He closed the heavy door behind him as he left the grand house on Westbourne Terrace. It had become too late to catch a bus and anyway, it was still warm enough to walk. After midnight, London was at its most beautiful. Wide roads, which in other cities would have been called “Avenues” or “Boulevards”, but almost no traffic. Beautiful buildings with lights shining at them, and no people who ran into him when he paused his steps to take in the view. It was quiet, or as quiet as a metropolis of 8 million people could get, and the air felt almost fresh.
The date, their fourth one, had gone well. She was lovely to talk to. They had both enjoyed the film, but not too much to be totally consumed by it. The more intimate part of the evening, which we shan’t describe out of a protective feeling towards the uncorrupted minds of our youthful readers, had also gone well. He had enjoyed the ice cream which she had prepared. Girls who didn’t forget to add strawberries when serving ice cream were good girls. Good girls were rare, at least he had rarely met one in the 22 years of his life.
All the more he felt sad about how it had ended. Very messy. There wouldn’t be a fifth date.
“Why do people force me to make promises?” he wondered. “What is the value of such a promise?” But he knew that it was also his fault, and sharing it would not diminish it the least. Why was he so obsessed with sincerity, with keeping his word? At times he was proud of this character trait, at other times it felt like a burden which prevented him from leading a normal life. Others seemed to function perfectly fine despite breaking their promises. He couldn’t. And by now, it was too late to change. Not only because of tonight.
He had meanwhile walked past Paddington Station, which at this time of night was a sleeping behemoth of brick and steel and glass, only intermittently oozing with short bursts of smoke or steam from its various orifices. “Why did she have to insist like crazy that I promise to stay with her for the rest of her life?” he wondered as he ditched the knife, still seeping blood, into Paddington Canal.
The Happy Hermit 
Damn what a closing line or a perfect opening page to some psycho thriller, you caught me by surprise…your work?
Yes, my work. Thank you for the compliment! I don’t seem to be very good with long plots, so I’ll stick to short stories for the time being.
I agree with Mary, if you can pull off an opening page like that I’m sure there’s a novel or a fantastic short story kicking around in your head.
Here is the point: You should always ask your partner to stay with you for the rest of his life not yours!
Smart girl!
Great work Andreas! You should definitely consider submitting some of your writing for publishing…
Absolutely riveting! The tension was terrific, Andreas. The final sentence was an elegantly-written shocker!
You are making me blush.
what an unexpected end…(i hope it continues)
but you ruined it with “The more intimate part of the evening, which we shan’t describe out of a protective feeling towards the uncorrupted minds of our youthful readers,”
come on! give us the details. was she tight? really, really tight?
It won’t be continued. It’s just a short story. I don’t have patience for longer pieces and more importantly, I have no idea about any plot sufficient to carry a longer text.
“It won’t be continued”
you really do know how to let your fans down :P
But there will be other stories. Better stories. More beautiful stories! More drama! More excitement! More action! More romance! More fun!
As I told you before, you should consider starting a new career. This piece is really good. It is obvious that you are talented at writing. And you even don’t write in your native language. I am impressed.
Thank you, that’s very motivating!
Impressive !
wo…good one Andreas….dark ending and now I might have to read something funny to make sure I don’t get night mare at this hour of night
#TheStruggleIsReal
Wow..
I really want a book about it!
Amazing!
Thank you!
Tengo el corazón roto, como pudiste matarla tan pronto, esperaba un final como el del tren rápido en Canadá … a veces, leo tus historias de tiempo atrás, tienes periodos en los que tus escritos son muy profundos e interesantes. Me alegro de que tus seguidores vayan en aumento espero las donaciones vayan paralelas.
Muchas gracias por leer mis historias antiguas!
De verdad, es triste que no mucha gente busca los articulos de anos atrás. Pues, a veces no son tan romanticos, como esto, pero a veces todavia son interesantes. Y a veces yo no entiendo lo que quería decir hace diez anos.
Las donaciones van malos porque no puedo viajar al momento y por eso no puedo enviar tarjetas postales. Pues, podría enviarles de casa, pero eso no cuenta.