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Descriptive Derivative
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Descriptive Derivative |
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Nagemx Junior Member
since 2000-01-20
Posts 14 |
This is something that Wendy poemed (The Bath. Maybe you've seen it?) and I prosed. In the soft, half-light of early morn, he felt a stirring beside him. His eyelids cracked, and his vision was momentarily shrouded in shadow. Through his sleep sand, he glimpsed the enticing curve of her hip as she passed. Comprehension set in; her bare hip. His eyes opened wider, dismissing the tugging crackle of the Sandman’s leavings. She ignored the opening drift of the bathroom door, giving him a view of the old, cracked-porcelain tub with its lion-claw brass feet, greening slightly where they grabbed the tile. She sat down on the small, pink-tufted stool by the tub, her back to him. The stool always made him smile. He called it The Tuffet, and every time she sat on it, she was his Little Miss Muffet. Her alabaster skin shone brightly in the morning light, almost emitting a light of its own. The pale light that filtered through the colored curtains made stained-glass twinkles that skipped across her face. She set free her milk chocolate hair, and it rippled joyously down her body to lap lusciously at her hip. She leaned towards the window, forming a slide for the dust motes that trickled down sunbeams. He watched her bend over and turn on the faucets. As she leaned over, the sun played on her round, pert breasts, still untouched by the pull of time. The soft rushing of the water pulled him into daydream, his vision blurring, shimmering, crystalline. She rose from the stool, light strobing in halos, her hair falling away to allow the golden sunfire to highlight her brassy thigh. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her face masked in thought, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she suddenly smiled. Behind her snowy skin and emerald eyes, who knew what was going on? Her willowy form arced toward him, and his heart started pounding. Was she coming? Almost drunk on anticipation, he watched her. Smiling at his prone form, she reached toward him, and with a gentle push, the door swung shut, the latch falling into place with a soft, final click. Never regret |
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
Wow! Great stuff here; I'm surprised you've not yet received a reply on this! OK, first off, my absolute FAVORITE line was "...the old, cracked-porcelain tub with its lion-claw brass feet, greening slightly where they grabbed the tile." What an image! Grabbing the tile ... brilliant! The terms of endearment -- "Little Miss Muffet" -- that was another precious one, as was the "stained glass twinkles that skipped across her face" or somesuch. Really well done, here -- more, more! --Kess Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made, Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange... --William Shakespeare, from The Tempest |
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Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
Wonderful as always Meg!  I've always said you're a better writer than I, and this proves it! love, wen |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Oh my! Incredible writing this is! The descriptions used were wonderous, almost all of them catch the eye, I'd love to see more of your work! In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Perhaps I am an odd one, but I loved the finality of the click! What a perfect ending!!! |
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