Sylvie was asked by her boyfriend of two years to wait for him by the crooked streetlight at the end of the road. He said he’d come pick her up sometime past midnight, that they could run away together and get married so they could build their own lives together rather than under the oppression of society and their families. She agreed and arrived at the streetlight a quarter to midnight.
Holding her briefcase of precious possessions, she couldn’t stop smiling as she thought of the new life they would have together. A small part of her felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with regret and longing as she mulled over the fact that she would be leaving her parents, her younger sister, her governesses and tutors, the nanny who doubled up as a housekeeper…people who had played a significant role in raising her from that tiny tot she had been eighteen years ago. People who had brought her up under a range of disciplines, from strict and unsympathetic to embracing and loving. That was partially the reason for her wild streak and her adeptness. He was in love with her because she was not simple, had ambitions and wanted a life outside the middle class. Of course, running away meant that they would be broke and poor, no longer middle class, but they had convinced themselves that their true happiness lay in each other.
Her timepiece told her now that it was half past midnight. What did sometime past midnight mean? Was he late? Did he get held up by his parents? Sylvie was overcome with worry. She had put down the briefcase and sat on it, making sure her skirt did not make contact with the ground. Where was he? A lump rose in her throat, a lump of nervousness and shame. She placed both of her hands across her stomach. A life within a life. She was worried for the little thing growing inside her as well. What if he never came?
The streetlight flickered overhead as the oil lamp in the glass casing began to burn out slowly. They were supposed to run away together, but his absence made her heart rise and fall in time with her racing thoughts. The baby! She had always wanted to be a mother, but only with him by her side as well. Shame flitted into her thoughts again. The people back at home did not raise her to be like this but even so…
Sylvie missed him. She wanted him to be there with her, but he wasn’t. She didn’t bother looking at her timepiece anymore. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Men, no, boys of eighteen going on nineteen years never kept their promises. This was one of the easiest ways for him to leave her – to make a false promise and then never turn up. Sylvie clutched at her stomach again as the streetlight finally went out, enveloping her in darkness.
Boys who don’t keep their promises will always break the hearts of their girls.
Gah I had a better story planned out but this will have to do
I can’t even use it as a discovery creative damn it!