Posted: February 7, 2015 in Short Stories
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A/N: I had a best friend back in high school that a lot of my short stories back then were based on, this is the product of a story he once told me. I’m 100% sure he embellished a lot of it but it made a good short lol

The shadows bounced off a form in the alley. She stopped suddenly noticing the faint glow of a cigarette and the black eyes staring intensely at her. The night was terrible, the date went sour, the food was crap and she was cooped up in a stingy, dirty old bar while her ‘date’ played pool with some mates. It wasn’t pleasant to say the least.

She froze in pure fear, nowhere to run. The eyes blinked intently at her, the shadow stepped forward flicking the cigarette butt. She could scream but it would make no difference the blaring words of The Prodigy’s ‘Smack my Bitch up’ flowed from the club next door filling every crack and crevasse in the alley.

She could hear her heaving breath in her ears, her heart pounding so fast it sounded like a dull hum. The figure was dressed in black, a leather trench coat flapped around his tall, skinny form. He stopped about half a metre in front of her; she stared for a second at the black t-shirted chest. She had to look up to see his face.

If she wasn’t about to faint from sheer horror, she probably would’ve called him handsome. Deep brown shaggy hair, and eyes such a dark brown that if you didn’t look close enough you’d have sworn they were black. Slowly he raised his hand, she tried to run, to scream, but those eyes…

She came striding down the alley, like a woman scorned. She was beautiful, every fucking inch of her. She wore a revealing white mini dress with clear stiletto heels. I took a drag of the cigarette, her blonde hair shined in the moonlight. They say most girls look shitty in the dark, but this one… oh this one was perfect.

She spotted me in the corner, staring. She froze like a deer in a truck’s headlights; she was weighing up her situation. Run? No heels were too high and if she even tried to take them off I would be in front of her before she’d finished. Scream? No point. The club’s music was mind numbingly loud, the Prodigy, a great band.

I kept eye contact with her as I approached. She had brown eyes, intense, amazing… beautiful. She was short even with the stilettos, I’m six foot three and she was just as tall as the middle of my chest. She looked horrified, like I was going to kill her… or worse. I stared at her, into her eyes couldn’t look away, those eyes…

The alley went quiet; the DJ was changing the record. She blinked, the only thought she was having was…run. She turned and stumbled toward the entrance to the alley.   She slipped falling to the ground, she turned back and he was on her like a tiger, right there in front of her he just glided across concrete as if it was glass.

She felt as if she was going to throw up, her head was pounding from quick thought patterns, her heart was still at a dull hum and her breath seemed to be the only thing she could hear. His mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear. The breathing drowned the words out.

The world started to become less clear, less defined. Her vision blurred and her eyes rolled back into her skull. The world came crashing down, as if by an influential drug, her head hit the concrete.

Her beauty, the life behind her eyes, it made me think… poetry.

“She slips through my fingers like mercury, dripping onto the floor.
Like hot droplets of water on a cold wintry night.
And then it forms, nothing… yet it was.
Sweet, shimmering passions fading into the ink of a starless night…”

Beauty like no other behind those incredible eyes.  

The sudden silence in the alley made her blink.  The realization in her eyes, there was fear behind them.  Fear of me… but fear of herself as well.  She turned and ran for the street.  It was all happening in slow motion as if in a movie I was watching.  Her beautiful, fragile, slender form hitting the concrete.  Her head snapping into it.

Not knowing this beauty, this incredible woman.  Her name, her story, not knowing everything about her, didn’t stop me running to her like she was a soul mate broken and bleeding.  A lover, lost and alone.  She looked at me, her beautiful face twisted in pain.  I spoke to her then, holding out my hand.

“My Love, give me a colour to paint the night and I’ll show you a dream.”

Her eyes fluttered open.  The world was a blur, but she was warm, safe.  A large wooden door was being opened.  She felt a curious blend of anxiety and anticipation as she was carried through.  She was placed on the soft, warm surface of a bed.
As the world came back to her, as things became clear.  The handsome smiling face of the shaggy haired, brown-eyed man looked upon her.

“Rule number one, my dear.” He said.

She smiled.

A/N: The Rules were something a couple of stupid kids wrote back in high school.  I still refer to them on occasion, because why the hell not :p

Rule Number One: The absolute agreement that ‘these ones’ will never get in the way of us.


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