November 2008
Something to Do With Sebastian by Douglas Lind
A Rainy Night of Density with a Reckless Neurotic by Richey Piiparinen
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Underneath Your Skin
by David T. Richards
David T. Richards was born and educated in Johannesburg. Four years ago, he left behind a promising hospitality career to move to the gemini city of Amsterdam and pursue his dream of writing full time. More of his flash fiction tales of horror, surprise, and secret desires can be found at http://rapidfiction.blog.com. Email : madiam@tiscali.nl
Midnight brings out the hidden. They linger in the dark between the fabricated lights in a city determined to discover them. They move with the shadows, their tongues tasting the night air for the distinctive smell of the innocent.
Midnight brings out the lonely. Each soul is desperate to find the one to compensate for their lack of compassion. Always hunting. Always seeking. Always chasing the phantoms, which forever seem out of reach. Loneliness rides the graveyard mist on the damp, cobbled streets.
How selfish is the night to hide you away from me for so long? I almost walked on by, but your eyes locked onto mine. For a second, I had no control over my thoughts. I surrendered to the second of rapture that usurped my rationality. It left me weak. A brief glimpse from your crystalline eyes was all it took, and I professed my love for you.
But I am not one of the lonely. Not tonight. I followed you for days until I had the courage to enter your sanctuary. It's not how imagined your home, but imagination and reality have never made good colleagues. The aromas from your dinner still levitate in the cool night air. It excites me to know that you retired to your bed satisfied.
The bedroom curtain is slightly parted. Bloodless moonlight steals inside. It animates your sleeping face and streaks your hair with hints of silver. Your eyes flutter. What are you dreaming about? I'm saddened that my eyes will never look upon your dreams and smile the way you are now. The night is truly the greatest deceiver. It seduces you away from a life in the light and plays out an alternative in the abyss of your mind. May your dreams be sweetened by the love I have for you.
I know your name. To whisper it is to experience the essence of heaven on my own dead lips. Helena. Named after a goddess, but whose beauty surpasses that of even the most heraldic deity. You are unaware of the joy and envy your beauty causes. You shall never bear the nickname Lady of Sorrows. I will — I can — preserve your magnificence with just a kiss on your lips.
I fight back the temptation to wake you. I want your eyes to stare into mine and see that I am real. I am not a phantasm that lurks in the darkening streets seeking the grace of the naive. Oh! I cannot hide from who I am. I cannot shield you from the blissful pleasures I get from being here. I cannot pretend that the mere thought of your temperate touch sends my heart racing. I won't hide my passion for eternity. Take my hand, Helena. Feel that I am a passionate creature who yearns for your love and acceptance.
My fingers, tingling with hesitation, hover in the space around your cherub cheeks. I promise my touch will be gentle. Cold as my hand might be, its touch is sincere. Think of our future, Helena. We will have the world at our feet. The days will be our playground, the months our carnival carousel, and the years our festival to immortality. It will be difficult to accept at first. I will comfort you. I will hold you. I will reassure you that the past is gone, and only the future remains.
I fear my addiction for you is raging. Your face, your body, your drifting scent is intoxicating. Damn the night! It fuels my dependence on you. How can I leave this room in the morning without you by my side? Do the gods know how? Do the devils offer a plan in exchange for what? My redemption? My sanity? My soul? If it means stealing you away from the light of the day then I shall do it. But beauty like yours should never know fear. Like sunlight bleaches a work of art, so fear will whiten your beauty.
But you are the person who will rescue me. You are the face that I will look at each and every day, until the last star in the night sky fades from shame. Our love will exceed that of the foolish Romeo and his Juliet. It will outlive that of Antony and his afflicted Cleopatra. It will surpass that of Samson and his fatal lover Delilah. When the world ends, it is our love that will be on the lips of the dying.
You stir in the warmth of your bed. Curse the day for arriving on tiptoes. I catch the passing scent of purity underneath your skin. It helps my wayward soul find some direction. It satisfies my addiction. But I cannot leave this safe haven knowing you will awaken without knowing I was here. I will leave something behind for you. A token, if you will, of a love that's forever. This dead dove, white and pure, is the blessed symbol that will carry you through the light hours.
I leave your home, walking barefoot through the city. I keep to the retreating shadows. I'm invisible to the morning eyes that glance out steamy windows. There is a calm in the air. A bridge is nearby. I'll see you when I wake up.
Underneath Your Skin is copyrighted 2006 by David T. Richards and may not be reproduced under any circumstances without his permission.