Sentenced by line. No remission, unkind.
I swear, I don’t, do you?
A true story from a while ago I posted over at the Go Dog Go Cafe today…
Flash fiction from 2017; from a memory much further back than then:
He stands a foot from the wall, illuminated by strobe lit blobs and spheres, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cold beer. 10 pm he’d guess, summer darkness outside lures moths to flight, rhythm finds his feet, yet too soon for moves. She takes to the floor, perfection, slight yet curved, green eyed blonde, focal point of his desire. No smile, yet politely declines the handsome, or just confident, dancing with her sister or maybe a friend. He buys a second beer, a small one, returns, his space still there a few metres from her presence. 11.30 pm checks his time, no chance, better men have tried, he moves. She turns to face his walk towards her, the beat slows, traces a smile, no words, her fingers behind his neck stroke him closer, his hands…
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Never dated… his poems laid confused.
“He wasn’t there, at least not a moment ago?” she half thought, half spoke.
“Who?” little sister asked, answering her own question, looking from the ‘Pay Here’ queue to see what kind of man had got big sister’s attention.
He was there all right, in every sense, lean, six foot, curly close cut hair; caressing silk, eyes dancing over candy stripes, somehow not quite him.
Little sister does a double take, big sister now walking over to him.
His fingers caress each tie in turn. “A female perspective?” she enquires.
“Yours always.” his reply.
She takes a subtle blue design, almost on tiptoes leans in to place around his neck.
A faint stir, foot to foot his balance shifts, her coat unbuttoned, body free. Both sway, gap between them now as nothing, little sister’s eyes popping.
Music, no one remembered what, or if any, only movement, theirs, timeless, of another world. Classic ballroom made sensual, borderline erotic.
This world stood still, time gave time for free. Little sister’s mouth wide open, seeing yet not believing big sister dancing that way with him.
Arm’s length now, blue tie passed from her hands to his. He bows, escorts her to the line where all completely mesmerised.
“Who is he?” little sister gasps.
“No idea.” big sister smiles. “He comes to me this time every year.”
They turn around, blue tie as his eyes nowhere to be seen.
Present given and received.
Atmospherics misaligned, English invention, patent worldwide.
Took a moment of her beauty … committed sin his memory.
No photograph, as if … no matter.
Took his day … declined his years