work in progress (i’m actually writing stuff that’s good THIS IS A MILESTONE)
“Oh my, it’s beautiful”. A gasp snuck through her lips as she stared into a square, velvet box held open with gloved hands. In it lay a necklace draped in dedicate emeralds, each framed in a 24-karat gold frame. The gems glistened in the moonlight peaking through the cracks in the closed blinds. Picking up the piece of jewelry from both ends, he hinged back the latch as he carefully draped in around her neck. When it hit her chest, he bent his face down so she could feel his breath as he latched the two ends as one. He rested his chin on her shoulder so they could both admire the beauty in the mirror – not only the green centerpiece, sleeping on her sternum like a hibernating bear, but too the young scarlet with short brown hair in a blue silk chiffon dress that draped just off her shoulders - together. Both couldn’t help but notice how out of context the image looked in the dinghy candle-lit apartment. Nevertheless, she turned and gratefully nuzzled her lips against his cheek, leaving a fuzzy red mark on the front of his ski mask. Hidden underneath, a large, toothy smiled slowly emerged.
The mask man lifted his hands up to briefly massage her arms before he pulled away. Lingering to turn around, he journeyed over piles of old clothes and undisposed garbage towards the run-down wooden record player. Shifting through dusty, scratched-up vinyl purchased second-hand, he pulled out a beat up Sam Cooke record and laid it on the turntable. He pulled the needle westward and placed it on the music’s once shiny veneer. A pointer finger caressed the button labeled start; all but two of the letters illuminated, brighter green than usual in the dark room. The needle danced to static on the warped surface.
He slowly turned around and stared at the woman sitting at the vanity, using her dilated pupils, thinly rimmed with jade-green, as a portal to her soul. Keeping eye contact, his phalanges crawled up his long-sleeved black turtleneck, quickly brushed his neck, and slid into his wool veil. The fingers slowly grazed his face, introducing behind the thick black curtain one facial feature at a time. First revealed was his strong chin, dimpled and covered in a thin layer of hair, which crept up and framed his chapped lips, meeting like a latch of a necklace above his thin upper lip. His nose poked from under the drapery, which protruded outward more than most, the left nostril latched on his zigzagged septum diagonally above his right. The bridge of his nose parted between his tear ducks, which neighbored bloodshot corneas. A three inch scar slashed through his bushy eyebrow, skimming through the right eyelid as his long, dark eyelashes brought his top lid down to meet his bottom. As the eyelids glided back up, they revealed an opaque pupil tainted by cataracts, opposite the remaining, unaffected turquoise eye he was born with. He threw his hat on the nicotine-stained carpet; “A Change Is Gonna Come” began to overrule the static as the hat completed its decent.
Voyaging back through the hoarded rubble towards the vanity, the newly unmasked man cleared a circular path big enough for two. Her outstretched hand met him when he finished; her fingers dangled in the air like wispy clouds on a mid-summer’s afternoon. He wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her into the opening.
He leaned against her, feeling the sinfully beautiful jewelry press against his chest. His eyes shifted over her shoulder and scanned the dirty walls of his microscopic apartment, holes of smashed plywood created by angry fists scattered about. He mentally dug through the garbage scattered around the floor and found diamond rings, stolen radios, and an unopened plasma television she was dying to watch a few months back. His mind opened up the dresser drawers filled with others’ hard earned cash. The muffled sound of howling cats, screaming parents and ambulance sirens from outside momentarily broke his concentration.
And just like that river I’ve been runnin’, ever since
Swaying left, right, left, right, back and forth, a soft touch dangled down his lover’s hourglass curve, lingering towards her hipbone.
Wonder of the loss of breath from constantly running, the siren’s squeal never far behind him, and the anxiety of just barely getting away with it really being worth it filled his mind; If his modest lifestyle being a shield to her desires, impossible for a man like him to legally fill, was worth the risk.
Just before an anxious bead of sweat hit the collar of his turtleneck, well-manicured fingers graced his face. He turned to the source and saw a large, toothy smile slowly emerge. His firm hand graced the small of his smitten life’s back, pulling her warm body closer to his. Again he rested his chin on her shoulder, his whiskers rough against her delicate skin, and whispered into his everything’s ear:
It’s been too hard livin’, but I’m afraid to die
‘Cause I don’t know what’s up there, above the sky
It’s been a lo-o-o-ong, a long time comin’ and I kno-o-o-oow,
A change gonn’ come
Oh yes, it will
thoughts? questions? reactions? does this make any sense?