50 Word Stories: Untouched

The sun burned with a ferocity to melt the night back to nothingness, birds in the sky cooked in mid-flight. Every puddle and every window flashed molten madness, people passing by incinerated, black shoe prints their legacy. I didn’t. Then again, I wouldn’t. The devil looks after his own.


It was her pout,
Her blatant disregard,
The cool undeniable truth,
She was better than the rest.
There was nothing,
Not one thing,
No rumour, hope or scientific fact,
No emblazoned message
Written in the stars
Nor tattooed sentence on Earth’s epidermis
That could convince her otherwise:
She was iconic.
Superior, would’ve been an understatement,
Goddess, barely scratch the surface;
She could have any man,
Anyone, for that matter,
Anytime, anyplace, anywhere,
And there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.
Elemental, a force of nature,
The inevitability of being intoxicated by her,
Wooed by presence,
Was as definite as the turning tides.
She’d lounge against the bar like a cat
Purring into a drink she hadn’t bought,
Oozing sexuality,
Demanding respect.
A look was enough,
The flash of an eye,
Arc of an eyebrow;
Nothing else required.
Men were fascinated by her.
To women, she was a fascination.
She was the epitome of sex on legs and she loved it.
Everybody loved it.
Except me.
That’s what burned her
Because I couldn’t give a ****


 The day seeks to burn its memory into our souls
 Setting fire to the oncoming dusk
 Scorching a trench of light between it and the gloaming
 It is a reminder to the darkness that it is powerless
 Incapable of resisting all that it means to GLOW
 And that despite those few hours of night
 A new day burns just over the horizon

 Image courtesy Michelle Marie