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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Secondsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Twisted
    Elite Ratio:    7.47 - 159/57/75
    Words: 1576
    Class/Type: Story/Death
    Total Views: 534
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 8562



    Description:
       Oh, I cried of this story, so I don't know what you think. Thanks, uh, sad.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsSecondsdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Seconds tick away as it did every day to Farrell’s life. The seconds were long, stretched out longer than it could have been possible, when the only thing was he was watching the clock. It did not go by this time, it’s time was like an eternity. Its instant is our eternality. He knew this from his experience, and he has gotten away for 10 years, always staying low, he was a loner and a drifter.

    Never had he been attractive to the opposite sex, something he never given much thought to--even with the “talk” from his father 9 years earlier--and wasn’t prepared when that talk lean beauty walked past him. She was golden skinned, with narrowed doe eyes the color of aged whiskey and short hair that was probably chopped herself--and even he could see it was a poor job. She had a small nose, and generous lips nothing less than avid, as it lead down to a soft yet firm jaw.

    Even as he watched in fascination of her unconsciously long and seductive strides, he could tell she was not all she appeared. She wasn’t going to be easy to approach--he knew not why he cared at all about her--yet, he could fell within him, that there was some sadness within her that could bring a man to tears. But not he, he didn’t know the woman, yet he could tell by the way she was held n her torso that she was carrying, and from familiarity of eluding cops, that she was one, whether seasoned or tender.

    She was easy, she didn’t belong in that profession, so he rid himself of the mysterious woman. But that night, as he lay in his loft, he tossed and turned upon the usual inviting mattress he could not rid her from his dreams. When he was not thinking about her, he unconsciously drew her face in his sketch pad, or talk reticent pictures of her when given the opportunities, and hastily developed them to hang around his living vicinity.

    For two years, it had been the simple cat-and-mouse games, and during that time she smile once, and laughed, though--he cursed his hesitation--he was never able to heard for she entered a bakery with her partner. As he watched her through the window like a child watching his favorite candy being made fresh, he realized that she looked like a child in a candy store, she seemed so content and safe in there that he found himself wishing to be graced by her presence. But as he lost himself in his observation of her,--though to this day his story was for him to be observing her for a novel character--he hadn’t realized that she was watching him too.

    She came out of the bakery saying “hey you!” when he realized he had been caught, he took off on his heel, with her after him. He turned down alleyway, vaulting the easy of evading his victims of his pick pocketing talents, when he turned to see her gone. He let out a sigh of relief and paused to catch her breath when she came up behind him like a shadow. He soon found himself pinned to the stone wall from the surprising vigor from her luxurious body.

    As he looked into her eyes, he saw the haunted look within them, and knew that look all too well. He saw it everyday he looked into the mirror and for the first three years of his independent life through his dreams. And throughout it all, he--before he had dreams of the woman before him--still could hear his own screams of terror, feel his heart shoot up to his throat to choke him, and the blood pumping wildly in his head. Her eyes were not the rich color they once were he could see, and as far as he could tell, she was hurt something beyond physical.

    All he could think to do was touch her hair, different shades of brown coming together in layers and passion. Chestnut, dark beige, nutmeg colored, and old gold, contrasted well and compliment her natural skin color. By god all he wanted to do was capture her lips with his own, yet thought better of it and realized that she wasn’t pounding him like other police officers would. She had actually released him from the front of his shirt, but kept his body pressed between hers and the wall. She was still looking into the misty gray eyes of his, as if talking to him, and when he felt her own--dare he say thoughts?--hesitation and discomfiture with the situation, she turned and walked away.

    Before he could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed her arm, and watched as her body tensed up without much effort and watched as her fascinating eyes narrow in warning. Yet, he didn’t let that discourage him, for he love every aspect of her, could follow her whole day and never get tried of watching her monotonous routine--save for the occasional action, and realized that he didn’t know her name, not once had he heard it, or as far as he could tell, anyone knew. The nameless woman.

    As he asked her, she narrowed her eyes further, then pressed her lips together as if précising him up, before whispering in a sultry voice that he knew her voice was like a gentle caress, “ Dallas.”

    He was surprised at first to say the least when she that only described one of her many exquisite persona. Skilled, from Celtic origin he knew, and after he got over his silence, he released her arm and told her his name. After that day, them seeing each other was so natural, it was like they couldn’t wake up in the morning, or thy wouldn’t be complete without seeing each other. It was, if he hadn’t known that it didn’t exist, they were in love.
    #
    One night he lay alone, staring up at the stars, when he felt the pain surged through him. Without her by his side as it was natural, it seemed that the stars were lacking the necessities to life. But still he could feel the pain. It was deadly. Stabbing at his heart mercilessly, he frowned as he tried to shake the feeling off. He had told her recently of her past, and sent her away for fear that someone might try to hurt the only thing he still held dear to his heart.

    But even as he jumped back down to his loft, he felt that something was wrong, and whipped his battered old brown leather coat and rushed out of the door. He ran through the street, his heart tearing as he ran closer to his beloved home, he felt as if something was wrong, something happened. Fear lounged thick in his mind, like a fog of darkness, he pushed himself to run faster.

    Even when he pushed himself into her apartment, he found it empty, unusual for her to be out late at night, especially without him knowing, he felt as if he couldn’t find her that the only thing that could help keep what he had been invading for those now twelve years, that it was closing in on him. These last few seconds were crushing his heart, and drowning it into darkness, he felt it starting to come over.

    He felt himself going back to his house, and soon found that he had no control over what he was doing, just that he had to get home--for who knew the one he loved could be waiting patiently for him? But even as he felt himself skip up the stairs, the hairs on the back of his neck rose in…fear?#

    He felt himself running blindly towards his fear. His heart pounded wildly in his rib cage, as he stopped upon the stairs, and he felt before he saw what was wrong. His loft door was bust open, the wooden splintered together with such force that it was cracked straight down the middle. He slow pushed the door open, and smelled it. Hot and metallic, the smell of warm blood, and fresh death filled the apartment.

    He rushed to her side, Dallas, his sweet Dallas, had caught one in the back, whether or not the guilty one did it purposely or accidentally, he felt anger burned through him as he knew he should have been here in the last few seconds of her life. His pain flowed through him, hot and uncontrolled, as his heart still pounded.

    As the blood still soaked through his clothes, he wept, and felt a white hot pain burn through him and almost laughed. He looked down at himself to see where the bullet had hit him through the stomach, and now his blood mixed with hers. He felt her shifted in his arms, and a strangled gasp for air escape. It did matter, that those last seconds were with each other. Another bullet hit him again, and as the life faded from his eyes, he left without anger or sorrow, or grief or bitterness. For he knew those last seconds with her mattered, as she died in his arms, and they walked into the heavens, hand in hand, together, within those few seconds.




    Submitted on 2006-09-07 20:56:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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