| Author: | Wolf Sherman | ISBN: | 9781370389537 |
| Publisher: | Wolf Sherman | Publication: | February 8, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Wolf Sherman |
| ISBN: | 9781370389537 |
| Publisher: | Wolf Sherman |
| Publication: | February 8, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
"In paradise, there's lighting too..." Ariel said to herself, loud enough for him to hear. He never said a word, but he agreed with that, and had for the first time leaned closer, and gave her what felt like a forever-hug. The first of many - she had prayed. Neither had any intention to let go. Her soul had been in search of what should have been a lazy summer Sunday's orange brush at dusk. But today, the painter was fate, and smearing lighting across the heavenly canvass was apparently on the cards. She'd been back on the sand again; surveying the brim of the eternal ocean with her toes sunken away deep into the cold sand. "A waiting Cabernet..." She decided, "had it been any other Sunday." Then suddenly, startled twice in a mere few moments, she was distracted by the blinding flashes - as it stole her memories of a different setting sun. When it was just her. She somehow managed a smile at the unnerving idea that the frightening sparks that weather had unleashed, meant that she was free. Not only was she free, but she wasn't alone. Not anymore. Quietly she wondered if she had now poured her thoughts out - with not a hint of hesitation, what he would say. "Would he know how strange I am? That I can easily consider food - even under these circumstances?" The scene before her - she debated - would be a fit pairing with maybe succulent but humble lamb, for some, maybe like him, and that would do. But for Ariel, a bottomless glass of sweetly labelled, matured revengeful Pinot Noir, was right on the nose... And a recent harvest, even better. "And that would almost be food enough - at least for my soul." How she got herself anchored into the sand today, flashed before her and her head recoiled - as if she'd suffered a head wound. The moment he said - "Hey, you're alive. It's all over." - while still holding her close, years of emotional drama that had welled up, came gushing through her eyes. She made no attempt to stop it, and neither did he. She'd not know it yet, but where he came from women never cried. He really had no idea what to do with all the tears, but some dormant instinct had taken over, and he'd kissed the tears - first her left cheek, then the right.
"In paradise, there's lighting too..." Ariel said to herself, loud enough for him to hear. He never said a word, but he agreed with that, and had for the first time leaned closer, and gave her what felt like a forever-hug. The first of many - she had prayed. Neither had any intention to let go. Her soul had been in search of what should have been a lazy summer Sunday's orange brush at dusk. But today, the painter was fate, and smearing lighting across the heavenly canvass was apparently on the cards. She'd been back on the sand again; surveying the brim of the eternal ocean with her toes sunken away deep into the cold sand. "A waiting Cabernet..." She decided, "had it been any other Sunday." Then suddenly, startled twice in a mere few moments, she was distracted by the blinding flashes - as it stole her memories of a different setting sun. When it was just her. She somehow managed a smile at the unnerving idea that the frightening sparks that weather had unleashed, meant that she was free. Not only was she free, but she wasn't alone. Not anymore. Quietly she wondered if she had now poured her thoughts out - with not a hint of hesitation, what he would say. "Would he know how strange I am? That I can easily consider food - even under these circumstances?" The scene before her - she debated - would be a fit pairing with maybe succulent but humble lamb, for some, maybe like him, and that would do. But for Ariel, a bottomless glass of sweetly labelled, matured revengeful Pinot Noir, was right on the nose... And a recent harvest, even better. "And that would almost be food enough - at least for my soul." How she got herself anchored into the sand today, flashed before her and her head recoiled - as if she'd suffered a head wound. The moment he said - "Hey, you're alive. It's all over." - while still holding her close, years of emotional drama that had welled up, came gushing through her eyes. She made no attempt to stop it, and neither did he. She'd not know it yet, but where he came from women never cried. He really had no idea what to do with all the tears, but some dormant instinct had taken over, and he'd kissed the tears - first her left cheek, then the right.
