A voluptupus girl with a red ribbon tied in her hair, wearing red sandals – hurried down the street. She passed a young Swiss man, nearly dropping his coffee. He stared at her feet recognising them. He tilted his head, observing the arch of her soles and the daintiness of her toes.She was Melanie, the girl who had given him the most glorious night he had ever known. Sevi had a strange fetish. He found women’s feet attractive ,the way other young men were attracted to breasts and rear ends. He had licked Melanie’s small toes and she moaned delightfully loud. Her back arched and her toes curled.He chuckled happily, pulling her legs towards him again. He had placed her feet on his phallis, and told her, ” Give me a footjob.”
Melanie smiled, absolutely ecstatic. As a writer, she had a passion for adventures and exploring the unknown. She came a little closer…
Today i listened to a woman complain about people who write in journals and keep diaries. I thought it was the most thoughtless tirade I had ever been subjected to. Obviously, her life is so uneventful and prosaic..she couldnt see how others would benefit from it. But apart, from her personal feelings, she took it upon herself to disrespect ALL PRIVATE JOURNALISTS and repeat …’stupid, I find its soo stupid’ , and ‘People who keep journals are stupid. If you have a thought, keep it in your brain. ‘
And I responded, “Yes, sometimes that IS the best choice.”
Before the rain fell, maritime scents washed over the shingled roof of May’s house. It came in through the open windows, percolating the old house, refreshing the stagnant air.The crisp cool breezes kissed her cheeks and danced under her nostrils. She inhaled gratefully. It was sweet and salty and ominous, yet hopeful. She knew , could be assured, that the grey clouds would pass soon and that brightly colored flowers and sweet fruit would bloom and fall when the clouds parted. In that she trusted.
The sun shone in through the open crotcheted patterns on the antique curtains.She stood behind them, the shadows of petals impressioned on her skin. Warmth and cool, spread itself like kisses and the absense of them.
They held her up, let her realise her dreams and whispered words of encouragement.They dropped tokens of belief on her head and tucked them behind her wee ears, so that when they said, “Its time for us to let go,” they would know she was strong enough. She struggled at first, but then all the beliefs, scattered around and in her, bloomed and became life savers. They held her up. They merged, to form one with her…a being made of blossomed beliefs.
When she awoke, the sun was on her back and facing her was the boy she loved. She closed her eyes, savouring the warmth, and would have remained so, had her stomach not growled. She peeked out from one eye, at her sleeping boy, but he was already looking at her. He kissed her forehead, said , “I have the antidote for your hunger” and rolled out of bed. He returned with a plate of pancakes stacked high, that he put on her stomach and poured hot maple syrup over.
Her eyes were wide and she had no lashes, so she looked like a pretty bug more than a girl. Her thin curly hair was pulled taut behind her ears and tied by ribbons the colour of solidified grey smoke . Everyone agreed that she was much in need of a lil bit of greed. Her ribs poked out from her dress, as her ears poked out from her large wobbly head. Her shoulders were narrow,her knees like nobs on a tree branch.She was thinner than any stick found anywhere before. She was the ugliest girl any of the boys in her grade had seen before. But one boy, he saw the fine points of her that no one else did.He saw the lovely unruly curls that escaped the bound she put on them, the bashful red across her cheeks and the cherry red of her thin lips. He saw the dimple in her left cheek that showed when she dared to speak. He thought her long fingers were perfect for holding. And her wide forehead perfect for kissing. And when she didn’t come to school, he was the one missing her, like the stars miss the sun in the morning light.