Love At First Sight

(Warning: contains some explicit and adult content)

                Last night, I forgot how to talk. I think it was her eyes, green diamonds hiding behind impossibly long eyelashes, but it could have been her long brown hair, almost black, falling to her shoulders, just gleaming in the fluorescent light. She had high cheek bones that blushed a light red, and her full lips curved in a seductive grin. She stood within a circle of guests right in the middle of the room, and every eye was on her. She practically glowed with attention.

                I was so drawn in to her to that I found myself making my way towards the circle. I placed my beer on a table as I passed it, uncaring that it was still half full. I watched myself, in an almost out of body feeling, as I brushed two members of the circle out of the way and knelt before her. Her eyes perplexedly looked down at me as I took her hand in mine. I told her that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and that I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night getting to know her. I openly gazed at her perfect face, her cute little nose, the light freckles that I couldn’t see before, and I realized that she was even more striking than I had thought. I just had to have this girl.

Corruption

I guess you could say that I was a little bit of a bastard growing up. Not the kind with the parents who never got married or anything like that; my parents tied the knot a full year before I was born, so you couldn’t even make the argument that I was a secret bastard. No, I was the kind of bastard who ignored those parents.

There are a lot of good kids out there. They were brought up properly by their parents and were taught right and wrong. They made it through high school, maybe went to college, got a girlfriend, got married, and then became those same parents who brought them up in the first place. Full circle, right? Circle of life or whatever.

Then there are bad kids. Most bad kids you can look at their life stories and find some event that made them do whatever bad shit that they did. Their folks split up and the trauma of seeing their family ripped apart sent them down the wrong path. Their mom died, so they went into a fog, blindly going through the motions of life, eventually turning to the bottle and fucking up their life. Or maybe their dad bailed before they were even born, and they grew up without a father figure, forced to be tougher than the other kids, ultimately cracking some idiot’s skull and spending some time. Yep, most bad kids have excuses.

A Dance With the Devil

An elderly man sat before him. He was dressed in a well-worn gray suit, all the color faded except for the brass buttons which looked to have been recently polished. It was evident that the man was paralyzed: his pants were too loose, his legs failing to fill them out. His chest and arms swelled enough to make up for it, especially considering his age. His face was weathered, wrinkles cracked over his forehead, heavy dark circles under his eyes, yet he was clean shaven and still appealing enough. Darkly shaded glasses rested just before the point of his nose, his eyes scanning the black leather book in his hands.

Rick noted the man with a curiosity unbecoming of a man of his station. Lawyers were supposed to remain strictly professional, yet this man had a grandfather-like quality that beckoned him to beseech the man’s opinion.

“What are your feelings on religion, Frank?” he asked glancing down at the man, feeling a sense of discomfort as the question left his lips. He felt himself reaching for the verbalized thought, attempting in vain to return it to its proper place: the dregs of his mind.

I'll Let You Guess :)

I couldn’t have been standing in front of that door for more than a minute, but I swear to God it felt like lifetimes. I could draw it up right now for you if I wanted to—the magnificent cobbled walkway, the stained glass windows with scenes of childhood ecstasy, and the scarlet door that beckoned us forth. I still see it today in my mind, every time I close my eyes. But it’s not the sight that stills me to my core. It’s the smell. That odor that just seemed so wrong.

                It’s hard for me to describe. I guess I’d have to start by saying that it stank like fresh baked angel cake, that warm sweet smell that drives your tongue insane. The scent was almost overwhelming, and it took everything in me to take a deep breath and wait for my knock to be answered.

How the Bum Got His Fix

James blinked. His eyelids felt like cinderblocks, but he managed to force them wide. Sunlight scored his eyes, and he quickly closed them, covering his face with his hands.

God does my head hurt. James slowly opened and closed his eyes, adjusting them to the harsh sunlight. It was hot. His shirt was already moist and clung to his skin. A cough racked his chest, and he soon found himself hurling up whatever he had eaten last night. James looked around, surveying the alley he had woken up in. It was a narrow one, cracked pavement separating two gray buildings. There was a dented trash barrel a few yards from him, so he struggled his way towards it. He sifted through the garbage—some rotten Chinese food, a few apple cores, and a pile of yesterday’s newspapers—before he found what he was looking for.

James pulled a bottle from among the rest of the trash, and inspected its eroded description. Ah, gin. He put his lips to the glass and desperately sucked for the contents. A small stream made its way down his throat, and his bloodshot eyes gleamed in delight. A small grin appeared under his dirty, raggedy beard. That should last me an hour or so.

Kiss from a Rose

Belle wandered the endless hallways of the castle, passing room after room of luxury. She glanced in each as she passed, unsure of what she was looking for, but sure that she would know when she found it. She passed scarlet carpeted rooms, with tables laden with feasts, lanterns bracketed on the walls blazing proudly. One room contained a small fountain in its center, water dancing over a crystal orb, lit only by a small glint of moonlight from the window. Another was filled with statues, many of them Greco-Roman, most certainly originals, yet all were immaculate and unharmed.

The never-ending hallways ended abruptly, reaching a spiral staircase. Strangely, there was no railing. The stairs were of a rusted metal that had seen better days. It seemed a stark distinction from the finery the castle had formerly displayed.

A Medieval Affair

The party wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. His invitation had included phrases like “gourmet buffet”, “decadent furniture”, and “sophisticated social interaction”. He had envisioned a magnificent grand hall, with blazing chandeliers and a feast from some medieval celebration. Aaron shook his head and surveyed the room: the “gourmet buffet” was set atop a 6x2 tables (sans tablecloth) and upon inspection was home to a single block of dry cheddar cheese, a few sleeves of the local grocer’s take on Ritz crackers, and some purple grapes that were more vine than fruit. There wasn’t even any punch, let alone wine. The table looked like it ought to be at a high school art gallery reception. He sighed. At least those had cookies.