An aura surrounded her.
He couldn't describe it, couldn't explain it, couldn't put it into words. It was beauty.
She raised her hands, opened her mouth, flexed her diaphragm, and completely, irrevocably drew him into herself.
Her song permeated him, and the light that bounced off of her transformed his eyes into bodiless, empty receptors: everything else faded, his body, his chair, his table. There was only the Vision.
Then the song ended, and he was left floating in the smooth, absent, come-down buzz of the empty amplifiers.
The cool water soothed her. She had to get out of the stifling heat, and the stifling company. Why she had agreed to this trip she would never know, but he had insisted.
'It will be good for us,' he said.
No, it won't, she thought. It will be sheer torture, because we both know we're flogging this horse beyond it's natural lifespan. But she packed anyway, not realising that lying beside his sweaty body would be the final nail.
She floated for a while, staring at the stars. They were bright in the cobalt-blue sky, pin prinks of brightness...
"Rush! Hurry! We must get off the street before anyone realizes we've left. "
"Mummy, why?"
"Because I said so."
"Because he's bleeding, Mum? Is that why?" I grasped the edge of her suitcase, let it carry me along, my feet nearly leaving the ground. Breathless, visions of things much different from sugar plums. Blood. Screams, a distant siren, the smell of cordite. Done. Rush! Move! NOW! Hungry, what, no time. Leave the cat.
Down the stairs, falling, falling, falling out onto the cobblestones. Scent of mum's sweat mixed with tobacco, and the stench of death. Train sounds. Off to...
I was staring. I could feel myself doing to but I couldn't stop. I was transfixed.
We had met only three days ago and already I just knew that she had made an impression. Although until this moment, I had no idea just how much.
Her skin was flawless marble. Her frame slender and perfectly proportioned. Her hair long, thick and silky.
She was perfect.
Even now, as took off her clothes and showed me her secret.
The giant red scar cutting into her side.
She wasn't ready to tell me where it had come from, but I was okay...
In the morning, he'd wake up, stretch a bit and roll up his things into a small bundle and be on his merry way. There was a gym nearby with public access to the showers, where he'd wash his clothes and hang them to dry on a curtain bar somewhere as he brushed, shaved, showered and took care of his other personal grooming.
After that, he hopped on the back of a trolley and got his exercise for the day walking from the trolley stop on the edge of town to the orchard just a mile down the road. He'd...
She knew that she would find him here. It was his escape, the place he came to find peace. It was quiet and he was rolling up alone, up and down the rink. first with the jack, then with his favourite woods, he never tired of it.
'Dad!' she called.
'Hello, Nicola. I won't be a moment.'
She watched as he bent slowly and lifted his woods, tucking them into the crook of his arm. he slipped the jack into his pocket and patted is to make sure it was safe. According to Dad, you couldn't leave a jack lying...
What do you make of the man who sells his muse?
It's what she wants.
It's what she asks for.
It's the active creation of a ghost, the planning for something that remains in verse and shadow long after the departure of the flesh.
It's the creation of memory and emotion that will remain fresh for the consumer, but will soon become the thorn for the creator
It's the serving of beloved as buffet.
It's what we need.
And ask for.
What do we make of the girl who sells her desire.
It's how she succeeds.
It's how she fails....
One rainy street was much like another, it turned out. It didn't matter where in the world you were, whether it was city or town - it was the same.
People acted the same. They hustled and bustled, tugging coats around them, hoping that collars could be turned up and their necks could be saved from uncomfortable raindrops. Some - prepared ones - had umbrellas, using them as a more sophisticated method (supposedly). They wore smug smirks - until they bumped into one another.
Nobody had perfected walking down a street of multiple umbrellas.
They all rushed, eager to escape...
Jesus, this guy. I only wanted a ride to the temp agency, and he was all, "sure, I got a sweet set of wheels in the parking lot." So after I finish up my application for the Donut Hut -- fucking powdered sugar in my hair, I'm not taking this hat off all day now -- we go out to the lot, and it's like, it's his GRANDPA's car right there, a Packard or some shit. The seats are made of red leather and they squeak like I've farted when I get in, and there's cigarette burns on the edge...
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up. Jerome, her uncle's brother, took no notice of her. Her hands were cold and shaking. He continued eulogizing. "He was a great man, and there's no denying. We all..."
"No."
That got his attention. All of them, really. She clasped her hands together tightly, willing her voice to be steady. Jerome raised an eyebrow at her. "Did you have something you wanted to say, Candace? Why don't you come on up here and say it?"
She swallowed, hard. The idea of...