knowingjesus
Member
- Joined
- Mar 6, 2009
- Messages
- 15
I wrote this when I was fifteen, the last short story I wrote (unless you count a couple children's stories I wrote for my mom's third graders). I'm 21 now and I want to get back into story writing! 
PS: Chad, have you considered a forum for general writing as well as poetry?
The Dance
He held out his hand to her, a look of playful love on his face.
"May I have this dance, m'lady?" he asked her. She grinned at him. His request couldn't be more out of place.
His face was smudged with yesterday's memories, his feet were bare on the cold cement, his dark brown hair had lost its character entirely. She was wearing an old ratted sweater and a too small skirt and two pathetic shoes she made out of pieces of wood and some string. And their alley. Their alley was nowhere close to a ballroom. The future had painted it an ugly shade of black without asking.
No, she thought. Dancing was too beautiful.
She could just imagine them twirling around like people who didn't know the darkness. People who weren't homeless and jobless and starving and caught by reasons why.
People who lived instead of survived.
She smiled then.
Suddenly...she wanted nothing more.
She tilted her head to the side and looked at him from underneath raised eyebrows, attempting, unsuccessfully, to suppress a grin.
"Weell," she drew it out teasingly.
"Apparently my fairy godmother is still searching for her wand." She gestured to her ragged clothes. He laughed. His laugh was loud and happy and perfect. It challenged all they were.
"Oh no, Jenny," he said, "I think she already came."
His soft mention of her name made her look up. It always did, it was an assurance of her being--and his love. And there again, were his ocean eyes.
He gazed at her with that deep Love, and she let herself fall into it, be taken. They grinned at each other and he gently slid his arms around her frail body. She leaned her head against his dirty shirt, breathing in the rancid smell she had come to love.
They both knew they were creating a false and temporary innocence. That as soon as they stopped acting, the darkness would stop retreating. That nothing would ever really be okay. But as she thought about it then, she really didn't care. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. There in his arms nothing in the world was wrong. She closed her eyes and sighed.
Suddenly, dancing didn't feel so out of place.
"But we don't have music, my love," she said softly. He moved back a little, loosening his embrace, making her think even more of how much she loved him.
"What do you mean we don't have music? Don't you hear it?" he said trying to look innocent and surprised. The only sounds were distant dogs barking, occasional shouts and laughter and honking horns. Familiar sounds of the drawing night and the city they weren't a part of.
She just grinned and rolled her eyes, faking exasperation. It was an unspoken truth that neither of them would ever get tired of eachother. Their intense connection was the thing that kept them alive.
He grinned and released her for a moment, announcing an idea with a finger. He walked over to the wall that was decorated harshly with graffiti and a thousand stains. A thousand portraits of cruelty.
She waited curiously. He bent over and she couldnít quite see what he was doing. Then he stood up and turned around, flourishing something in his hands. He had a bent and rusting can and a fork, who knows how many times it had been used, from their meager stash of garbage treasures. Her grin overlapped his. Then he started tapping.
Tap, tap, tap, the metallic rhythm spread through the empty alley. It was so protruding, she thought. Abruptly beautiful.
He started moving slightly to the rhythm, then put the items down on a cardboard box and reached for her again, still swaying. This time she was ready. She reached out and their fingers interwove; a joining of all that was right and eternal.
They began to move to their silent music. Slowly lost in the movement, lost in each other, lost in their perfect love. Suddenly this place didn't seem so full of empty moments anymore. The brick that compressed their misery could easily have passed for textured marble walls. The garbage and water on the ground was just the pattern of some gorgeous palace carpet. And the falling sun? A spilling over of gold lace curtains. For the first time in forever, the world was beautiful. She was no longer cold, no longer hungry, no longer homeless and dying. No longer part of anything but him. The world faded to white so that their romance could be written.
And for one extended moment, all the tattered things of the world were gone.
PS: Chad, have you considered a forum for general writing as well as poetry?
The Dance
He held out his hand to her, a look of playful love on his face.
"May I have this dance, m'lady?" he asked her. She grinned at him. His request couldn't be more out of place.
His face was smudged with yesterday's memories, his feet were bare on the cold cement, his dark brown hair had lost its character entirely. She was wearing an old ratted sweater and a too small skirt and two pathetic shoes she made out of pieces of wood and some string. And their alley. Their alley was nowhere close to a ballroom. The future had painted it an ugly shade of black without asking.
No, she thought. Dancing was too beautiful.
She could just imagine them twirling around like people who didn't know the darkness. People who weren't homeless and jobless and starving and caught by reasons why.
People who lived instead of survived.
She smiled then.
Suddenly...she wanted nothing more.
She tilted her head to the side and looked at him from underneath raised eyebrows, attempting, unsuccessfully, to suppress a grin.
"Weell," she drew it out teasingly.
"Apparently my fairy godmother is still searching for her wand." She gestured to her ragged clothes. He laughed. His laugh was loud and happy and perfect. It challenged all they were.
"Oh no, Jenny," he said, "I think she already came."
His soft mention of her name made her look up. It always did, it was an assurance of her being--and his love. And there again, were his ocean eyes.
He gazed at her with that deep Love, and she let herself fall into it, be taken. They grinned at each other and he gently slid his arms around her frail body. She leaned her head against his dirty shirt, breathing in the rancid smell she had come to love.
They both knew they were creating a false and temporary innocence. That as soon as they stopped acting, the darkness would stop retreating. That nothing would ever really be okay. But as she thought about it then, she really didn't care. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. There in his arms nothing in the world was wrong. She closed her eyes and sighed.
Suddenly, dancing didn't feel so out of place.
"But we don't have music, my love," she said softly. He moved back a little, loosening his embrace, making her think even more of how much she loved him.
"What do you mean we don't have music? Don't you hear it?" he said trying to look innocent and surprised. The only sounds were distant dogs barking, occasional shouts and laughter and honking horns. Familiar sounds of the drawing night and the city they weren't a part of.
She just grinned and rolled her eyes, faking exasperation. It was an unspoken truth that neither of them would ever get tired of eachother. Their intense connection was the thing that kept them alive.
He grinned and released her for a moment, announcing an idea with a finger. He walked over to the wall that was decorated harshly with graffiti and a thousand stains. A thousand portraits of cruelty.
She waited curiously. He bent over and she couldnít quite see what he was doing. Then he stood up and turned around, flourishing something in his hands. He had a bent and rusting can and a fork, who knows how many times it had been used, from their meager stash of garbage treasures. Her grin overlapped his. Then he started tapping.
Tap, tap, tap, the metallic rhythm spread through the empty alley. It was so protruding, she thought. Abruptly beautiful.
He started moving slightly to the rhythm, then put the items down on a cardboard box and reached for her again, still swaying. This time she was ready. She reached out and their fingers interwove; a joining of all that was right and eternal.
They began to move to their silent music. Slowly lost in the movement, lost in each other, lost in their perfect love. Suddenly this place didn't seem so full of empty moments anymore. The brick that compressed their misery could easily have passed for textured marble walls. The garbage and water on the ground was just the pattern of some gorgeous palace carpet. And the falling sun? A spilling over of gold lace curtains. For the first time in forever, the world was beautiful. She was no longer cold, no longer hungry, no longer homeless and dying. No longer part of anything but him. The world faded to white so that their romance could be written.
And for one extended moment, all the tattered things of the world were gone.
