At sea.(Part 1)

 Last autumn Mila met too many obscured men whose ambition was drowned in the veneration of auburn haired women. Their salty tongues, dreary arms, monotone voices paralyzed every sense of humanity in a woman. This nubilous winter Mila is planning to change. She will be reborn as one of the hungry sirens possessing every man's thought.

The calendar keeps turning and two seasons have passed since she last spoke to him.  It was not until a Sunday afternoon when Mila went to her occassional cafe to get herself a drink while everyone was cleaning themselves from their weekend sins at church. She floated in with high energy and looked around her second home. The bar was illuminated in the warm orange light reflecting off the jukebox which looked sadder than any other day. In the corner of the room,  an older gentleman of pasty complexion slouched while sipping  a half full glass  of whisky. It doesn't happen often that on holy days like these the city's crowd  will come in and drown in  the melancholy.

Mila was satisfied with the stailness and emptiness of the place. Nervously fumbling inside the greasy  pockets of her coat , she took out a crumbled and moist ten dollar bill. She handed it over the bar and greeted the cross-eyed waiter. A clear glass of vodka was as a pure of a drink as it can get. After thirty minutes of burning itch in the throat she drank up the last drops, and embraced her head into her palms. Suddenly she felt someone pulling on the side of her coat. Mila realized she had fallen asleep an probably had been unconsicous for couple of hours. She looked up to see the stranger's face, but the aftermath of alcohol only made sense of the blurred neon spots piling into one. 

-Mila?

 She recognized the man's voice. It was the same voice that used to fill her with warmth in the depth of polar nights.

-Mila, its, me Karl....