qristina
she knew how to captivate an audience. their breath lingered with her each and every word. she knew how to take them for a ride. her stories, her songs, she was the star of the show. no dinner party complete without her there.
rally the troops, folks. it's time to get down and dirty. fighting against the man! standing up for what's right! what's that they say... "one person can make a difference"? or, like, "many one persons can make a bigger difference"?
disgustingly damp, hot humid room. sweat drips down her brow, finding it's final position between her eyebrows. the smell of sweat and cinnamon. exhale slowly.
they were polar opposites. she was loud and speaks her mind. she became angry quickly and without warning. he was calm, reserved, soft-spoken. he would always see all sides before coming to a conclusion. maybe that's why they worked. maybe that's what made them the perfect pair. salt and pepper.
she steps, slowly, over the drainage grate. polka dot dress sways, flows and is moved by a gusty breeze. her perfume-y scent rises to my nostrils and I inhale. exhale, and she has gone.
tongue stapled shut. words form, but remain trapped, inside. I try to speak but choke, and a strange murmur emerges. you are wonderful. you leave me speechless.
mother says "it's time for dinner" to the cheeky little monkey, playing on the swingset. he asks his mother "why?", questioning her authority. "because I said so", she replies. I was cheeky like him at that age. I think I was, anyway. or was I?