The image is Beautiful Eyes, digital artwork by David Ridley, uploaded to www.fineartamerica.com on November 5th, 2012.
Eyes
The distorted intercom outside the liquor store plays Christmas carols in the rain. The storm isn’t threatening, just that it doesn't ease things, you see.
I haven't had a drink in 7 months, and if I gotta listen to "Oh, Come All Ye Faithful" one more time, I'm breaking in.
There are lines not to be crossed. Tonight, I crossed at least two them. The rain is cold, but manageable. Besides, I got nowhere to go. The parking lot is too well lit, and my better judgement would guide me from being seen. Plus, the other direction there are two dead bodies, one I can’t stand to look at up close just yet.
The girl was 17, but who would know these days? She was built like 25 and, well... I’ve always liked red heads. Her perfume was terrible and sweater full of static, but she turned me on like I haven't been in years. Her skin, soft like a dream, her eyes, somehow knew me. I mean, they spoke directly to me. Who can look away from that?
Thing is, I had no idea her dad would show up at the theater. Hell, he dropped her off to meet my son, who spent the second half of the film playing Street Fighter next door at the video arcade. But there was an emergency, her mother had been hurt in a car accident, and he came to pick her up on the way back to the hospital.
The movie was a shitty horror flick with overworked actors, yet the makeup and special effects were phenomenal, kept my attention anyway. The girl fell asleep on my shoulder, bored with the film and abandoned by my son, only 15, who felt dumping gold tokens into countless games for the night was a much greater trade. Boy, was he wrong.
The red haired girl, awakened by a high pitched scream on screen, bumped her head on my chin rising up. We laughed about it, but I was struck by her in more ways than one, dead still. I can't explain it, as if her very eyes pulled at my heart strings. I can only describe to you what happened next.
We kissed, not a kiss of cheap lust and sexual intrigue, but a kiss of lovers. Like no woman has ever kissed me, teasing and pushing me back with her lips. She dropped her hand to the crouch of my Levi’s and I didn't stop her. She had me. I would've given her anything.
We must've been deeply involved, because when I turned there were lights from phone cameras on us, and him, her father. The look on his face was murder. No use in explaining things, he tasted blood, still, I wasn't about to give him mine. I rose from my red plush theater seat to face him, the girl curled into hers, ashamed.
I wasn't angry, I wasn't embarrassed, and I wasn't afraid. There was no time for that. He tried to strangle me, but I jabbed him in side like lightning. He fell too quickly for a hero. I ran out the exit and to my son at the arcade. I came to door and yelled for him to come right away, we had to leave fast.
It should've been over and done, but by the time we made it to the car, the father had unearthed a pistol from somewhere and began firing at our heads. Did he know my son was with me, and did he care? I covered him best I could and laid him in the floor of the back seat before driving off. We passed through the neighborhood and I couldn't think of what to next. It didn't matter if I was in the wrong. I had to protect my family. Good thing I had a gun too, and had trained my son to shoot since 12 years old.
I parked behind the store, leaned its brick wall in plain sight, and told my son to stay low, and when it was time, to kill the man who meant take my life. No need to feel bad about it, I said, to hesitate would mean my death. He had the element of surprise on his side, after all.
My son was a great shot, even better than me at times, but so was he. They fired at one another until they were both dead as Lincoln. Who knew they would go out in such a blaze, two warrior spirits, dying for nothing?
Now, it's just me, waiting for the cops and ambulances, I guess. I didn't call anyone, but I'm sure the shots were heard. It’s taking much longer than I thought, though. I wonder what her eyes saw in me. Guess I'll be drunk when they get here.
Written by Mr. Fluid, 2016
