IN THE END....WE ARE LEFT WITH OURSELVES - A.H. Scott, from Sangre (Daughters Of The Rose Moon) Dark brown strands of hair fanned around Sangre’s tanned shoulders, as Brian’s fingers slowly danced up her bare back. She could feel herself entering the sphere of satisfaction and began to motion like an activated package of Jiffy Pop popcorn upon him. Brian’s hands moved from her upper back and directly past the tattoo a few inches above those soft butt cheeks. Squeezing her ass firmly, he smiled and she exhaled. In script, was her name with a tiny droplet formed upon a thin line at the end of the final letter of that moniker - Sangre. She had told him she’d gotten it to never forget who she was. For a woman with a name so unique, it was obvious no man would ever let her vanish from his memory banks. With limbs and lips locked for romance’s take-off, Sangre was ready for Brian’s propulsion. Boom-boom-boom. Sangre felt the sonic reckoning that some of her friends had told her about. Her soul fluttered like a million butterflies in this moment. A woman of 28 and a man of 33, were immersed in adoration’s fantasy. Brian cradled Sangre and they gently wandered off into dreamland. Darkened bedroom in that small apartment was a haven of midnight for both of them. River of sunlight washed into that silent bedroom, as Brian stirred beneath those sheets. Yawning, he moved his head from left to right on a soft pillow. Brian opened his eyes to find the other pillow without Sangre’s beautiful head upon it. Craning neck in direction of the bathroom, he could see the light whistling through the slightly opened door. He checked the time and decided to catch a few more moments of sleep, before she came back to join him under the covers. Black metal clock on the small nightstand on the opposite side of that bed read 6:17. Aroma of fresh brewed coffee teased Brian’s nostrils, as he awakened with a smile on his face. Realizing the light in the bathroom was still on, he turned head to see what time it was upon the clock. “What the…?” Sitting straight up in bed, his eyes focused on that nightstand clock. 8:30 on the dot. Time vanished in a snap. He hadn’t just closed his eyes for a few moments to await a lover’s return, but went back to sleep. He tossed the sheet to one side and climbed out of bed quickly. Making a b-line over to the bathroom, Brian pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty. Brian’s reflection in that bathroom was a cause for panic, as impressions of his fingers had left red stains upon each cheek. Looking down at his own hands, a vision of crimson was seen by this worried man. Befuddled by what this substance was, he walked back into the bedroom and grabbed at the bedding. Patterns of dark colors were burnished on those evergreen sheets. Splatters of lines, splotches of circles formed a chaotic picture of the prior evening’s encounter. As Brian began rubbing palms tightly together, that darkness began to subside. Shocked and stammering to himself, he staggered over to the bathroom sink. Whoosh of water began to cause this color to fade to pale pink of his palms. What really happened last night? Where was she? Was she hurt? Beyond any other question Brian had seared in his mind was of who this woman was. Sangre was gone. Mystery of who she was remained...... ***************** Brian fell in love with a dream. Yet, the fantasy was a nightmare, because this woman was not what she seemed. Her name was.....Sangre. amazon/Sangre-Daughters-Rose-Moon-Scott-ebook/dp/B00GTYZPZ6/
Posted on: Sun, 16 Mar 2014 19:01:32 +0000
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