Thursday, February 10, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
I have completed a collection of chapters that shows our, for lack of a better word, quasi-hero's most morally ambiguous experiences. It is contained within a series of days with the hokey working base title of "Nine Nights in November". It is essentially two chapters segmented by a brief respite in the future depicting a somewhat different approach at social interaction. This is a segment of one of the more 'lost' events that occurs along the way.
Her Eyes were glassed over as she pulled him by the hand past the sliding mirror doors into the elevator. These same Eyes that had pulled him from the table of friends and his thoughts hours earlier. Somewhere amidst the haze he was dimly aware that his date was elsewhere and he ought to check on her. This thought was lost under another wave of drunken desire as she grabbed a bit of his shirt half to steady herself half to pull him closer. Only the presence of another couple stymied the clamoring need. This pause in escalation brought errant thoughts.
Caleb wondered if Gwen was her real name, or some nightly adopted moniker. Whether walking into church for the wedding was an anomaly for her like recently it was to him. Dogs or cats? Pop or rock? Would she slip out silently in the morning like he would to her? Was her liking his tie the same crafted compliment about the earrings were? Why all these questions didn’t matter to him right now…
…And just before the elevator chirped, double doors unfolding the fluorescent bathed night to them, another thought surfaced: I need to get out of here. This isn’t right. I don’t… Regret drowned underneath, a small pleading hand pulled him out of the elevator—to a space that had become all too familiar. They went without a word. She pushed him forcibly against the door; backing slowly with a crooked grin she started to shed her dress, flitting towards the beds melding with the darkness of the room. A bracing hand on the wall, Caleb bewilderingly grasped for thoughts of probity that should have been ever present. He searched for a way out his head but knew he was too far below the surface. Caleb fought his own perverseness.
All care fell downward alongside the pale green garments now upon the floor.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Writing this week has purposely been dark; this was on the semi brighter and gives a partial view of what much of this work deals with.
I knew her skin better than my own. The first hint always shook down my spine. Heavenly heavily sweet on top but underneath a kind of resonating earthiness, like crushed leaves and warm summer and the spray of crashing waves on the beach all rolled into one. It was exhilarating and inebriating. That little scar along her temple from being a klutzy kid, the mark just below her elbow from scratching a scrap too long. The way her hair waved lightly near her neck, how it’d spread out along the sheets as we slept. The way her brow would crinkle when she focused, how she’d always arch her back a bit when touched. I’d forget that I was. Her half crooked smile when pulled close, tilting her head towards me instead of asking what or why. There was only us. It was some kind of hauntingly beautiful dance we did that wasn’t between us. Both of us, both at the same time, dancing the same dance, dancing within. That is what I won’t forget, what I can’t forget.