The 6S Social Network
What can YOU say in six sentences?
Dance Of Fate
Her mouth tasted like metal, or cigarette smoke, she wasn't sure which.
The shimmering wet street reflected the golden orb of a single street lamp, a strand of traffic lights flashing red, and the shiny tires & rims of a silver Lincoln Towncar parked opposite where she lay.
The scene was scewed, her orientation off, as Megan was lying on her stomach, her throbbing head scraping against loose bits of gravel as it turned to the side. She wiggled her right foot for self-assurance, took a mental inventory of what hurt and what didn't; she could wrestle no memory from the night's events to explain how she became prostrate on an abandoned street in New Orleans. She remembered the packed Drink Houston club in Texas, her new friend, Gary, asking her to dance - no words, just taking her hand softly and smiling, so leading-man handsome, his urgency in wanting to go somewhere for a cup of coffee to get to know her better.
"I don't know what this is, but I feel our lives have changed forever tonight", he'd told her, then they danced until she got dizzy, just before she followed him out of the club early, leaving her girlfriends giggling at a table in a far corner; the couple leaned heavy against a new Lincoln, kissing in a moment of both splendor and a whisper of nagging suspicion that tasted like metal, now ambiguous alarms clacking against the wet concrete in her direction.
The shimmering wet street reflected the golden orb of a single street lamp, a strand of traffic lights flashing red, and the shiny tires & rims of a silver Lincoln Towncar parked opposite where she lay.
The scene was scewed, her orientation off, as Megan was lying on her stomach, her throbbing head scraping against loose bits of gravel as it turned to the side. She wiggled her right foot for self-assurance, took a mental inventory of what hurt and what didn't; she could wrestle no memory from the night's events to explain how she became prostrate on an abandoned street in New Orleans. She remembered the packed Drink Houston club in Texas, her new friend, Gary, asking her to dance - no words, just taking her hand softly and smiling, so leading-man handsome, his urgency in wanting to go somewhere for a cup of coffee to get to know her better.
"I don't know what this is, but I feel our lives have changed forever tonight", he'd told her, then they danced until she got dizzy, just before she followed him out of the club early, leaving her girlfriends giggling at a table in a far corner; the couple leaned heavy against a new Lincoln, kissing in a moment of both splendor and a whisper of nagging suspicion that tasted like metal, now ambiguous alarms clacking against the wet concrete in her direction.
Comment
-
Comment by KAWFEEEE! on December 24, 2009 at 7:29pm -
Um, Teresa, sweetie, just stick with fiction...leave the pleasure of reading it to us. There should be another genre for this style of writing. I call it 'Imaginative Realism'; You do it well. It's when after someone reads your stuff they ask, "Is this really fiction?" And the first reply in my mind is always, 'mission accomplished'.
(y'all opened your present from KAWFEEE-klaus yet?)
-
Comment by Joseph Lupoli on December 24, 2009 at 6:46pm -
Boy, this piece has it all! Dialogue and great analogies too...
Also, I really love the title...I favor short titles
-
Comment by Michael Brown on December 23, 2009 at 8:48pm -
How can you say you're uncomfortable with fiction, when everything you turn out comes off beautifully? Whether you are fictionalizing true tales or telling it straight, you are a champ, sleep or no sleep. This story works in every way it is supposed to.
Did my devil really do that to you? He does it to me too. I know he's out there--just taking a Christmas break.
-
Comment by Teresa on December 23, 2009 at 8:46pm
-
I loved that Satan story by the way, Michael. Very interesting premise.
-
-
Here's what happened. I only got four hours of sleep, then I got out of bed and started reading Michael's personal blog page, a story about Satan dancing... Then I got this metal taste in my mouth. I'd had no intention of writing anything today but that metal in my mouth was just so annoying... And yes, that was the same Lincoln, and yes, the approaching footsteps were Gary's. I'm just as groggy right now as I was this morning so I can't really say how much sense this story makes. I'm not very comfortable with fiction. I'm not all that passionate about writing it so I would never be offended if I get comments from others like, "Um, Teresa, sweetie, just stick with nonfiction...leave the fiction to us." I would completely understand. I just needed to get rid of Michael's devil and that damn metal taste with some word games. Weird, I know.
-
Comment by Michael Brown on December 23, 2009 at 7:21pm
-
Lots, lots going on here, and I feel as static as Megan with everything whirring around me.
Is that the same Lincoln?
Is Gary somewhere nearby offstage?
Shivering through a story that sets the mind into overdrive. Nicely done.
-
Comment by Dude A Bydes on December 23, 2009 at 5:24pm
-
Santa Teresa (it is the holiday season, you know...) Nice bit of foggy recollected narration. I like the "unreliable narrative point of view" it let's the reader fill in the blanks. Those New Orleans streets are full of predators and... prey. Nice intro. -Dude
© 2013 Created by Robert McEvily.
Powered by
You need to be a member of The 6S Social Network to add comments!
Join The 6S Social Network