Disinterested

Disinterested

She had an air of quiet intelligence. She sat on her bar stool in the tightest red dress I’d ever seen, her amber eyes on her drink and a cigarette between her fingers. Each puff of smoke was the same as the next, each sip of her vodka exacting. She was good, real good, and I’d just drunk enough to tell her.

Her message was conveyed with a care I attributed to careful consideration. Of all the words in all the world, she chose two just for me. I appreciated that; she didn’t have to go the effort.

I left with my tail between my legs and her eyes burning a hole in my back.

What did she say, I hear you shout? What wonderful knowledge did those words impart? Let’s say, she was disinterested, and we won’t be chatting again.

50 Word Stories: Dirty Girl

If one's home was a reflection of one's self, I shouldn't have opened her front door. Unsure if I'd fallen through a portal into a world of trash, I backed away.
"Not thirsty?" she asked.
Panicking, mostly because she was stunning, I said, "I'll be back with my own cup."

The Smile

She had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. Her thin lips swept from one side of her jaw to the other in a single, elegant curve. Even in the nightclub’s low light, I’d never seen anyone look so happy. She beamed like a Cheshire Cat. Wow!

***

I woke the next morning, reached for the glasses I always refused to wear on nights out on account of looking a nerd and gave my new love the once over.

She lay beside me snoring like a faulty lawnmower. Her pink wig had slipped to one side and she didn’t seem to care a jot. She was not what I remembered. Her mouth was small, puckered even, her face carved from granite. But that second smile was still there. Oh, yes, the sweeping lines of her double chin, ear to ear. Wow! Continue reading “The Smile”

The Man Who Was Boy

Lost in a whirlwind of breathless release
 
 Unwilling to believe that nerves they had ceased
 
 How simply by mouthing just one tiny word
 
 The little boy inside, at last, he’d felt heard
 
 She’d waved from the bus and said yes to his face
 
 And suddenly he was more sure of his place
 
 The world seeming calm an enveloping zen
 
 The man who was boy could at last breathe again
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Starting with a Smile


In silence I watched,
Wine glass held halfway to my lips.
I was struck dumb, defenceless,
A marionette with cut strings.
I was limp in the presence of an angel.
She glided over to the restaurant window
Taking a seat beside a vase containing a cerise orchid.
The flower tried to turn from her
Eclipsed by superior beauty,
But like me remained motionless.
She looked anxious, quite unsure of herself
And wrung her hands together constantly.
How could such as she a goddess
Feel intimidated by anything this world could throw at her?
It was only then I noticed the white rose
That sat secure in her hair,
A mirror of her alabaster skin,
But nowhere near as delicate.
A clinking from behind the bar distracted me
And I turned to see my own reflection staring back.
The white rose in my lapel shone against my best, dark suit.
Dawn broke, the world paused, and I held my breath.
The girl in the window was here to meet me.
I licked my dry lips, straightened my tie,
And walked over to her.
My fingers were crossed so tight I thought they might snap,
My heart beat in time to infinity.
This was the moment my life had been working to.
It would start with a smile.

(Image courtesy sodahead.com and Google images)