?

Log in

No account? Create an account
April 2010   01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Think About It

Posted on 2009.09.22 at 06:57

I wrote this recently as a test to myself. When i write i use alot of dialog, in writing things are easier expressed with words than actions like in real life. So with this one i wanted to try and write something short with absolutely no dialog (ok there is one line! :-)) and sort of veer away from what i usually write. it came out rather easily, but the difficult part was trying to extend on the way something looked or the feel of something or an emotion in order to take up more space! either way,its short and it was a bit of an experiment for me. And i suppose at the end you'll see why its called 'Think About It.'


Think About It

I sit down on the edge of the strange  bed, hearing the springs creak beneath me, and take a deep breath. I need to calm myself, nothing can happen if I am stressed, freaked or anxious. Running my hands, through my loose, dark hair I sigh, and then given into the temptation to drop my head into my hands and grit my teeth together so hard im surprised they don’t crack. I squeeze my eyes shut, I squeeze them so tight I see stars and my temples begin to throb. Why am I nervous? It’s not like anything like this has never happened to me before. It’s not like I am angelic or pure. Its not like I am easy or impartial either, it’s just that things like this don’t usually affect me. I guess, I thought to myself, that this time was different somehow. In a way that I wasn’t used to nor could I explain.

I stare down at my toes blindly before I curl them up and under, digging them into the plush, white carpet of the bedroom floor that lays beneath them. White carpet, who would be crazy enough to do that?

I wipe under each eye with a careful finger and then inspect it, I rub my thumb and forefinger together anyway, as if something had been there. A tear, an eyelash, anything.

Shaking my head at my own ridiculousness I rub my palms back and forth over my jean enclosed thighs ridding them of any sweat that has decided to linger there.

I stand up and look around the room. Everything is perfect, neat, clean. The furniture is new and modern and, unlike the carpet, it is all black. I take careful steps over to the closet and open the doors, wincing in advance in case they decided to creak, and give me up to my obvious snooping. The closet is vast, the suits that line the entire perimeter are crisp and I can’t help but rub the softness of the fabric between my fingers. Power suits, sexy in their own way, no matter what. I let out a breath of a laugh at the thought of any sort of dirt getting on them.

Thinking I hear a noise I quickly walk out of the closet and close the door behind me. I wait with baited breath for a few moments, listening to my pulse pound in my ears and my heart beat like a drum in my chest. But nobody appears. Closing my eyes in relief I let the breath out through my nose and head back over to the bed, careful to put on foot in front of the other, careful not to trip, careful not to run from this room like a scared child. I turn the main light off and instead turn on the bedside lamp. The globe emits a soft glow and bathes the room in yellow light. Its daylight outside but no light permeates the room. Time would slip away so easily in here, guessing the current time of day without a clock was almost impossible. But nevertheless I took a glance down at the silver watch adorning my wrist. 4.25pm.

I sit back down on the bed and remove my shoes, slowly, one by one. Delaying, I suppose you could say, what was about to happen, not quite the inevitable but close enough. I push my shoes beneath the bed and stand up; I pull my shirt up over my head and toss it vaguely in the direction of the end of the bed. I pop the button of my jeans and then take a hold of my zipper, pulling it slowly down, actually hearing the zipper itself release.

I place my thumbs into the waistband and then pull them down over my hips before allowing them to pool at my feet. I observe the difference in the colour of denim from the inside before I step out of them and bend to pick them up also tossing them towards the end of the bed.

I crack my knuckles nervously as I lie back down on the bed and take up a more comfortable position. The sheets are cool against my skin, almost refreshing and I fight the urge to bury my body underneath them, desperate to seek out every cool patch that I could find. But that’s when I hear a noise.

My eyes dart to the doorway where a figure is standing. Our eyes lock for a moment before they walk in, their feet barely making any noise on the carpet, and come to stand before me at the bed.

‘Are you ready?’ They ask. Their voice is low, several octaves lower than what I have heard on the phone. It’s almost husky, like they have been crying too much, or screaming too much, or even just talking too much.

I let my eyes dart all over the unusually beautiful face; the wide set blue eyes are what get me though. And secretly I am glad for the distraction.

I notice the look of expectation deep in those eyes, and that’s when I remember the question. Am I ready? Was I? Am I? I didn’t know. To be honest I didn’t want to think about it. But I was the one who had made the call, I was the one who had initiated this, wanted this.

I divert my eyes, even just for a second to reset my thoughts, and then direct them back to theirs. Before I can change my mind, I nod. Slowly. I can feel every vertebra in my neck click into place.

‘Ok.’ They say as they kneel on the bed.

I get one whiff of a sweet scented perfume before her soft, warm body, covers mine completely.

 


Previous Entry  Next Entry