Miscellaneous Stuff
Apr 22, 2011 18:27:23 GMT -5
Post by Eliora Ish-Shalom on Apr 22, 2011 18:27:23 GMT -5
Revenant
Only muffled squeals of delight were heard behind the lazily shut door, half jutting open. Technicolor cardboard boxes entrenched her, each open to reveal her former adversaries: delicately filled pastries injected with sickeningly sweet custards, billowing mounds of Italian whipped cream clothing moist pound cake, and more devious of all, truffles: petite balls of bliss and agony disguised by couverture chocolate. Oh yes, the fair-eyed and brick-hue haired maiden sat surrounded by her moat of sin, she an effigy of gluttony and lust. The mirth and glee just oozed from her grin. Lace-lined gift ribbon lay strewn in her ever-expanding lap, mauve morning gown spotted with droplets of chartreuse and rose icing. Fragrant zones were made for her as the coffee-liqueur frosting smeared over crimson lips. shame be damned! A jovial, almost maniacal laugh over-took her belly before a flour and sugar coated hand rested on it, the small bulge protruding from her abdomen jumping with the bellow. Streaks of weak sunlight softly illuminated the morning binge, rays only intensifying the moment. the taunting of satin-topped genoise sponge-cake consumed her senses; the lightness of fresh cream paired with the weight and imminent joy only butter could bring battled with the darkly sweet molasses of brown sugar in a caramel dribble that claimed king of the hill on the treat. The crumpling of wrapping paper accompanied the satisfied sighs as a dinner-plate sized box was opened to reveal a final indulgence. Lovingly molded chocolate hearts were nestled together, a thin filigree of white chocolate paired underneath. It cracked while brittle pieces scattered as greedy hands reached in to let the candy serve its divine purpose.
Rapture
Our hands were locked together, palm to palm, fingers interwoven. We had not said our goodbyes. There was no need to at the moment: he wasn‘t to be called back to work for another year or so. Len was never good with words, and I always spoke too much, but surrounded by the thicket, we sat in simple silence to hear night‘s song; reverberations of cicadas filled the late summer air. There we waited. What we waited for wasn’t exactly clear to either of us, but we held one another, hand in hand, preparing for the worst. The hours drew longer; sunrise was creeping up on the horizon. I felt only what could be described as bliss, wholeness. My ear pressed to his chest, the soft drip from the remnants of hard rain on the trees: this was perfection. And I began to weep, simple as that. As soon as the tears began to stream, Len’s hands cupped my face, strong hands that forged my engagement ring, and he kissed my tear-stained cheeks.
The faint glimmer of a dirt-encrusted diamond ring still steals my glance as it sleeps, tucked away in my jewelry box. The fine engraving inside reads strong: Paradiso, Canto XXXIII, lines 142-145. He was audacious to reference the divine comedy in my ring, though when I remember the lines, his audacity turns to adoration: "But already my desire and my will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars."
As my ring waits, so do I. The nurses on the third floor of the hospital know my name; they greet me with smiles and affirmations about his prognosis. I doubt he‘ll recover. I lock my hand to his, palm to palm, my fingers weaving his with mine. All is silent, save for the beeps from the ventilator. The cicadas are gone, the thicket has been destroyed, it is winter again, but there I am with Len, quiet as he always was, waiting.
Only muffled squeals of delight were heard behind the lazily shut door, half jutting open. Technicolor cardboard boxes entrenched her, each open to reveal her former adversaries: delicately filled pastries injected with sickeningly sweet custards, billowing mounds of Italian whipped cream clothing moist pound cake, and more devious of all, truffles: petite balls of bliss and agony disguised by couverture chocolate. Oh yes, the fair-eyed and brick-hue haired maiden sat surrounded by her moat of sin, she an effigy of gluttony and lust. The mirth and glee just oozed from her grin. Lace-lined gift ribbon lay strewn in her ever-expanding lap, mauve morning gown spotted with droplets of chartreuse and rose icing. Fragrant zones were made for her as the coffee-liqueur frosting smeared over crimson lips. shame be damned! A jovial, almost maniacal laugh over-took her belly before a flour and sugar coated hand rested on it, the small bulge protruding from her abdomen jumping with the bellow. Streaks of weak sunlight softly illuminated the morning binge, rays only intensifying the moment. the taunting of satin-topped genoise sponge-cake consumed her senses; the lightness of fresh cream paired with the weight and imminent joy only butter could bring battled with the darkly sweet molasses of brown sugar in a caramel dribble that claimed king of the hill on the treat. The crumpling of wrapping paper accompanied the satisfied sighs as a dinner-plate sized box was opened to reveal a final indulgence. Lovingly molded chocolate hearts were nestled together, a thin filigree of white chocolate paired underneath. It cracked while brittle pieces scattered as greedy hands reached in to let the candy serve its divine purpose.
Rapture
Our hands were locked together, palm to palm, fingers interwoven. We had not said our goodbyes. There was no need to at the moment: he wasn‘t to be called back to work for another year or so. Len was never good with words, and I always spoke too much, but surrounded by the thicket, we sat in simple silence to hear night‘s song; reverberations of cicadas filled the late summer air. There we waited. What we waited for wasn’t exactly clear to either of us, but we held one another, hand in hand, preparing for the worst. The hours drew longer; sunrise was creeping up on the horizon. I felt only what could be described as bliss, wholeness. My ear pressed to his chest, the soft drip from the remnants of hard rain on the trees: this was perfection. And I began to weep, simple as that. As soon as the tears began to stream, Len’s hands cupped my face, strong hands that forged my engagement ring, and he kissed my tear-stained cheeks.
The faint glimmer of a dirt-encrusted diamond ring still steals my glance as it sleeps, tucked away in my jewelry box. The fine engraving inside reads strong: Paradiso, Canto XXXIII, lines 142-145. He was audacious to reference the divine comedy in my ring, though when I remember the lines, his audacity turns to adoration: "But already my desire and my will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars."
As my ring waits, so do I. The nurses on the third floor of the hospital know my name; they greet me with smiles and affirmations about his prognosis. I doubt he‘ll recover. I lock my hand to his, palm to palm, my fingers weaving his with mine. All is silent, save for the beeps from the ventilator. The cicadas are gone, the thicket has been destroyed, it is winter again, but there I am with Len, quiet as he always was, waiting.
