"Have you ever made someone laugh?" she said as she crossed her legs. The slit on the skirt was far too high, but her friends didn't seem to mind.
I was too tired by her questions to answer. It was probably unwise to ignore the bar owner, but then again, I'm not a very wise person. At least that is what my wife used to mutter after I make up my mind about anything.
"Ha ha ha." She stood up from her lounge chair and the shadow from her slitted skirt made a skinny triangle on the embroidered rug. Her laugh was not the kind made of cheer, so I got up from my chair and began to leave. Besides, she had already lured me into a long-winded conversation about her luxurious life, how I was just a common ruffian, and how the world is full of jesters that try to make it less obvious. No, her laugh was one of authority.
"What do you want here?" Her stupid fan swatted my shirt. "So many men walk in here wishing I was free. But my time is short and besides... I'm much more intrigued by you." Her breath smelled like alcohol. Dry alcohol. She loved that kind.
"You're not happy yet, are you?" She drapes her lotioned hands and arms around my shoulders and I know what she is about to do.
"Don't go." She weeps on my shirt but before I could feel the wetness of her tears, I began to drift away. Even though she was the only one that I made her laugh, I had to go. She still couldn't let go. To her, I was her guardian angel, her one and only husband. But I am just a ghost that she had kept under her breath.
And now that there was no breath left, she fell onto the rug. I had wanted to disappear, but she couldn't find the heart to tear me away. So I was left to watch her tears find the floor, laughing their way onto her naked imagination.
Her slit was too high.
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lasthero - July 18, 2006 (07:56 PM) Despite going a bit overboard at parts, that was a nice piece, Draqq, with some top-notch description. Good work. |
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