She came like quicksilver out of the crowd that milled by the dance floor, out of the dark, her lithe body coiled, head forward and neck tucked like a boxer's, arms and hands loose at her sides.

She came straight at me, blonde hair swept up and over her eye; her ice-blue dress, sleeveless, shimmered like skin.

Kim, an ivory knife, burnished...

She stood before me and smiled with new eyes.

New eyes that told me, I can dance with you, without you; you choose.

Her smile said, You're mine...

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Comment by Toby Tucker Hecht on November 27, 2011 at 5:21pm

You are capturing the moment of contact.  Often that's forgotten in the events that follow but it's often telling in fiction to go back to that place where it all began and see the outcome embedded in the beginning.  Great start.

Comment by Mike Handley on November 27, 2011 at 8:25am

I know this is worlds apart, but it evokes the image of the blonde striding toward Sidney Poitier in "To Sir, with Love," the first time I fell in love with someone on celluloid.

Sentence five also ROCKS.

Comment by Angela on November 26, 2011 at 10:24pm

You have added a layer.  This story is going to take some time, and may very well have a life of its own.

Comment by Gita on November 26, 2011 at 9:38pm

Yep. When a woman can take it or leave it, she definitely has new eyes. You are the perfect observer. Now, the question is: Do you have a next move, too?

(I'm relishing this, by the way.)

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