We live in an imperfect world. Wars, violence, famine, injustice, all seem to take precedence in this day and age. Man simply does not seem capable of living in harmony with one another. So in this most disastrous of epochs, we must seek out the bright, the pure, and the holy. And I have had to privilege of finding my very own, my Angel.
She smiles, pure and sweet. Her eyes widen with delight, a slight shimmer and sparkle at the corners. A patch of crow's feet appeared alongside, showing her age, but also that she's led a life where happiness and laughter are common place. As her cheeks flush crimson with joy, I can see the dimples at their centers, casting soft shadows across her pale skin. Her ruby lips spread wide to reveal her opalescent teeth, which part as she allows the laugh to escape.
Her joy is my own, as I watch her enjoy herself. I smile, faintly, basking in her glory as only someone in my position can. She turns to look in my direction, her laughter fading away a little, a small content smile filling the void. I look her in the eyes for as long as I can stand, and look away, abashed. When I gather the courage to look back, her eyes have shifted away, looking almost embarrassed. I smile my little smile in return.
She rises, gathering the remnants of the dinner from the table, making a quick jibe, before sashaying into the kitchen. She sets the crockery down noisily, the forks and knives making their way into an already soaking pot. She turns, winking as she opens the refrigerator door, extracting the prize she'd acquired during her morning spent shopping. Her wink drew my little smile out again.
She'd toured the high street shops, gathering materials for the night's dinner, as well as a quick stop at the Victoria's Secret boutique. A small pink and black bag had come out with her, nestled between a Mark's and Spencer's tote and her body. She liked to try and hide things, even if she wasn't all too embarrassed about them. It was a natural habit of the British, I supposed. I smiled my little smile at this thought.
She draws the large carrot cake from the fridge, my favorite! The cream cheese frosting had been mounded on liberally, and care had been taken to produce a mosaic of sugary goodness. She grins happily as she sets it on the table, before turning back to the kitchen for a knife. And it was here, along side the long knives and a myriad menagerie of cutlery, where my surprise had been hidden.
I can see her face light up, as she draws the ribbon festooned box, in red and blue, her favorite combination. She turns around, her bright grin all of joy and surprise, as she begins to unravel the tassel, and I smile my little smile.
Her grin fades, her skin pales and she stares at the box, it's lid removed, and now long forgotten. Her lips twitch slightly, a sharp intake of breath, as she tries to comprehend the magnitude and quality of the gift I'd left for her. She lets out an ear splitting scream, and hurls the box away, it's contents spilling onto the floor. The pearly molars scatter across the linoleum counter, clattering as they make a bid for freedom.
She didn't seem to like my gift. A pity, I think, as I set the binoculars aside. I run my tongue slowly over my gums, tasting a slight twinge of iron and copper. The blood would go away eventually, it always did. I turn, smiling my little smile, and ladle some more soup into my bowl.
There's always tomorrow.
Submitted February 21, 2017 at 10:10AM by Archnagel http://ift.tt/2m2shcK nosleep
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