A Clerk At An X-Rated Movie Theater:
I glanced behind me back through the tinted doors. I could still get away from him. He’d been staring at me since I had walked through the doors. His beady black eyes flickered between the door of theater six, and me. From the moment I’d set eyes on him, my female radar had been blaring full force. “Get away! Stop! Turn around!!” He wasn’t exactly the type of guy I’d bring home to my mother, but that wasn’t it. I could tell that he didn’t just work here for the extra cash between semesters at whatever Nerd University he attended; he genuinely enjoyed his employment. No doubt he spent his days concocting all sorts of sick fantasies about every skirt that flitted through those doors. Those doors that were still behind me and still provided a chance of escape.
I can’t believe you lost that bet. Darn Red Sox. They just had to lose that game, didn’t they… I scolded myself for ever participating in a bet with such high stakes. I raised my eyes a few degrees and risked looking up from my coffee cup. My pupils narrowed and their aim shot downward again. Why couldn’t he take his greasy stare somewhere else and leave me alone?! Way to go Karen…look at the fix you’ve gotten yourself into now…Well, you got into it, you’re going to have to finish the situation.
My lungs expanded with a deep, shaky breath and I pushed my chair away from the rickety metal table with a loud screech. Yeah, that’ll definitely divert his attention…real smooth... I annoyed myself with my own sarcasm, and shook my head in self-criticism as I made my way across the lobby. Save for a young couple lost in their own PDA, the sleazy clerk, and myself, it was empty. Two more steps and I would be there. There’s no turning back now… I stopped at the ticket booth and looked up confidently. “One for ‘XXX Seduction', please.”
A Lonely Woman At A Singles Dance:
After a brief perusal of his surroundings, he was disappointed he’d been talked into coming at all. There was Grandma at the bar, with her martini and Eau De Mothball perfume, and there was Marge Simpson’s twin sister (barring the bright blue beehive) smoking a cigarette out the window. And of course there was always Big Bertha dancing with Tiny Tim on the scuffed dance floor. But it would be cruel to interrupt them when Tim was so clearly stricken speechless by her tangoing skills (or was it the lack of oxygen in his brain due to her clutching him like a precious jewel?). Either way, he was perfectly content to settle back with his drink and watch the others shift awkwardly in their seats, waiting for someone else to initiate a conversation. Or so he thought.
That was the moment when his cynical eyes first saw her. In between Granny and a biker whose lack in hygiene education almost excelled his clearly extensive education in horrible flirting tactics, sat a woman so lovely that for a moment, he forgot completely what it was to hurt. All he could focus on was her, and the way her auburn hair fell in gentle waves around her powder-soft face. She looked up after a moment, seeming to sense the penetrating stare that had been focused on her. Her eyes did not have the glitter he’d expected, but rather, though they were as beautiful as she was, reflected the dull emptiness that had filled his soul for the past two years since Diane had passed on. Her face flushed, and her gaze drifted downward. He held his watch for a moment longer, and wasn’t let down – she glanced back up for a moment before turning to order a drink from the bar.
Before he had a chance to stop himself, his feet began to walk themselves over to her. He had to meet her, know her name. He stopped a few feet behind her and reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. As she turned, their eyes met, and all words escaped him. They remained locked in another world, each other’s worlds, drowning in one another’s eyes until the bartender cut in with a sharp “Uhh…miss?”
“Oh...yes, of course. So sorry,” Her smooth British accent flipped off of her tongue as she reached out and grasped the slender neck of the martini glass.
“I’m Mark,” he said, still awestruck from the beauty that stood before him.
“Cassandra…call me Cassie.”
“Alright, Cassie, would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to.”
A Farmer’s Wife:
A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the sun’s rays creep over the window sill. She rose from her bed obediently, washed up quickly and began frying bacon on the stove. Her husband ambled down the creaky wooden stairs soon after her, and sat silently at the table until he had ingested the first few sips of his strong black coffee.
“Crop should be good this year. A few more sunny days and those shoots’ll start pokin’ their heads out.”
“That’s good, we need to redeem ourselves after last year. That horrible rot…” She shuddered in her plain gingham dress. Memories of last year were not something she wanted to relive.
After breakfast, her husband went out to the fields and she went to the stables to tend to their dairy cows. Her small calloused hands worked quickly with experience, and soon she had several pails of sweet smelling milk. As she turned to carry them back to the house, the breeze assisted a wisp of hair in escaping the practical braid she kept it in. She sighed again and blew the graying strand out of her eyes.
“Another day…another chore,” She murmured, and made her way up the rickety steps and back into the house.
I glanced behind me back through the tinted doors. I could still get away from him. He’d been staring at me since I had walked through the doors. His beady black eyes flickered between the door of theater six, and me. From the moment I’d set eyes on him, my female radar had been blaring full force. “Get away! Stop! Turn around!!” He wasn’t exactly the type of guy I’d bring home to my mother, but that wasn’t it. I could tell that he didn’t just work here for the extra cash between semesters at whatever Nerd University he attended; he genuinely enjoyed his employment. No doubt he spent his days concocting all sorts of sick fantasies about every skirt that flitted through those doors. Those doors that were still behind me and still provided a chance of escape.
I can’t believe you lost that bet. Darn Red Sox. They just had to lose that game, didn’t they… I scolded myself for ever participating in a bet with such high stakes. I raised my eyes a few degrees and risked looking up from my coffee cup. My pupils narrowed and their aim shot downward again. Why couldn’t he take his greasy stare somewhere else and leave me alone?! Way to go Karen…look at the fix you’ve gotten yourself into now…Well, you got into it, you’re going to have to finish the situation.
My lungs expanded with a deep, shaky breath and I pushed my chair away from the rickety metal table with a loud screech. Yeah, that’ll definitely divert his attention…real smooth... I annoyed myself with my own sarcasm, and shook my head in self-criticism as I made my way across the lobby. Save for a young couple lost in their own PDA, the sleazy clerk, and myself, it was empty. Two more steps and I would be there. There’s no turning back now… I stopped at the ticket booth and looked up confidently. “One for ‘XXX Seduction', please.”
A Lonely Woman At A Singles Dance:
After a brief perusal of his surroundings, he was disappointed he’d been talked into coming at all. There was Grandma at the bar, with her martini and Eau De Mothball perfume, and there was Marge Simpson’s twin sister (barring the bright blue beehive) smoking a cigarette out the window. And of course there was always Big Bertha dancing with Tiny Tim on the scuffed dance floor. But it would be cruel to interrupt them when Tim was so clearly stricken speechless by her tangoing skills (or was it the lack of oxygen in his brain due to her clutching him like a precious jewel?). Either way, he was perfectly content to settle back with his drink and watch the others shift awkwardly in their seats, waiting for someone else to initiate a conversation. Or so he thought.
That was the moment when his cynical eyes first saw her. In between Granny and a biker whose lack in hygiene education almost excelled his clearly extensive education in horrible flirting tactics, sat a woman so lovely that for a moment, he forgot completely what it was to hurt. All he could focus on was her, and the way her auburn hair fell in gentle waves around her powder-soft face. She looked up after a moment, seeming to sense the penetrating stare that had been focused on her. Her eyes did not have the glitter he’d expected, but rather, though they were as beautiful as she was, reflected the dull emptiness that had filled his soul for the past two years since Diane had passed on. Her face flushed, and her gaze drifted downward. He held his watch for a moment longer, and wasn’t let down – she glanced back up for a moment before turning to order a drink from the bar.
Before he had a chance to stop himself, his feet began to walk themselves over to her. He had to meet her, know her name. He stopped a few feet behind her and reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. As she turned, their eyes met, and all words escaped him. They remained locked in another world, each other’s worlds, drowning in one another’s eyes until the bartender cut in with a sharp “Uhh…miss?”
“Oh...yes, of course. So sorry,” Her smooth British accent flipped off of her tongue as she reached out and grasped the slender neck of the martini glass.
“I’m Mark,” he said, still awestruck from the beauty that stood before him.
“Cassandra…call me Cassie.”
“Alright, Cassie, would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to.”
A Farmer’s Wife:
A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the sun’s rays creep over the window sill. She rose from her bed obediently, washed up quickly and began frying bacon on the stove. Her husband ambled down the creaky wooden stairs soon after her, and sat silently at the table until he had ingested the first few sips of his strong black coffee.
“Crop should be good this year. A few more sunny days and those shoots’ll start pokin’ their heads out.”
“That’s good, we need to redeem ourselves after last year. That horrible rot…” She shuddered in her plain gingham dress. Memories of last year were not something she wanted to relive.
After breakfast, her husband went out to the fields and she went to the stables to tend to their dairy cows. Her small calloused hands worked quickly with experience, and soon she had several pails of sweet smelling milk. As she turned to carry them back to the house, the breeze assisted a wisp of hair in escaping the practical braid she kept it in. She sighed again and blew the graying strand out of her eyes.
“Another day…another chore,” She murmured, and made her way up the rickety steps and back into the house.
3 comments:
You really know how to create some very fascinating situations along with great settings. These three sketches are excellent.
(:>)
I entirely agree! I wish I'd known that you were so interested and talented in writing when we'd met, but I had no idea. I suppose it's all for the best... We had more than enough to talk about that week, without adding on a wholly new topic.
Anyway, to end this rant, I really am quite impressed with this. You're a wonderful writer... Keep it up.
Thanks Canadia :) Coming from you, great writer that you are (and i can tell just from the little i have read - get that blog up!! :-p) that means a lot :)
~*~chels~*~
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