Nocturnal Wenchy

Princes and Dragons

“Melancholy” he said. In the same tone as one would greet another, not a question. I shrugged my shoulders and pulled a face. He smiled and continued typing on his desktop PC.

I sat down at my desk, directly opposite his. I put my bag in my bottom drawer, switched on my PC and logged into my phone.

I looked across at the dead boy Tim. The aircon was right above him and would always pick up a lock of wayward hair to play with in the wind that didn’t fit into his waist length blonde ponytail. He was humming “Strangers in the night…” as he worked. He always hummed a small selection of tunes.

I look back at my PC screen, finally booted, it asked for my password. I started typing. Without looking up, Tim mentioned that she, referring to our Boss with balls of steel, had left us a cracker of a list of things to do. I “sighed”.

Tim looked right up at me: “You know I love you Wench, but you are a pain in the ass to work with….” I attempted a smile. He carried on “…especially on days when you are in that Princes and Dragons phase.”

Embarrassed as if I had been found out, I looked down. Tears sitting right on the brink.

Months passed before I asked Tim while sitting outside our work building on a bench where he smoked, and I attempted to escaped the iron ball Boss. “Why do you always refer to my Princes and Dragons phase and why do you sometimes say I am feeling melancholy when I am clearly mentally fucked?”

Tim took a longer than usual drag from his cigarette and a sip of his Earl Grey tea out of a company mug before he answered me.

“I call it your Princess and Dragon phase because you go to a place where darkness and light is being fought over by the Princess of the land, and the Dragons breath a fire of darkness over where you stand, un-sheltered – neither Prince, nor Dragon can truly reach you. You just see and feel the darkness….until for no reason you feel sunny again.”

I started crying. Not one to run from emotion, Tim pulled me under his arm into his chest and whispered “I say you are feeling melancholy because it sounds so much nicer than saying Wench, you fucked in the head.”

I looked up at him, the sun making a halo around those unruly bits of hair. He smiled and said “Back to work, enough one way glass action for today.”

I attempted a smile, reminded we were in clear view off all in the office one way glass and waved, just in case, blew a kiss at the window.

Tim shook his head and started walked ahead, humming as we walked inside “How many roads must a man walk down….”

We were 21. He died at 25.

Melancholy was never mentioned again. Princess and Dragons were replaced with big medical words and long scripts.

I am 38. Bi-polar is the House*Blend.

Posted by The Nocturnal Wenchy from the second cloud on your left via Black Berry.