Poetry is one of my first loves(sometimes I even talk that way…odd..huh)
Humor, passion and words move me.
Thank you for seeing that in me. :)
Romance / My Gift (Analysis)
She preens in front of the mirror. Yes, she thinks, this is perfect. It needs nothing.
Unadorned, white… pristine… with front laces cinching the bodice tight. The dress is timeless, classic. She smoothes the soft silky fabric down and turns just so… posing, to heighten the affect. She is pleased with the result. Her hair, loose and wavy, is untied. Her face unpainted. Intense pleasure alone colors her lips and cheeks. Delighted she can produce such a picture. She turns to the nightstand. Elated, she lifts the heavy rectangular silver box, richly engraved swirling embellishment decorating the curved edges, admiring it, adoring it, she hugs it close to her chest for a moment, wrapping her fingers around it, lovingly warming the cool metal with her skin. Sighing with contentment, she thinks, ‘mon cadeau.’
Peering out of the door careful and sneaky, satisfied she is undetected… barefoot…she tiptoes out. She drifts down the long dark hallway, the silver box clutched to her left side, her fingertips of her right hand sliding lazily along the wall. Moving rhythmically, graceful, lost in the moment, she hums haunting sweet melodies, they echo weightless throughout the corridor, betraying her presence. She approaches the door. Stops. She inhales deep, exhales slow, turns the doorknob, and leans against the door as she eases it open.
The room’s illumination is fluttering, golden….candlelight. Hints of gardenia waft throughout the room. She enters apprehensively, and sees him sitting, relaxed. He sees her and rises. He welcomes her with a smile, encouraging her, beckoning. She beams intensely. She advances slowly, deliberately, hiding the silver box behind her back. He is beautiful to behold, precious, perfect. His soft, elegant features are radiant in the candlelight. She thought, I am staring at the face of heaven and I will see this face, as it is, right now, forever. She creeps in close to him. Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispers, “I have something for you…mon cadeau.”
“My gift!” he translates, at once excited.
“Yes,” she smiles approvingly, “my gift to you.”
She presents him with the silver box. He reaches for it, eager.
“Wait!” she exclaims, snatching the box away playfully scolding,
“This is merely the container for my gift!”
He pouts his lip and drops his hands in mock disappointment. She laughs, delighted with the game. She leans forward, closes her eyes and presses her lips to his. Breathing deep, chest aching wondrously. They kiss. Parting lips slowly, she withdraws unhurried, glances up and meets his eyes.
“I will never love another,” she reveals, at once solemn,” I will never share the taste of another man’s kiss, nor accept another embrace, you are everything to me, and I wont share that with anyone.”
He reaches up and caresses her cheek. Blood rushes to his fingertips to meet her skin.
“And neither will I, my love.” he responds.
She looks at him, and whispers, “I know.”
Straightening her back, and lifting her treasure in offering, she, once again, with much seriousness and grandiosity, presents the box. He reverently accepts it and opens the heavy lid, peering inside.
Inside sits a dagger, heavy and silver, much like its container, delicately embellished, the handle gleaming with adornments. The edges razor sharp, tapered and perfect, the point wicked. The dagger rests sumptuous on a soft white silky fabric lining the inside of the box. So much like her dress, he thinks briefly.
He looks up at her in question. She smiles, like velvet, and removes the dagger from the box. She tests the tremendous weight in her hands, turning it so the light gleams along the edges. It sparkles, graceful and deadly in her hands. He watches the slow movement of the rotating blade, fascinated. She captures his eyes with her stare, lids lowered slightly, mouth parted, lips full. Enraptured, he cannot look away. She takes a measured breath.
“My gift,” she purrs to him, “is my heart.”
Without releasing him from her gaze, in what seems but a fraction of a second, she aims the dagger inward, point pressing dangerously between her breasts, both hands gripping the handle and thrusts. The dagger sinks, to the hilt, deep into her chest. He stumbles back, startled. Wide eyed, staring.
Her eyes glaze luminescent. Her chest heaves. Her hands relax from the handle and fall limp to her sides. Crimson waves begin to pour fat gushes rhythmically from the protruding dagger, as if the dagger itself were pumping liquid in time to the beat of her pierced heart. The laces of her bodice absorbs scarlet fuel, lightening fast, like wicks lacing zigzag across and down her stomach, until the pattern disappears and drowns in the following torrent. Blood spreads rapid, dark, thick, sweeping down and across the front of the beautiful, silky, pristine, white dress. Two fat droplets land onto her bare foot. She falls to the floor, legs slightly angled, arms splayed, her body calm, her eyes still liquidly staring in his direction.
He gradually recovers and steps toward her. He stands over her, gazing down, loving her, longing for her. He bends down, grips the dagger and pulls it from her. Her body resists the removal, lifting her chest a fraction of an inch, attempting to cling to the blade. He looks to the dagger and then back down at her. He understands.
With much resolve, he leans over her, diligent, focused on the task.
He places her still warm heart gingerly into the box. Crimson liquid seeps into the fabric. So much like her dress, he thinks briefly.
He closes the lid. He lifts the heavy rectangular silver box, richly engraved swirling embellishment decorating the curved edges, admiring it, adoring it, he hugs it close to his chest for a moment, wrapping his fingers around it, lovingly warming the cool metal with his skin. Sighing with contentment, he thinks, ‘mon cadeau.’
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reylen reviewed Version 1 -
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drunkelf reviewed Version 1 -
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shelerella reviewed Version 1 -
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Well there was an interesting twist, ha ha. Thanks for sharing this.
You have great skill with words. I loved your descriptions, very fulfilling to the mind’s eye.
I’m not sure how an audience would take the subject matter. As ironic as it would be for someone to actually give their actual heart. I’m not sure people will recognize the subtle point, so much as they would consider all the other details: Why is the woman’s lover so accepting of her suicide? All gifts aside his mate is dead. Why would the woman think that giving a body organ is the same as giving yourself mentally, physically and emotionally?
I think your writing style is great, and you have a definite talent for story telling, I’m just not quite sure about the subject you chose.
Keep writing!
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wisedec4u reviewed Version 1 -
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I love your eloquent way of storytelling. It sounded like poetry when I read it. I may not agree with your dark sense of humor, but I do get how this story takes the cliche of giving one’s heart to another literally. Great work! I look forward to reading more.
imnoromeo reviewed Version 1 -
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That is a very unique idea actually giving your heart at first I hated how you wrote this it felt like your were instucting someones actions she did this she did that but towards the end it fit the dark kinda quarkie humor of the story the discription with her stabbing herself is so good its haunting and because your instructing style it would be very easy to act it out very well done
FrakKevin reviewed Version 1 -
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I thought it was good, even it’s not very romantic. I should go in the horror section. It’s scary in it’s own way. First of all I must say you did an amazing job describing everything. I had a picture in my mind of her prepping in the mirror. And instead of just saying she stabbed her self..you describe the whole thing to the reader. Good job with this.
Blacktigre reviewed Version 1 -
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I love your way of describing things in this piece. It was the highlight of the whole thing. Your sense of humor is twisted.. I like that. The ending left me a bit unsettled. Thats some twisted love they have. I guess that was your intention. Good write
steveo78 reviewed Version 1 -
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Nicely done. A love story ala Tom Lehrer. Very well paced. Halting, then rapid.
One of my favorite lines:
“Crimson waves begin to pour fat gushes rhythmically from the protruding dagger, as if the dagger itself were pumping liquid in time to the beat of her pierced heart.”
Excellent prose. Oh yeah, I get the joke too. Cheers, I look forward to more
rikkilynn reviewed Version 1 -
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First I would like to start off by telling you that you have a great way with words. When you write you have a way of engaging the reader. I felt as though I was taking each step with her, which made for a more dramatic end. Did you repeat this paragraph for emphasis? To suggest how in sync they were with one another perhaps? I
Elated, she lifts the heavy rectangular silver box, richly engraved swirling embellishment decorating the curved edges, admiring it, adoring it, she hugs it close to her chest for a moment, wrapping her fingers around it, lovingly warming the cool metal with her skin. Sighing with contentment, she thinks, ‘mon cadeau.’
He lifts the heavy rectangular silver box, richly engraved swirling embellishment decorating the curved edges, admiring it, adoring it, he hugs it close to his chest for a moment, wrapping his fingers around it, lovingly warming the cool metal with his skin. Sighing with contentment, he thinks, ‘mon cadeau.’
It was very well written and I would like to see more of your work. The only suggestion that I would make I (the reader) wasn’t sure what mon Cadeau meant. Perhaps repeating in English so that the reader can understand as well.
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