"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'."
— Groucho Marx
Showing posts with label The Red Dress Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Red Dress Club. Show all posts
This week’s assignment will require the fewest number of words ever: we want you to write a story – your choice of topic – as a tweet.
That’s right. One hundred and forty characters. Not words. Characters.
Eyes close, lips brush…time stops. Eyes open…empty room…Empty
heart. Hope that echoes of the past become reality of the future. #loveburns
If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find them below:
My seventies girl has jet black hair, dark eyes and legs that look like they could wrap around me twice. I look out the window and watch as she parks the car. She looks up at the building and for a moment my heart stops.
I know that she can't see me, but I can't help but step back from the window. My phone rings but I don't have to look at the Caller ID to know that it is her calling me. It is early in the morning so my voice is husky and a tad deeper than normal.
"I am walking to the elevator now," she says. I don't realize that I haven't answered her and I stare out the window and watch as she walks towards the entrance. "Are you still there or did I lose you," she asks. I apologize and mumble some sort of excuse as to why I didn't respond.
My mouth is suddenly dry and I worry that my breath stinks. I squeak out a "See you in a moment" and make a dash to the bathroom to brush my teeth again. I look in the mirror and say "relax" through clenched teeth. The face that looks back at me isn't the one that I want. I see a million flaws and am certain that she'll see them too.
I tell him again to relax and suggest that he try to be like Danny Zuko in Grease. He rolls his eyes at me and says not to be stupid.
There is a loud knock on the door and I yell that I'll be there in just a minute. A new challenge has crept up, one that is specific to men and I am afraid to answer the door as there is no way to hide what has happened. I look at the reflection and say "think of something really sad or really disgusting."
Even though I am not sweating profusely I imagine that I look a little bit like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. The big distinction is you can take care of a sweaty forehead with a towel. That won't quite work in this particular situation.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath but all I can see is my seventies girl staring back at me. My "problem" hasn't quite disappeared but I can't keep her waiting any longer so I try to imagine what Roseanne looks like naked. That does the trick and I walk to the door and open it.
My seventies girl glides into the room and I wrap her up in my arms. I feel her squeezing me and listen as she whispers in my ear. I am as happy as I have ever been.
I am lost in the moment and barely aware that I am running my hands up and down her back and hips. She takes my hand and leads me into the room. I hear music but the stereo is off and so is the television.
This moment feels like the culmination of a lifetime of waiting and I find it all intoxicating. She smells so very good and fits so perfectly in my arms that I can't imagine not spending my life like this. At this very moment the earth truly is standing still and if she should ask me to get the moon I will do everything in my power to make it happen.
She is sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at me. I look down and watch as she traces patterns across my stomach. I am lost in those dark eyes and transfixed by her smile. I want this....moment...to last for as long as possible.
We aren't using words any more but there is no doubt or uncertainty coming from either of us. Her hand moves from my stomach to my leg and I feel my whole body twitch.
I am on fire....
This post was based upon a prompt from The Red Dress Club. If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below:
This is post for The Red Dress Club. This prompt is to write a piece of fiction or non fiction based upon the photo below.
Somewhere out there the song of my heart is dancing to the song that only we hear. Somewhere out there she lives her life and in the quiet of the night remembers moments when she would hold onto my arms, smile and say “Harder Kimio.”
Somewhere out there the song of my heart remembers that vacation we took together and how we stopped time. This is one of the stories that she won’t tell you because she refuses to admit to herself that together we touched the face of god. She won’t talk about the moment on the beach or stolen kisses in an elevator.
She won’t tell you about the moment on the balcony as the sun set over the sea or how we collapsed upon the couch our limbs tangled and our hair tousled.
And perhaps I shouldn’t either. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you that we couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began. She didn’t have to tell me to take her nor did I have to ask.
We connected and understood. She gave and I received or maybe I gave and she received. Doesn’t matter who did what with what or to whom because what we did, we did together.
The song of my heart is dancing to the song that only we hear. Somewhere out there she dances and her body remembers my touch. Somewhere out there she remembers my hands upon her hips and the rumble of my voice in her ear.
In the secret garden of promises made and promises kept she remembers how we dropped the camera into a sink filled with water. She remembers how we laughed until our sides ached and how we walked her fingers intertwined in mine into that crazy camera shop.
We were short on cash but somehow we scraped enough together to buy that “Kimio” in the picture above. An hour later as we got ready to go to dinner I snapped a picture of her standing in front of the sink in bra and panties.
When she asked me why I did it I told her that I had been possessed by the spirit of Kimio. She laughed, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.
Sometimes during the quiet of the night when I am embraced by the darkness I return to the garden of promises made and promises kept and look for the song of my heart. Under the moonlit sky I wonder if she still glides when she walks and secretly hope that one day I will feel her hold my arms and whisper “Harder Kimio” again.
If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below:
“What a dream I had
Pressed in organdy
Clothed in crinoline
Of smoky burgundy
Softer than the rain I wandered empty streets down
Past the shop displays
I heard cathedral bells
Tripping down the alleyways
As I walked on And when you ran to me
Your cheeks flushed with the night
We walked on frosted fields
Of juniper and lamplight
I held your hand And when I awoke
And felt you warm and near
I kissed your honey hair
With my grateful tears
Oh I love you, girl
Oh I love you” For Emily Whenever I May Find Her- Simon and Garfunkel
The words that I wish to write haven’t been willing to work with me. I have called upon them and asked them to help to convey the sights and sounds of the secret garden we once walked through but they haven’t responded.
Perhaps it is because sometimes there are no words to express the synchronicity of souls. Two who breathed as one sounds cheesy and crass. The sort of sad line that some have sought to use for less than honorable reasons.
But that wasn’t the way. There was no conniving nor consternation caused by the creation of unspoken communication between us.
The union of two was unsought and unlooked for which perhaps explains why the results were so unexpected. Or maybe that is an unfair way to describe it.
Maybe it is more appropriate to use words like herky-jerky and start stop to detail that day and those that followed.
Sometimes when I think about it I hear music and I see you softly weaving in and out amongst the crowd. I remember long legs and dark hair culminating in dark eyes that seemed to see…everything.
You never knew how badly I wanted your attention or how you made my heart pound. You didn’t see what I saw or hear what I heard. Soft and smooth skin matched to a swift mind set off my desire.
I won’t say how or what it was that I wanted. Not just because the words remain unwilling but because some things remain safer in the security of silence.
Two people found something magical, mystical and mysterious. We got lost in the majesty of the moment and made more than had been before. Mountains were moved and seas were crossed and for ten thousand years time stood still.
Love was lost and love was found. And when the dust had cleared and we saw through the mist we learned that lost love is isn’t always lost…nor is it always found.
I told you that to remember that when you think of me I am thinking of you and slowly I slipped away softly whispering that I would see you on the other side.
This was a post for The Red Dress Club about rhythm. I am not very happy with it, but we do this to practice so that we can improve...right.
If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below:
