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"Why didn’t you come to my wedding?" "I had a call." "Stop," she demands with her palm held out like a traffic cop. "I called and your team and they said you took a sick day. You don’t take sick days." "I didn't want to be there," he confesses. "Why?"
Footfalls of maidens slide lithely over tile and parquetry; footfalls of boy grooms scuff to the dismay of the mansion caretakers. Tux and gown hand and hand past crown moulded doors, captured ambiance of a setting sun from chandeliers hung on high. The day I was born, born the day of the prom. I smiled cordially, and my date fawned.
Sally Hawkins was covered in soot, on her knees scrubbing the steel grates of the noisy, vibrating, broiling hot engine room. She wore a dulled out black and red striped crop top and a gray bandana that was once some other color. Her gaucho pants were torn and sewn back together in several places. She walked amongst the machinery with her bucket and mop and scrub brush in dingy, bare feet. Two large engine rats played with each other near her, keeping her company and occasionally making her smile with their tomfoolery.
"Tell me, Alexander Alardys, why are you here? The Dragon doesn't look kindly on Polish spies prying on his captains." Dochia peered at him from under her leather face mask. He faltered under her scrutiny, and she saw the fear in his eyes when she mentioned the Dragon. "This matter is personal my lord. Duncan is captive in his own dungeon, and his life hangs on a thread.", Alexander blurted. Dochia was thankful for her leather face mask and gripped the armrests of her chair.
I feel his large strong hands guiding me along a gravel path to an unknown destination. I hear his voice warning me where to place my feet and I can just picture his cute wide smile of excitement. We pause for a moment and his rough hands tighten around my wrists as he inhales and exhales slowly. I tentatively ask if he is alright, he reassures me that he's fine and we begin walking again. The terrain under my thin flats changes to soft grass and we weave in and out, avoiding obstacles. I begin smelling flowers and his hands begin to moisten from nervousness. My face scrunches under my blindfold as I grab his hands and rub my thumbs across them to calm him down. He sighs loudly again, this time in relief as we quickly make our way up hill. We walk in a straight line now, all the obstacles gone and I hear my adorable boyfriend laugh quietly bringing a smile to my face.
Mark shook his sweaty gloves, staring across the race track toward the stands where he knew Vicki and her father were sitting. He didn’t think about the money he had given up, and he didn’t care about his busted car with its busted tire and Lord-knew-what-else wrong now. The Credit Suisse advertisement that he had rammed into before stopping during his final lap around the track, just before the finish line, stuck oblong in the dirt a few feet away. It served as a symbol delivering his final decision concerning brand-representation and his impending marriage to Vicki that no verbalized word from him could have gotten across with as much force. Mark had always been the type to add insult to injury, but even he had to admit this public defiance took it to a whole other level. She wouldn’t forgive him for this one.
The early morning hour of nautical twilight launched a hungry flock of seagulls, their desperate wails an audible truth of life on the sea. It was clear and quiet and an unexpected calmness was all that remained of an ordinarily turbulent wave. Lying across the bow of the tiny sailboat he glared with eager anticipation, though patiently, over the side. He would reach down from time to time to touch the crystalline water, sending tiny ripples, shattering his perfect likeness that lay cast upon the surface.
"Maybe this will help to kill the slow moving monotonous drone tick tock of the clock". I whisper to myself as I grab a pen and try a comfortable posture as I sit back in my room, scribbling madly in my journal with some incredible newly found zest. It's almost as if Im frenzied, trying to escape an unavoidable feeling of illnesss. It's the most absurd of phrases. Even I dont know what it means. I convince myself. It's quiet all around. Too quiet, too peaceful. The kind of quietness that makes the sound of a raindrop falling on the roof sound like a crass cacophany. Yes, probably the quietness is what I cant deal with. Being used to an eternal buzz of activity, I honestly detest the strange sadness that comes with this quietness.
Julia and Drew got into the blue blazer with the intention of going to Family Video and then she’d drop him off back at home. She had plans. “You’re not gonna be long are you? You know what you want right?” she asked her husband of four years. “Yeah but can you run by Eric’s house first?” Julia rolled her eyes but nodded her head. Eric was his brother but that didn’t mean she like him. Their relationship was so bad she normally went nowhere near his house. She’d even park at the neighboring business.
“Where has she gone?” Jessica said, her voice a wail of grief. Auntie Simone and Grandma Frannie exchanged a look that Jessica didn’t see, couldn’t see since her eyes were streaming with tears. “We’ll find her.” Frannie embraced her daughter-in-law with two thin arms that not only comforted but offered a tinkling spell of assurance. “How far could she walk? The woods call to her, you know that, Jessica. The child rambles about poking at mushrooms, gathering mosses, talking with the forest animals -- her buffer against loneliness with her father so far away.”
Romance/Love: July 11, 2012 Issue [#5151]
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), which is in complete contrast to other couples who have roller coaster relationships, always fighting and making up, tempers flaring just as hotly as passions. Who's to say what the better approach to a relationship is? Some would look at my parents and think they have a very boring, uneventful life. Others would look at them and think a life relatively free of ups and downs, where everything is just pretty consistently "good," is a pretty sweet deal.
