Categories > Celebrities > Limp Bizkit

The leaves

by bunny_sul 0 reviews

An autumn vignette about Sam Rivers.

Category: Limp Bizkit - Rating: G - Genres: Angst - Published: 2011-08-03 - Updated: 2011-08-03 - 773 words - Complete

Author/translator: Bunny Sul
Beta: TerryBolger
Disclaimer: this story is pure fiction and has no relation to real life; I don’t know any of Limp Bizkit members personally, this story has been written out of deepest admiration for them, and I don’t wish to harm them or their reputation. I don’t make any profit from this either.
Originally written in Russian («Листья»):
A/N: 1) English is not my native language, so sorry for any possible mistakes; 2) I kindly ask you to review if you’ve read it. Because this fandom seems to be so damn rare and I’m looking for the like-minded people.))

The most unpleasant thing about friends’ hanging out at a cafe is the tedious time between the “Check, please” and leaving. Leisurely conversation breaks over and over again, until the full of impatient waiting and planning next moves silence falls. That’s just awkward.
But when you are alone, there’s nothing uncomfortable about that state, you fell free to think about whatever you want and do whatever you want to do. For example, you can examine your wallet before taking out a couple of notes (a supper, booze, and the change will be enough to give it to pretty waitress as a tip).

Sam River’s wallet looked shamelessly puffed up. The reason was not in a large pack of cash, Lord forbid, no. The whole blame was laid on these stupid bits of paper – a bunch of checks that were put in with a change in a hurry at small shops, shopping lists with inaccurate slight tears opposite each point (every one of these marks meant an article was found and put into a shopping trolley), telephones numbers that were written on paper napkins …

«Let’s see... “Frame clip 10x15” – screw it. “Danny 1-904-…” – I have no clue who the hell is Danny, besides, figures are blurred; screw it. Check for the player – well, I’ll keep this one for a while. “1. corn flakes, 2. tissue, 3. beer” – screw it», Sam was crumpling useless papers into a ball in his hand while cleaning the wallet. Suddenly his fingers met something thin but still too dense and jaggy for a bill, and Sam took out a small red maple leaf. For a second he blankly stared at his find, and then slowly squeezed it in his hand.

It was amazing that Sam could notice it.

In the beginning of September, when the small white summer-like sun starts to grow ripe and becomes juicy with the gold of coming fall, you could stop straddling in the street just catching a sight of a fallen bright leaf. Because that moment you realize that autumn has come. Filled with warm colors sharp graceful outlines on the asphalt seems to be the most refined design solution in the world for you. And you unwittingly get a leaf round, because you don’t dare to tread upon it. It’s going to stay in your memory like that - as a clean bright spot on a light background.

And a couple of weeks later there are huge piles of leaves around. You look at them, compare one with another. Gather them into bouquets. Walk on the carpet of them or tread on nice crispy crumb of dried up ones. Get an armful of them, sneak up to your companion and pour it on his head. It’s a pity you can’t throw them at each other as snowballs; though, there would be no joy in unmercifully crumpling such a beauty into balls… yet it have already become a background, and a certain leaf couldn’t catch your eyes on itself.

But it was definitely such a rare thing. A small, not so perfectly shaped thing with the midst dark enough (it was almost crimson) to stand out against its egg-shell, gold and reddish fellowrs. Sam stopped, looked around, quickly picked it up, and proceeded. The leaf didn’t bother him at all, on the contrary, it seemed to be made for being picked by Sam, and now it was reposed trustfully in a hand that squeezed it carefully. Just like a child’s little palm…

Sam quickened pace.

He had never had a child.

«Your receipt, sir».
Sam blinked. A waitress had already silently left to another table or to the kitchen, and a small narrow folder laid before him: there were a receipt and a few bright ads of the café in it. Sam absently put his money under the leaflets, stood up and quickly strode to the exit, not even waiting for his change.
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