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She had first seen him at the other end of Father Flanagan’s at Boatquay. Decidedly determined to nurse nothing but a cola in his elegant hands, his eyes shone like dark embers with sharpness and clarity in a room full of slithering slobs. Though dressed casually in dark gray and black, at six foot two with a striking jaw line that framed a strong long face, he tried in vain to blend in with the darkness of the anteroom.


With a tequila sunrise in her hand the same colour as the auburn hair hanging down her shoulders, she stood out like sunbeam in the middle of a darkened room. Elegantly draped in a red chiffon dress that flowed down to just above her calves, there was something mesmerising about the way she held her drink, while swaying slightly in her high bar stool.

At five foot four, and less than a hundred pounds, petite might be the first word that comes up in your mind. Yet, if you could look into her eyes – unapologetically dark and sharp, like rough coal waiting to be polished or to burn red in the consuming fire of passion – you might be inclined to agree that fiery would be a better choice.


She bent down to sip a drink from the glass she held in her long well-manicured hands. She turned her face towards him and her moist red lips glistened playfully in the ever changing shades of the disco lights. Her thin long neck seemed to play hide and seek from behind the red brown curls that tossed about as she sashayed.

His broad chest heaved under the heavy groan of the music that pervaded the room. He ran his hands through his tousled dark hair and gave in to a mischievous grin.

300 words. End of assignment 3.

Tomorrow, he might kiss her. Feel the tender touch of her lavish lips on his, as happiness exudes every inch of his physical being. Tomorrow, she might kill him. With a single sharp tightening of her scarf around his neck when he least expects it, she would listen to the bones break in a body that had defied fragility thus far. Or should it be the other way round?

A world of endless possibilities. Tomorrow is, after all, another day.

Posted in Fiction on February 20, 2007

2 Responses

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  1. Genius says

    Fucking brilliant stuff. [ I think my comment would sound like spam so I thought I’d write and let you know that it aint – I’m a real person – with a blog that needs to be anonymous ;) ].

  2. Surya says

    Thank you, Genius.

    I had been admonished, ridiculed, mocked and what-have-you that I had sold out to the genre of trashy writing – and it had taken quite some explanation for my “literary guardian” to understand my work, sigh. So I am super duper glad that someone “got it” – guess it takes a genius to .. ;-))

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