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Jealousy – Creative Writing

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    It was a day with hot colours, when it felt that the old wet season was about to set in. In that calm atmosphere Dion was running on the beach nearly breathless, trying to flee from his troubles. The salt soaked air was filling his lungs.

    Under the music of the wind and the rhythms of his memories, his eyelids weighed heavily over his eyes and he felt the emptiness in his stomach.Dion, exhausted, sat on the sand, which was till warmed by the last rays of the sun which was about to disappear behind the promontory. As Dion looked at the magnificent sunset, he got lost in his doubts and concerns. That cursed call had kidnapped his sleep the night before.

    Dion kept asking himself: “What does she want?” he thought.Meanwhile Hannah was looking at the same sunset from the balcony of her room. She was padding her brain and her heart with the same question: “What do I want?” Hannah, a long time ago, had said to Dion that she no longer felt for him “the thrill of love along the back”. Completely sick and tired of him and their habits, she had easily been fascinated by the charm of another boy.

    But just yesterday Hannah saw him with another girl. She had an enchanting face and her skin was like porcelain. Her long coarse hair was gathered together in a braid dropped on the right shoulder. Under the thick fringe were hidden two deep hazel eyes.

    She was wearing Levi jeans and a white shirt which matched with her trainers. Her name was Charleene and her appearance as a child smelt of innocence.Hannah kept walking in their direction, driven by the desire of satisfying her suspicions. Her gaze remained focused on the couple.

    Her anger was increasing step by step. The sound of her spiked high heels ticked with the seconds of her watch. Obsessed, she had been alienated from any other thought. Her mind spun, jealousy tore at her whole being.

    She felt the pull in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes were almost paralysed as they closely followed the movements of the couple. Hannah kept trailing them with a purposeful stride until one of her heels got stuck in the cobble-stone of the trail. She knelt to release her heel and her dress flapped in the mischievous evening breeze.

    At the same time Dion turned back to kiss Charleene on the neck. He saw out the corner of his eye that dress, that hair: “It could not be anyone else but Han.” As he saw her, he brought Charleene around the next corner of the street not to let Hannah see them.Hannah lost sight of the couple.

    In despair she lit a Malboro and she turned for home walking like a spy through the smoke. Through that fog, she saw her certainties getting smaller, fears as well as temptations. A bitter taste of defeat kidnapped her soul. She knew that this bitter taste could not be sweetened.

    She could not keep her anger for herself. “I need to see him! I need to prove that I’m wrong! My feeling must be wrong…

    must be wrong…” she thought.

    Then she took the phone on the bedside table next to her. She could still remember Dion’s home number. She dialed the numbers with sweet hesitation.After a few seconds he picked up the phone: “Hello.


    ” the insecurity stole sound from her words which became a mute sob.”Is it Hannah there?””Yes it is Hannah! I need to see you, it is really important to me! Please…

    Pleeeease!” she said in one go.”Oo…

    Ok. When?” Dion answered confused.”As soon as you can!””Tomorrow after dinner, nine p.m at mine? Is that alright for you?””Yep, see ya tomorrow then,” she answered in a brisk way.

    “Bye!””Bye!”She wrong footed him. But this very short and direct call actually left both of them in suspense about the next day.Hannah looked at her watch: it was finally nearly the “X” time. She went downstairs nervously playing with the keys of her car.

    She quickly jumped in her car, previously parked close to her houseShe arrived at quarter to nine at Dion’s. She waited for the right time and then she knocked on the front door. As Dion opened the door she walked in, burying him with a heavy avalanche of words full of jealousy: “Who was she? She looks like a child, how can you love her?!? You’ve promised that I would remain the ONLY one, irreplaceable to you, the only one you’ve loved and you will love, FOR-EVER!..

    .”Her syllables wriggled armed from the slide of her mouth. They hit him straight to the heart. To still the pain Dion ceased her torrent of sharp words, laying a kiss on her fleshy lips without saying a word.

    Hannah suddenly fell silent and she flopped on the couch. She took a deep breath and the wide neckline sweater slid along her, revealing the naked shoulder. Dion fondled her candid soft skin. Hannah shuddered.

    They lived the night as if they were two souls in one breath, a single beat. But as a farewell of all the muscles reached them they fell asleep, closed in a hug. [This sentence is a bit awkward]The next morning Hannah woke up first and stared at “the boy of the night before”. Her sweet memories of him had lost the colours a long time ago; they were in black and white now.

    They had been neglected by space and time. She had already stored their days in boxes that were not supposed to be opened again. The “whys” in her mind were driving her crazy.Suddenly her doubtful thoughts were silenced.

    Dion tossed and turned in bed, rolling himself up in the warm linen. Still asleep he whispered: “Han…

    I love you”. As she heard those words, she felt a thrill along her back, but she realized that it was not “the thrill of love”. She fell in panic. Two bright drops glided along her cheeks, washing the rest of her make up off.

    “What have I done?” she thought.She had obtained what she wanted, but she felt no sense of carefree or ecstasy or love. She realized that her jealousy and her competitiveness played with Dion’s emotions. She felt ashamed.

    She got off the bed, cautiously trying not to wake up that angel. She vanished forever like her love for him a long time ago. They will not share a night together, never again.

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    Jealousy – Creative Writing. (2017, Jul 05). Retrieved from

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