Vikki's Metaphor

you tell me.

    she came to me as i was sitting on thee turnstile. i knew it was her, i recognised thee perfume she always wears, and as she came closer i recognised that familiar smell on her fingers as she caressed hy cheek with thee back ov her hand, as if she were handling a small animal. she walked a few steps and leaned against thee rusted fence next to thee turnstile as if it were a vertical bed, leaning to it, hoping it would envelope her. i thought to myself, darling you're not thee only one who wishes they could disappear. i took out my headphones and looked up. it was thee first time i'd seen her face in a while, but i hadn't exacktly been counting thee seckonds. i had been counting sheep before she disturbed me, and with her head tilted back like an open lid on a hinge, it seemed as though she was counting stars. she mumbled something which i just about caught, and my head slumped. i found a c**t shaped rock and threw it onto thee road. it was diffickult to decipher her metaphor, but i about grasped it. at any rate, we both knew what she meant.
   
    some time later thee same evening, i was sitting on my bed, perched like a robin, when she swooped in like an eagle on airs ov smoke and other mist. her pendant necklace caught my eye. it looked like a smooth hot coal on which some poor soul had once grazed with a foot or toe. although, it was a darker red than thee mellow orange ov thee average flame. it seemed deeper. seemingly to cocompensate for thee lack ov depth in her eyes, which seemed as if they could have been painted on like those ov a ventriloquist's dummy. i wondered who was pulling her strings, or if she thought she was pulling mine. she recited her earlier metahpor, thee only words spoken by either ov us that evening, and i again nodded, then slumped. metaphorical and riddlish as it was, it was still not nice to hear. i picked at my sock, seeing as there were no stones on which to take my frustrations out on.

    when i looked up, she had disappeared, although traces ov smoke lingered in thee air. i had picked a hole in my sock. fingering it made it no better, i found that out thee hard way. what's thee point ov trying to fix something by hand when all it needs is replacing?

it was then that i fully understood both her metaphor, and why i had seen her that night.
 

Reviews

[Arianna Woods]

IMAGERY! Ohhh, Ms. Donio would be angry with me for saying that word (Layla understands, don't worry, you're not supposed to), but I had to say it. The imagery in this is like a swift punch in the brain. In a good way, of course. The description of all the colors, and especially of Vikki's eyes is awesome.