Sweet. That is really only half of my hoped-for reward, though. The other half will be positive feedback from the community about my story, hopefully. Here's the winning tale.
TEM stared at his fingernails. It was the only place he could look where he wouldn't accidentally make eye contact with anyone else in the room. That's how full the room was. But he didn't notice, or care. Socialization of any kind was the last thing he wanted.
He scanned his thumb over again, eyes looking but not seeing. He hadn't moved from his stool in an hour. The bartender gave him a concerned sideways glance, as if he had had one too many. But there were no empty glasses or bottles surrounding his seat. In fact, TEM hadn't had anything to eat or drink for days. Probably a bad thing.
Back to the pinky. The nail was as long as it had been when he last checked a few seconds ago. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen. Fingers didn't automatically burst into hyper nail-growing frenzies. Were his any different? He doubted it. But he kept looking nonetheless.
The volume was as loud as any packed barroom during prime drinking hours. Mostly men, talking loudly about their wives or guns or wives' guns. A few women, some drinking, some serving as the chaperones for their drunk men. No animals. The noise and smell drives them all away. There's a no-pet policy strictly enforced by the management, anyway. TEM knew; he watched a stray walk in one day just after the floors were cleaned. The owner came back from the bathroom to find the place in pieces, glass and pawprints everywhere. One dented boot and two broken ribs later, a sign was posted on the outside door: "NO ANIMALS!" Remembering this incident temporarily brought life to his otherwise defunct brain.
TEM contemplated going to the restroom. That would require getting up. He couldn't even feel his legs. His next idea was to pee in a bottle. He actually turned his head to see if there was one nearby. The sudden movement in his neck caused pain to ripple down his spine to his lower back and across his shoulderblades. He decided he would hold it.
What seemed like hours later, the bartender wiped down the table and closed the windows. He walked over to the door and jangled his keys loudly, looking over at the lone man sitting on the same stool he had been since he arrived. The man didn't move. The bartender was about to throw his keys until finally the man's left foot stirred. His head rose from the table, the bones in his neck popping loudly. The man slowly pivoted in his seat, used his arms for support, and hoisted himself onto his feet. Stumbled at first, then, muscles tense and shaky, slumped over toward the door, drinkless stupor in tow. TEM was surprised he remembered how to walk. As he left, the bartender shook his head and locked the door.
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TEM stood in the doorway, gazing from the kitchen of his single-room apartment to the bed on the other side. Nothing had changed, but it felt so different. Empty. Like a chunk of the room had been broken off and ground into a blend of pain and anger. And then set on fire. And then buried. But that was impossible. Nothing had changed. Well, one thing.
He opened the refrigerator door. A stick of butter, a few beers, some milk. He wasn't hungry. Opening the refrigerator door had become a habit. Perhaps, if he were to open the door enough times, good food would magically appear. But the fridge was no more magical than the fingers on his hand.
As he lay in bed, a draft came through the open window. The chilled air swept over his uncovered face and drifted away with a hint of peaches. Peaches. The peach trees from the grove down the road. The smell he used to smell every night, even with the window closed. All he had to do was roll over and bury his nose in the soft nest of hair at his side. An explosion of peaches. TEM rolled over, burying his nose in... nothing. Pillow. No nest. No peaches. He let his eyes close and his exhausted brain drift into unconsciousness, but not before a single tear squeezed past his eyelids and slid down his face into the mattress.
TEM spent nearly every day at the bar, but never drank anything. He needed the money, for one. He had stopped working. He even learned the bartender's name, but promptly forgot it. He didn't go there to socialize. He went there because he hated sitting in his apartment. It was too painful. That's what he told himself, anyway. But escape wasn't the primary motive.
This was where they first met.
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Day to day life became more and more repetitive. Eating was a chore. Sleep came slowly, but came nonetheless. When TEM wasn't pacing the living room of his tiny apartment, he was sitting motionless in the bar, blocking out the noise and drawing little attention. The bartender had long since given up trying to sell him a drink. Every beer bottle or shotglass that had been slid in front of him went untouched. Everyone knew to leave him alone; they had been given the cold shoulder more than enough times. TEM was dead to the world, and he was fully aware of it.
But one day, something was different. TEM sat in his usual spot at the bar, elbows on the table, head resting in his open palms. He had been in this position for a few hours until he felt a breeze from the door rush past him, accompanied by a nagging urge to lift his head and look around. He couldn't determine why he noticed the breeze, since people opened the door to enter or leave the bar hundreds of times during his visits. But this time, something inside of him wanted him to notice. Wanted him to actually turn and look at the door. The urge was so intense, TEM had to give in. His stiff body resisted the twisting movements of an about-face, but his mind was elsewhere. His sudden motion startled the bartender, who looked over at him first with surprise and then with a glimmer of hope. The bartender quickly filled a mug with beer and slid it over to him, a bit too vigorously in his excitement. TEM took no notice, having turned his head around to look at the door. The mug slid past his seat and crashed to the floor, spraying beer and shards of glass in all directions. The bartender sighed and threw his rag over toward the mess in frustration. TEM paid no heed.
What caught TEM's attention was not a person entering the bar, but exiting. He had acted on his urge an instant too late; his vision detected a single stiletto heel attacking the pavement outside the bar and a departing wave of deep golden hair. Then the door swung shut and the storefront returned to its neon-lit stature. He sat for a few moments, unable to move in a combination of shock and disbelief. Then he stood up and made a break for the door. Just before he reached the handle, he turned around, walked back to the bar, reached into his pocket and paid the bartender for the wasted beer. At this point, TEM flashed a grin that radiated joy from every tooth in his mouth. Then he turned and left. The bartender held the money between his fingers, staring back toward the door and refusing to accept what just happened.
Since that day, TEM practically lived at the bar. This was not a major change from before, except this time his neck was a sprinkler, pivoting back and forth, his eyes jumping from face to face in constant search. He had many false alarms, and each time his heart skipped a beat, sweat breaking into his palms. But never again did he see the right combination of golden beauty and familiar warmth. After each day of recurring failure, he slumped from his seat and wandered back to his apartment, anxious to fall asleep and resume his search the next day.
TEM entered his apartment, tossing his keys on the counter and half-heartedly rifling through the mail. He tossed the pile on top of his keys and turned toward the fridge, but something caught his eye. He turned back to the mail, where the group of envelopes had settled together near the toaster save for one. This one had no address or stamp and was simply labeled "TEM". He picked it up and flipped it over a few times in his hands, contemplating its author. Curiosity overwhelmed him and he tore the end off the envelope. Inside was a hand-written note in tight, loopy cursive, probably from a fountain pen. Gold ink. On it were two words:
"I'm sorry."
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TEM stared at his fingernails. He had already eradicated any tiny speck of dirt from them, but there was nothing else to do. He wasn't much of a drinker. He had spent hours that morning preparing himself for what he thought would be the best day of his life. He wasn't quite sure why, but lately his instinct had been leading him down the right path. It felt strange that morning, inspecting himself in the mirror, checking his breath, fidgeting with the strand of hair in the back of his head that wouldn't lay down, looking back in the mirror. He knew he would be going to the bar, same as every day. But he was nervous. The butterflies remained in his stomach even now, sitting on his familiar stool and waiting for the door to swing open. The door had opened countless times already since his arrival, but the true door remained closed. He would know when to turn around.
TEM felt a cool draft disrupt his stubborn strand of hair. His breath caught in his chest, his stomach turning over and over. He stood and turned to face the door.
There in the doorway stood a beautiful young woman, jacket wrapped tightly around her body, purse dangling limply from her hand. Her long golden hair flowed down nearly to her waist, her legs taut in their stiletto heels. TEM took a tentative step forward, eyes never breaking from those of his visitor. Then he felt a flood of emotion, letting out a cry and rushing to meet her embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tight, as if to protect her from being sucked away, back into nonexistance. They stood that way, oblivious to the world, cherishing the moment like it was the most important thing either person would do in their lives. TEM smiled a genuine smile, the first time he's been happy since he could remember. His closed eyes flooded with warm tears which instantly spilled out onto his face and down his chin. He turned his head and buried his face into her soft golden hair. Immediately a scent invaded his nose, a warm bouquet that took hold of his memory and raced it back to the happiest days of his life.
Peaches.
I explained this to TEM so as to follow along the rules of the contest, but the girl is the points list. Since it's nearly impossible to take aspects of a virtual list of points and make them human, I tried to make the girl like the Golden TEM Point. It was difficult and didn't show in the story very well, since I'm not a great author, so I'm telling you now.
