Snippets

Such are the insanities of her life. She was always deemed to be clinically insane anyway. In the back of their minds, they've thought it but politely kept it there so as not to offend. Like that declaration could offend her, it takes a lot to offend her.

She had a voice like September, with a cadence that's not her own. She overwhelms, crowds you and pulls you in. She's always been like that, living on the edge. She drags you by the wrist and dares you to see the view. It's so easy to be enthralled and appalled by her all in the same breath. You can't help but hope she can be different; can be better but you know she's got this act down pat. Practice is hope's greatest enemy.

There's a recurring theme in fiction: The poetry of transformation of a beautiful woman who ceases to be beautiful. There's something poetic about her multiple tiny deaths. She could be that theme's poster child but then again, she's never been beautiful so in essence, she's just dying. There's nothing poetic about tragedy.

Oh but he loved her. He loved her in a way that can never be thought of as love, but to him, it was pure. He allowed her to push and pull him back. He let her under his skin and all over his senses. If ever he were to die from some inane accident, they'd find her all over him and under his nails, making her a definite suspect. Apparently, only she can turn an accident into premeditated murder.

***

"You'll be the death of me,."

"Then consider my job done. You've always been a frustrated suicidal."

"You think you're capable of murder?"

"I think I drove a couple of people into seriously contemplating offing themselves."

"Off is not a verb that you can conjugate."

"Well, isn't suicide an adjective? Or at the very least, a noun."

"Your grammar sucks."

"Your perception of what I am capable of is equally atrocious."

"You pronounce ten dollar words like a moron."

"You're anal and that's a compliment."

***

A woman walks out of the cafe they were in. Her fashion choices were interesting, if toucans were interesting.

"Wow. I wonder how long she contemplated on that outfit this morning..."

"Must you criticize everyone, Tim Gunn?"

"Hey, you wear something like that, you'd better be ready for attention."

"Apparently, she likes it so leave her alone."

"You have the knight syndrome." She states bluntly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He scoffs and ignores her. "She's not a damsel in distress, she's a dame in distressed denim that can be classified as acid wash. You can't save her from that."

"Yeah, but I can save her from you."

"Who's gonna save you though?"

"You'll be there." He states, with the same finality as she had earlier

She smiled.

***

To be continued...