JAVIER
Crumpled pieces of paper left lying on the floor, the lightning flashed through the glass window that gave the dark room bits of light, with the strident sound of thunder that disrupted the silence of the night. Javier lied on the floor comfortably; his faintly trembling hand stretched towards the ceiling, he mumbled, ''The sun which never rose, the hope that has been lost." He sighed then pulled his arm back to his chest. The sleepless nights after a long— uneventful day seemed endless. As the rain poured as hard, he stayed still until the morning came.
How long has it been since the last time he heard the chirping birds in the morning? How long has it been since the last time the weather wasn’t as gloomy? He could never remember. He had forgotten the warmth of the sunlight to his skin. The unstoppable rain kept pouring from dawn even after the sun had set and gone.
He cleared the foggy glass window with his palm as he takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee from an old, cracked mug; it was a gift from his beloved mother, his name carefully written on its handle; ′Javier′, a name given by his father who was a very loving and softhearted father to his child and a gentle husband to his wife who was the sweetest and ever caring mother to Javier. If only they were given a little more time before their sickness sucked their strength as their youth faded with the flowers on the garden that had withered. Javier lets out a deep sigh, as he watched the raindrops hit the ground. 'When will the sky stop crying?′ He thought to himself, walking back to the kitchen sink to wash his now empty mug.
A few minutes walk from his house, right across the liquor store owned by his father’s good friend, old man Nicholas, there can be found a tiny book store which Javier manages alone. It was the most precious thing his dear parents left to him. As a child, he had always liked reading books of different genres and soon started writing short stories that made his father happy and proud for he, himself was a known writer.
The little bell attached to the glass swing-door chimed as Javier pushed it open. By the entrance, the counter was located. There were two sets of table near the door and two more beside the counter. Three of the four walls were completely lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves and two standard sized bookcases in the middle, stocked with hundreds of books, all neatly arranged. The shop was pretty old, it was built after his parents got married and moved in to town, they called it ′Livres′.
A gruffly voice greeted him from behind, ''Good morning, Javier!" Said Nicholas who was about to open his store as well. Javier turned around to face the old man and greeted him back, ”Good morning, Nick." He nodded. Nicholas smiled and pulled the roll up door of his shop, ''You have a nice day, young man!" The old man chortled. ''Thanks. You, too." Javier replied with a nod.
Just like any other day, business was slow. It was to be expected, with the town’s small population and the fact that it was always raining made it looked like a ghost village or something of the sort. But it wasn’t so bad, Javier thought it was better that way. It wasn’t like he can’t live by his current earnings, anyway. There were regular customers who always stop by on certain days; just like that one kid who liked horror stories, he comes on Wednesdays and Saturdays, the middle-aged man who reads anything, he comes on Mondays, during lunch time, and there was a little girl who loved reading fairy tales, she comes everyday, her mother would leave her at the shop for an hour or two then pick her up after shopping. There are also one-time customers who were looking for specific books that aren’t available in other stores.
Javier silently sat behind the counter as he waited for the long day to end. It was just like a cycle, it’s as if he was running in a hamster wheel. Same places, same faces, same conversations, same gloomy weather, his another day was just like any other day; long and dreary. The shop closes at five in the afternoon. He’d go home at six, have his dinner at seven and would lock himself in his room at eight. He sat by the table, with his pen in his hand, pointed to the paper in front of him. It was just like the usual he still cannot write a good piece; it was as if he ran out of feelings to write. He crumpled the paper and tossed it to his back. He walked towards the window and stared at the pouring rain, it’s dark out. If there’s anything that was different that day, there was no lighting and thunder. ''Rain, rain, please stay, I have gotten used to the noisy silence," he whispered before he lied down on the floor and waited for the morning to come.
