|
|
|
Back To Blog Entries
| Firehead III -- Allure
by daroc at 7/1/2009 2:17:14 PM
"Now! Say something," I think to myself. The moment felt as if time itself had stopped in suspense, purposefully persuading me and fervently forcing an action that mixed with my unseen, unnoticeable force of passion would alchemy the wishful long awaited reaction I have envisioned throughout this night of unreal reality, a night of undeniable uncertainty. A barely noticeable but strong expansion of my lungs inhales a new breath of vigor, and in a visibly vivacious, smooth yet confident manner, I stare into her vast glades of greenness, traveling through them beyond what is physically before me, entering her mind to unlock intrinsic mysteries which may or may not exist within this intriguing woman, a woman I want to know and understand; if even for a lapse of time vulnerable to forgotten memories in the future.
The approach was incalculable, she was not transparent, she stared into my eyes as if she read ahead of me, ready to respond to anything without thought, a wrestle of the minds where her hold held tighter than mine. "Hello Crystal" I pause for a second "my name is Thomas." She takes her eyes away from me looks to the side and sighs, turns back to me and says in a sarcastic manner, "Look Tom, or Thomas, whatever you want to call yourself, I am working here, if you're not going to order anything don't call me over." Although a hard pill to swallow, it is what this unintentionally alluring alchemist prescribed, and I was not one to interfere with her work. I had to act quickly, so as Crystal turned away to once again leave me in the wistful wander I could no longer internally entertain, with a flick of the wrist while looking away, I tipped over my glass of Hennessy. Traveling the wood's grooves, the Hennessy absorbed itself into the blue and white pinstriped fabric of the neighborly elbow resting on the counter top. "What the F#@%" screams out the gentleman now thinking about the added cost at the cleaners; "what's wrong with you man?" My purpose here tonight was not to incite bar room brawls, or provide a display of testosterone rivalry against a lower brain functioning macho misfit. I was focused on one person, Crystal; or who I instinctively came to moniker as, Firehead.
The screaming gentleman captured the attention of not only the party players, but also the bouncers which where now making their way to the bar, pushing people aside and homing in on the clear and constant commotion. Crystal's composure remained consistent even through this temporary disorderly disruption, and proceeded to clean up what she did not know was an intentional act of desperation, originally orchestrated as part of a last minute plan to win her undivided attention. I had to move quick, the bouncers were close and I did not know how this would end, I rush over to Crystal, and while she rapidly cleans the mess, I lay my hand over hers, she froze instantly, her eyes wide open, brows once again expressing curious concern; "Let go of me! What are you doing? JOHN!" She yells out. I have never felt the grip of a bear, but if I had to describe it, I would say it was just like the hands that reached from behind me, grabbed me by the shoulders, drilled fingers through my clothes and into my skin securing me as if they were padlocks locked from the front of my shoulders straight through the back. Though I was being physically gripped by what what had to be the resurrected version of Hercules, it had no effect on me as did Firehead. The counter top before me was now a floating island below as I was lifted out of my seat to be carried away. But just as I was being lifted away, I called out to Crystal and yelled "Crystal! Crystal! I know what love is!"
Her back was towards me, then suddenly she was motionless. She did not look back, but remained perfectly still. Her vision was lost in the crowd as I was carried away further from her and closer to the exit. Doors are swung open and the breeze of reality gently massages my face. I walked slowly towards the pare and sat there, feeling awkwardly foolish; but was I deserved of this thought? What if I felt something real? What if destiny is not destined, but what you can make it? Behind me I hear the familiar sound of a lighter being lit, "Thomas?" Says a faint voice from the background.
to be cont--
-dc
|
|
|
|
 |