Yellow Plums This short story is inspired by the novel "Perfume" by Patrick Suskind. I hope you enjoy. September; the month of heavy hearts, dismay and monotone cycles. Since the beginning of the month I’ve furtively been seeing Fabien behind the strong protective walls of Paris. Although it’d be hard I was yet to regret it. Not only was the thrill of not being caught exhilarating, Fabien was a splendid loving gentlemanly, we were likeminded and I enjoyed his quiet company. Just this morning I had snuck out to meet him beside the rosebush. We had our usual conversations; discussing how we ought to run away, how the lady across the street Ms. Isabelle had many times almost been caught with our letters, we laughed at meaningless jokes, as I observed his usual habits: fixing his brown curly hair as and his grey eyes tracing the equally grey horizon . My father, Aldric, had long found me a man which I was promised to and wedding plans were already under way. The son of a wealthy family – the magnificent Pierre – was noble and trustworthy, or so they said. I was to meet him tonight at the celebration of the king’s coronation. Thankfully my gullible father believed I was heavily sick and that the meeting should be postponed to a later date. So there I sat, in the middle of the courtyard, endlessly stemming and pitting dozens of yellow plums. I caught myself smiling every time my mind drifted to thoughts of Fabien, and my heart sunk at my misfortune as I could not avoid my inescapable fate with Pierre. Even the golden candle light had sympathy for me – it was glowing lovingly, embracing my sorrows as it burnt. The sky was endless, black and starry as was the long thin alleyways of Paris leading to this courtyard beckoning me with silent whispers in the night. Locks and bolts were not the reason I remained here in Paris – for I was as free as the wildest bird and the sweetest smelling odour in the air if there were any in this grim, dirty, dull and infected city – rather I had to stay as I had many times lost the battle within myself between love and fear. The new#moonwas not so forgiving however. He hid behind the black of night concealing himself as bold bursts of colourful fire exploded in front of him completing his disguise. Their sounds echoed through the thin narrow streets and vibrated through the walls while he watched ensuring I didn’t escape from this misfortune as he promised darkness in which lay the cold and lonely route to my death. Stemming and pitting the plums had become so tiresome and repetitive that I didn’t have to think about it anymore. My hands were covered in sticky yellow plum juice but it didn’t bother me, the soft wind tickled and cooled my fingertips. I sliced yet another plum admiring the yellow, almost orange colour, pitted it, and moved on to the next. There was a soft rustle from the plum tree inside the courtyard. I jerked my head to the side as the sound suddenly caught my attention not because it was abrupt, but more because pitting and stemming plums was boring and cyclical without distractions. A figure appeared in the entrance of the courtyard. A familiar one. Jack, Fabien’s dog was standing under the arch wagging his tail happily, tilting his scruffy head to the side to look at me curiously before strolling without a worry in the world over to my side and jumping on my lap. Mother never let me pet Jack... but she wasn’t there then. Jack jumped up to my lap and I pet his black and white, soft fur almost forgetting about the complicated world of fate and trouble. Jack stayed with me for a little while before he started getting restless and uneasy and buried his brown damp nose into my scarlet, blood red hair before jumping off my lap and stared at the area behind me before making his way, rapidly, in the opposite direction. Obscure animal. I continued pitting and stemming a few more plums before the ache in my arms ache overcame my will to carry on. I placed my knife on the table and curled my arms into my body. Not only because of the ache but also because a strange, eerie and uncomfortable chill came over me. The next few seconds were a blur. But here i am now in the hands of my murder. His rough hands clenched tightly around my throat. I can’t even look into his eyes. His face turned away from mine as his effortless grip on my neck gets tighter and tighter as my breath becomes thinner and thinner. There's no need to struggle. In fact continuing my #life in its miserable way as it lead into the heart of some man i was yet to meet and away from the one i loved. Death would have been the only way it would have been resolved. Mine, Pierre’s by the hand of Fabien, Fabien’s by the hand of my father or Pierre’s or mine by the stranger clawing his hands into my throat. I had not disappointed my father by telling him i was not interested in Pierre and had made empty promises of escape to Fabien. I rather my blood was spilled rather than theirs – the consequence of my foolish love.