Green and Golden

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
When you dance you turn into someone else. You meet new people and eventually you fall in love... sweet, gentle, book-like love.

Submitted: September 01, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 01, 2012




Green and Golden

Two pairs of eyes met across the room. Dress skirts ruffled around as the woman wearing the green and golden mask stepped forward, as if pulled along by an invisible cord. She moved graciously along the frames dancing all around her trying to reach him.

The man in the silver tuxedo and midnight mask seemed paralyzed, enthralled, chained down by her big dark eyes.  His arms were the first thing to move, grasping hers and pulling her body flush against his.

The two strangers followed the rhythm of classical notes and swung around the hall in circles and eights their eyes never leaving each other. Not a word was uttered. Not one muscle was moved unnecessarily. They stood like that for seconds, or maybe hours. Songs went on, or was it only a never ending one. They didn’t know. They didn’t care. They didn’t think of it.

Their bodies separated as if one, staying joined only in hands. He pulled her along to the large patio on the left side of the hall, a trace of fire trailing them. Once outside he swung her and dipped her, lips dangerously close. She bit her lower lip, teeth sinking in the sweet pinky flesh, her eyes still burning holes into his.

He smirked and pulled her upright. Her body pressed against his as she rose to her tip toes.

“Show me the starts,” she whispered in his ear. Her breath tickled his neck creating goose bumps on his skin.

Gently he led her to the rose garden a little ways south and silently pulled her on the grass. A pair of strangers lay next to one another going around the universe. They traced and painted the stars, naming and creating constellations.

They could’ve danced the night away. They could’ve talked the night away. They could’ve shagged the night away.

But they didn’t.

When morning came and the sky turned red and pink she turned her head to the right. She smiled, licked her lips then smiled again. Her hand trailed his jaw. Her touch felt lighter than summer breeze to him.

“Good night.”

“Good bye.” He smiled gently and kissed her nose.

The girl with a fiery mane got up and walked away feeling his eyes on her back yet never looking back. She walked through the patio filled with embracing couples, through the deserted hall, through the front door, crossed the street and turned a corner. She stopped there, stripped her dress, stepped out of her shoes, pulled the Venetian mask in green and golden and finally took the fiery wig off. A large black messenger bag was hidden beneath the staircase of an abandoned house. She took out a pair of jeans, a plain shirt and a midnight blue trench coat and put them on. The black sneakers were next. She pulled her dark hair in a simple ponytail and wiped her face clean of the makeup. A pair of rectangular glasses was the last thing she put on herself. The formal attire was stuffed into the bag and hung on her right shoulder.

Laura walked home for the next hour. She had finally understood what love was. She had loved that stranger in the midnight mask. For those hours he had meant the world to her as she had to him. She wasn’t sad that he had loved a woman so different than her. He had loved the strong, fiery, confident, gracious and experienced woman in green and golden, not the nervous, bookish student who didn’t go a day without messing something up.

And that was perfectly fine.

As Laura walked in the frosty October morning, crossing from the world of the rich and happy to the one of the poor and miserable she felt good. Truly, deeply good. For once she found it better to make belief. It had been good to experience the book romance, to feel the butterflies, to act like the main character of your favorite book. To know what to do. The best part was that unconsciously Laura knew she could really be that book-perfect woman every man would fall for. Yet she chose not to.

The smile never left her face as her teeth sunk into the sweet pinky flesh of her lips.

© Copyright 2018 Syrma Lesath. All rights reserved.

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