What Maria Wants...
She looked as solemn as a nun when she asked me which lent additional shock or maybe surprise to the inflection of my response, which was,
"What do you mean, ‘make you cry’?"
"Make me cry," she said with a pleading that I’d never heard from her before.
It was strange coming from her... like seeing my grandmother flaunting cleavage or something.
I didn’t question any further as I knew Maria never asked for anything unless she meant it.
My backhand connected to her cheek and spun her head around, throwing her off balance and into the glass coffee table.
The shattering crash swallowed... and then consumed... the sharp sound my backhand had made against her cheek, rendering it completely insignificant.
Godzilla Meets Bambi.
She was crying alright... sobbing... soundless, but I could see her body shaking with them... the sobs... every movement creating the delicate sound that glass clinking against glass makes.
A bloody wind chime all over my living room floor...
Turning her face slowly up at me, she whispered, "Thank you..." her eyes fighting opening as if she was awakening under a blinding light.
I saw her tears were mixed with blood and glass. Her eyelashes sparkled with it all.
"You’re welcome," I said.
submitted at 9:53pm
1 May 2009