Story: Look Hard

He adored her. She was a breath of fresh air in the trenches. She was a flicker of light in the black void of space. She was the foothold for a man caught in a rip tide. She was everything that kept him grounded, hopeful and alive.

He liked to stare into her eyes and fall into a state of hypnotism.
He liked to observe her the curves of her lips meet in soft promise.
He liked to watch the curls in her hair rise and fall with the rhythm of the wind.
He liked to follow the curves of her body; the length of her fingers; the shape of her calves…

It wasn’t easy when they kept such distances apart. One day upon his request, she had sent him a photo of herself. He scrutinised the image from corner to corner; left to right, up to down, and diagonally edge to edge.

But with each pass, the air seemed to have been sucked out. The lights seemed to be dimmer than he remembered. His body rocked as if waves had swept him into a whirlpool.

He couldn’t take his eyes off a band around her finger – looking hard, through the reflection in the ring, he saw a man; looking harder, he was undressed, exhausted, and sharing her bed.

Story: The Name

“Someone told me about you just awhile ago,” she said. It was a casual enough remark for him to dismiss with a smile. Which he did. Until the lady raked her memory and spurted, “Now I remember who it was! It was … … ”

The rest came to him like a never-ending whirr. He heard the name, and was certain he had given the stupidest response that his mind chose not to register. His ears rejected further information, but his heart longed to know more. His mind raced, questions slipping from his lips uncontrollably.

For a moment while he stood rooted in the room, every voice became white noise, and every person that brushed past him merely part of some cluttered wallpaper’s design.

Oh, that name, that name. It was … it was … he simply couldn’t say it.

Story: Perfect Dance

He was as forthcoming as he knew how to be, short of asking her to stay the night. He was treading lightly; so carefully, as if the ice would crinkle and crack just by the sound of his breath.

He laid his hand on her waist, moving to the soft flow of music that defied them of gravity. He adapted to her pace, following rather than forcing, looking still rather than shifting. His heart set the beat for his steps as his feet moved in perfect sync. His fingertips pirouetted in delicate circles on the small of her back. Eyes sweeping across the dance floor, he twirled her away from the leering eyes with a nimble coupé. He embellished their dance with a small kiss to her ear, poised with a smile that was hardly hidden by her hair. His heart leaped, ballon, as she turned her face into his neck.

Oh, how his fingers had waltzed; how his lips had tangoed; how his heart had swayed.
He dared not make a sound; not a sound that would break this perfect dance. Perhaps she would see that he’ll like her to stay for the night.

The music stopped. He slid his hands away, fingers briefly entangled in her hair.
He would ask for an encore.

Photo: Will you please…

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Spotted scarf around the neck, with manicured feet and a polished beak.
A head-turner, definitely.
“But Man, will you please, just leave me alone?
Don’t push me over the edge.”
—–
I was on a walk when I started following this spotted dove for a short distance. It suddenly occurred to me that I was being an annoyance, pestering the bird. I took a picture and left it alone. As it happened, when I returned to the computer, I saw a timely post at Le Drake Noir, here. Seems like we’ve all been guessing what animals are thinking!