Pools of Red
Jenny felt her frown fade a little as the feel of familiar arms wrap around her.
“What are you thinking, Jenny?” a voice asked. Jenny didn’t answer, preferring just to listen to the breathing of the person behind her. The man pressed up against her back, his arms lowering until they were placed firmly on her hips; she smiled.
“I’m thinking, Justin,” Jenny began as she rested her head against the chiselled body behind her, her smoke coloured hair fell loosely down her back tugging in places, but she ignored it.
“Yes?” Justin asked, mischievously poking his head up next to Jenny's; shaking it so his hair, tickled her nose. Jenny sneezed as she lightly beat her fists against Justin’s legs in petty revenge.
“I’m thinking of this new piece I need to write. For the party tonight. It’s... difficult.”
With a smile, Justin pulled Jenny away from the desk she had been sitting in front of and over to the small record player that had been placed on the shelf.
“What you need is inspiration!” Justin laughed as he quickly grabbed a record seemingly at random from the haphazard stack next to the player and put it on. With a giggle and a tug, Justin spun Jenny round and round to the upbeat tune; the singers expertly belting out a tale of hope and triumph.
Spinning around, Jenny studied Justin; his blue hair, flowing as though it seemed to have a life of its own; the two beautiful red orbs that were his eyes, aglow with hope and something she couldn’t quite place. His pure white shorts and shirt always reminded Jenny of the finely bleached coral near the ocean she played in as a child.
As the song slowed nearing its end, Jenny floated gently along with Justin, relishing the feeling of their bodies pressed together. As she snuggled down, burying her forehead into Justin's neck, she envisioned the man she was holding.
“Jenny, you’re humming,” Justin said gently. Jenny ignored him for another few minutes before replying.
“I am, and I’ve just found the perfect thing to play.” Quickly she untangled herself from Justin, running a hand through his hair before shoving her dance partner towards the door
Two days later, Justin was standing in the auditorium of the town hall, decked out in a simple blue shirt and black pants. He ignored the looks from the high society who fluttered around, his focus entirely centred on the woman with the long hair and alluring gaze that stood upon the stage; Cello propped up against her.
A rather plastic looking blonde shared the stage, a microphone in hand as she smiled blandly down at her audience.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, for your entertainment, we would like to welcome Ms. Jenny to the stage. She’ll be playing her newly composed song: Pools of Red.”
Justin watched; breath practically non-existent as the stage darkened and the spot light was centred on the beautiful girl with the Cello.
The first notes played and two pools of red watched from the crowed, a single tear sliding down Justin's check.
Posted by Nadiah Alwi - Write at Home Mom
She cries and cries. There is nothing that she can do but cry. She looks at the sky, she cries. She looks at her own reflection in the mirror, she cries. She looks at the flowers she planted months ago in her small garden on the right side of her yard, she cries.There are only tears, there, in her eyes, on her cheeks. Sometimes, on her blouse, on her hands, everywhere. There is nothing but tears.
Her neighbor, an old man of 40, never misses a single morning, looking at her from his balcony. He just watches and watches. He never says hi, or even waves his hand at her.
She knows that she has a spectator. But, she doesn't care. She doesn't need one.
He is now watching her again. But, this time, he has a telescope with him. He can see the details better now. He sees her tears. He feels sorry for her. He really does. He seems to be able to feel her pain although he doesn't know what causes it. He feels like crying, too. His heart is aching, wondering what has been done to her fragile heart.
She sees him, and his telescope.
Both his and the telescope's presence change nothing. She keeps crying. There is nothing she can do. She can only cry...for a reason that only she knows what.
Tears of a Pretty Girl
That pretty girl, sitting on the cold bench, was looking at the lake with her wide eyes. I was on the other bench, also cold, reading my book. Well, not actually reading beacuse she really took my attention. I could see her fine nose, a little bit up, smelling the air. The nice smell from the lake.In front of us, there were some little rowboats two persons in each, a man and a woman. She was still staring at the lake. No expression, no happiness, no sadness, nothing. I could see her eyelash from my place. They must have been so long and curly that I could notice from about two metters and a half.
I tried to read my book again with my eyes sometimes looking at her. Half an hour. It was almost dark. Most of the boats were disappearing from the lake. Only some couples walking out of the park, hand in hand. Some others enjoy the darkening process. No sunset in the corner of the lake but still it was beautiful.
I put my book back to my bag. Tired of sitting down, I walked to reach the lake. A few inches from it, I stopped. I turned my head to see the girl. She also stood up. A few steps away from the bench. Her long brown hair and skirt were flying so beautifully on the cold air. Just one thing bothered me, tears.
I saw tears on her pinky cheeks. Now I saw sadness. Wondering what on her mind now. It seemed like she just could not help it. She was trying to manage her feeling but then, she really could not help it.
Standing there, tears from her eyes onto her cheeks, down touching the land, absorbed. But not her sadness. She kept it in her heart, wishing that she could do the same with it, letting the fetile soil absorbed it so it did not have to be her burden.
I was still there, watching her. She did not notice me. That might be better. I would not be able to heal her wounded heart.
