimy floor between his boots.

Do you still love me?

Three years was a long time. More than enough to fall out of love--to forget. He gulped hard at the idea of him being even less than a memory to Julia. Something burned behind Spike’s eyes and he shut them as tightly as he could, knowing what was building up.

Do you love someone else?

Julia had left another man to be with Spike. What if she had done it again? A pang of anger throbbed at his temples at the thought of someone else with his girl. The corners of his mouth involuntarily twitched. Spike pursed his lips in a tight frown. He ground his teeth as he struggled to stop thinking about her. That was one of the problems with love. You couldn’t get a loved one out of your head, even after they’ve hurt you.

Why did you leave me?

Eyes still closed, Spike felt moisture slowly creep down his cheek. Would it make a difference if he knew the answers to any of these questions? Was he a fool for still having feelings for Julia? Or was he a better man because of it? The growl of his hungry stomach was Spike’s only response. Despite how sad he was, he had to roll his eyes.

Spike decided to head to the Bebop’s empty bridge. With the ship on auto-pilot, everything was dark except for a hand full of view screens which bathed the windowed room with a soft, blue glow.

He stood in front of one of the viewports and glanced down at the worn runway of the ship. Spike reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. His ever-reliable cancer sticks: always there as temporary relief for any trouble, even a broken heart. He lit it and inhaled deeply, letting that addictive nicotine work its calming wonders. He stared at his reflection in the window as the stars slowly drifted by.

Exhaling smoke, he lifted a hand and used his thumb and forefinger to form a gun and aimed at his reflection’s heart. The cowboy sadly smirked at himself.

* * * * *

"You leave me
So hard to move on
Still loving what’s gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on" - "I Grieve" by Peter Gabriel

Description
“There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.” - Dante Alighieri

* * * * *

Dream Girl

Smoke flew from Spike’s lips as he stared into the sky. He watched the gray haze drift from the tip of his cigarette and fade into the even grayer sky, then blinked away the stray raindrops that flew near his eyes. The bouquet of roses in his hand brushed against the blonde hair of the woman resting her head on his neck.

Spike wasn’t the type to make extravagant claims about love. But if he had to define it, he’d just have to describe how he felt when he held Julia while she held him back. Everything that chewed at him--frustration, fatigue, boredom--just blanked from existence.

No matter how many times he did it, it sent a relaxing warmth rippling through his body when he held her. It was times like that which he didn’t want to end. Pulling her tighter, Spike closed his eyes, savoring every single one of his senses. For a moment, he managed to make himself believe it could just go on forever.

Spike had tried to describe it in words before. If anyone cared to listen, he’d go off blabbing about the color of her hair and her eyes, using all the fancy words he knew, as if he was some kind of poet. But when it came to how it felt to hold Julia, he literally lost his words.

Was that love? Was it really so good that it was just too much for words? Spike knew it sounded like the kind of mushy song lyrics he’d roll his eyes at when he was younger. But being with someone special changed that. Instead of ignoring the melodramatic tunes, he’d smile at how well they described what he was feeling. Regardless of musician or genre, they all said the same basic message: someone cares about me and I care about them. And it feels great.

When he opened his eyes, he just blinked. He let it all sink in: shock, disappointment, sadness. There was no blonde lover standing in front of him. In Julia’s place was the dingy ceiling fan in the living room of the Bebop. He stared at it for some time, as if it was taunting him. Right then, Spike couldn’t have hated anything more that spinning piece of junk.

It was easier to hate than the truth, too. Spike wasn’t the most patient man, but he vigilantly waited there on that street, rooted there by hope and the tolerance that loving someone builds. Spike couldn’t remember just how long he stood there or how many drunken, desperate times he went back. Not that it mattered, anyway. What mattered was that the woman he loved abandoned him.

Inevitably, he did what everyone does when they wake up from a treasured dream. Spike shut his eyes and started to take long, relaxed breaths; begging his body to go back to sleep. Back to the dream.

Back to his girl.

Spike lay still on the yellow couch, listening to the tiny motor of the fan and the hum of the ship’s engines. He even tried to lie to himself. I don’t want to sleep just because of the dream. I’m just tired. Eyes closed, he had to scoff at that. Yeah, sure.

It wouldn’t matter what he told himself. He wouldn’t go back to sleep because he actually wanted to. ‘Cause life’s fair like that.

Grumbling, he sat up and swiveled to sit up on the couch the way it was designed to. His shoulders involuntarily slouched forward like an idle gorilla. Jet always nagged him about his posture, talking about how it was bad for his back. It wasn’t that Spike was too lazy to sit up straight. It felt like an invisible weight was pulling him down, as if his heart had become too heavy for him.

Spike snickered. More sappy song lyrics. Maybe I should quit bounty hunting and get into music.

Even though he could laugh at himself, he couldn’t lie to himself. He was hurting on the inside, and had been for the last three years. Despite how well he hid it from others, it was the times when he was alone to himself when it hurt the most. He had nobody to pretend to, nobody to cover it from. Aside from Jet’s barely audible snoring from his bunk and the soft monotony of the ceiling fan’s motor, Spike’s true thoughts and feelings were all he had to listen to.

It’s not like it was complicated. Julia made him forget his troubles, made Spike happy. With her gone, he had nothing but cheap booze and sleep to chase away the blues. It wasn’t a proud thing to do, but when you felt sad, temporary comfort was always welcome. Spike stood up, stretched, and searched for some alcohol.

It’s been said people only realize how much they appreciate something only after they’ve lost it. That was very much the case when he opened the fridge to find that it was still empty. But Spike always loved Julia. He treated her like the angel she was since the moment they met. Did I do something wrong?

Spike tried to push that thought out of his mind as he sauntered back to the couch. He sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Are you safe? Spike slouched his shoulders even further down and bowed his head, staring at the grimy floor between his boots.

Do you still love me?

Three years was a long time. More than enough to fall out of love--to forget. He gulped hard at the idea of him being even less than a memory to Julia. Something burned behind Spike’s eyes and he shut them as tightly as he could, knowing what was building up.

Do you love someone else?

Julia had left another man to be with Spike. What if she had done it again? A pang of anger throbbed at his temples at the thought of someone else with his girl. The corners of his mouth involuntarily twitched. Spike pursed his lips in a tight frown. He ground his teeth as he struggled to stop thinking about her. That was one of the problems with love. You couldn’t get a loved one out of your head, even after they’ve hurt you.

Why did you leave me?

Eyes still closed, Spike felt moisture slowly creep down his cheek. Would it make a difference if he knew the answers to any of these questions? Was he a fool for still having feelings for Julia? Or was he a better man because of it? The growl of his hungry stomach was Spike’s only response. Despite how sad he was, he had to roll his eyes.

Spike decided to head to the Bebop’s empty bridge. With the ship on auto-pilot, everything was dark except for a hand full of view screens which bathed the windowed room with a soft, blue glow.

He stood in front of one of the viewports and glanced down at the worn runway of the ship. Spike reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. His ever-reliable cancer sticks: always there as temporary relief for any trouble, even a broken heart. He lit it and inhaled deeply, letting that addictive nicotine work its calming wonders. He stared at his reflection in the window as the stars slowly drifted by.

Exhaling smoke, he lifted a hand and used his thumb and forefinger to form a gun and aimed at his reflection’s heart. The cowboy sadly smirked at himself.

* * * * *

"You leave me
So hard to move on
Still loving what’s gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on" - "I Grieve" by Peter Gabriel