The Girl and the Sea
“Don’t you trust me?”
The moment when I first heard these words, the anxiety in my gut twisted into knots and my throat became dry. The question was innocent enough, and it simply required a simple answer, but simple is simply subjective.
Her blue eyes shimmered in the starlight, watching me with slight amusement as I wrung my hands, trying to knead out my thoughts like dough. I don’t think she realized it, but her loving smile only distracted me further… no, now that I think about it, she probably knew it would.
She was always trying to make me try new things. I don’t know if it was my sheltered upbringing or my undaring disposition, but she knew I feared change and new things and all they entail. There’s always a risk of failure, always the chance of getting hurt.
I had been hurt too many times before to count.
But… she still had faith in me, my sweet, blue-eyed girl. I was the luckiest man in the world when I found her. Oh, who am I kidding? She’s the one who found me.
“Darling…” she spoke softly, resting her hand on my shoulder as I stared out across the star-riddled horizon, her fingers warm against my bare skin.
I turned and gazed into her eyes, her breathtaking eyes, and smiled as the crisp breeze of the night blew her long, auburn hair into her face. She tried to brush it away, the strands getting caught in her eyes and mouth, but the wind kicked up again, sending her hair into a wild tantrum.
Laughing, I curled her frazzled locks behind her ears.
She placed her hands on mine. Her smile faded and her eyes filled with concern at my silence.
Leaning forward, I kissed her forehead, my lips lingering against her flesh. She rested her head on my shoulders, and we wrapped our arms around each other. And for a moment, just a single moment in time, all was silent. Everything was still.
There was no wind.
There were no birds.
There was no rolling ocean.
She and I were all that existed, in the silence on top of that cliff. And in that moment of silence, as my heart beat next to hers, I found the strength I had lost.
My hands curled around hers, our fingers laced together, and I kissed her on the lips.
“Of course I trust you.”
Beaming through tears, she kissed me twice, and then turned to face the sea.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” she said to me.
And then, together, we jumped.
Labor of Love
“C’mon, honey, we’re almost there!” Panic cracked in his voice as he tried to stay calm. “You can do it, Love – just hold on!” Her nails dug into his hand as her fingers curled with pain, but still he held on tight.
An unearthly scream pierced the room, vibrating the thatched roof above their heads.
The Missing Glove
“When are you going to write a really happy poem or story!? One about… butterflies exploding out of a heart-shaped flower floating in the teacup of a lady who just found her missing glove or something. :P” ~ Bethie
Challenge Accepted. ;P
Thanksgiving Break
Her long brown hair danced as she bounced her head to the beat of the song; ear bud cords met the hair in a tango and her handbag swung with the rhythm of her step. Car horns were blaring in the street, and people were shouting all around her, but she didn’t care – she couldn’t hear them. Her world of sound was filled with music as she made her way through the crowd, letting it roll off her back as she hummed with the tune.
The Bumper Sticker and the Sigh
This was an assignment I had for my creative writing class, in which I had to think of a bumper sticker, and then describe the car and the person driving it. It was a lot of fun to do, and it served as the basis for my other post “Delilah.”
Enjoy!
~*~
I see an old 1980s Buick Century, its tan color faded from years of weathering and neglect; it’s covered in dust from the recent thunderstorm, mud covering the bottom half from driving on a rocky dirt road every day. It pulls up to the local liquor station, 20 miles down the road, the closest one outside the driver’s dry county. Putting the car in park, the car door opens.
Delilah
His face was hard-set, the wrinkles etched in like carvings on a stone, conveying no emotion. Emotion was something he threw away a long time ago. Grayed, thinning hair was combed over to the side atop his balding head. He wore glasses too, an old pair of black, horn-rimmed frames, sitting bent on his large, crooked nose. From behind those pieces of glass, a pair of gray eyes stared into nothing. They had been blue, once – full of life and joy and spirit – but the long, hard years had dulled them, extinguishing the light that once twinkled there.
~*~
I had a dream last night. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was driving to church with the windows down. It was nice and bright outside, the trees all a-blossomin’ and smellin’ sweet; but nothin’ sweeter than her sweet perfume.
Delilah.
