fff#88

so this probably a new record for fff longtaking, but i playing a little because i think i need to, so it take awhile this rounds to write something i content enough with to share.

far from perfect but worth the exercise, for me; flash fiction friday #88 trigger: write of not/judging a book by its cover.

he wasn’ even remotely my type. not even a tiny, little bit wha’ i’s go for. usually.

this was a lingue redskin something. a long, tall caramel macchiato with greyblue ice in he eye. sugary finish but so obviously not sweet. a sharp cut cheekbone and a slice through one eyebrow suggesting fire under the ice. hand-span like a pro-basketballer and swag to match. not. my. type.

usually.

usually when a stranger i not on giving me current, i’s ignore. hard. me eh want nobody get the wrong idea and then is me-one fighting them off later. i know my size and wha’ mankind capable of and i eh need that battle.

but this lingue redskin something…

this lingue redskin something greyblue eye flick over in my direction and i nearly jump out my own skin. why he even watching over here? i just here trying to quietly kill time until my nex’ appointment, minding my own business, why he looking here for? i studiously look the next way. i not out here looking for nothing.

i stir my drink, check the time, again. i hate waiting. especially in public. this couldn’t be over fast enough.

and then this lingue redskin something fully watch me out the corner of he eye. this lingue redskin something fully watch me out the corner of he eye and one time i feel meself start to get warm. i feel meself get warm starting in my chest and the warmth spread up my neck to my cheeks and down to my belly, threatening to spread further, lower. i grind my backteeth and look straight down into my drink, thinking cool thoughts. calm thoughts. i try to picture cucumbers; cucumbers cool, right? but them cucumbers quickly turn from green to caramel and from fruit to meat and that eh work at all. i take a big gulp of my drink. what i feeling to do is dash it ‘way over my head to quench this rising heat. but, be still.

i there just trying to be still and hydrate and now this lingue redskin something turn to fully face me. even with my face insistently pointing into the dregs of my drink i feel he eyes, ice-lasers targeting the crown of my bowed head. and this lingue redskin something not looking away. and i cyah stare into my glass forever.

you might feel black people cyah blush but you would be wrong. and this lingue redskin something have me crimson, i swear, just sitting there trying to not melt completely into the puddle my insides already become. i dare not look up, or around, or anywhere but the bottom of my glass because i do not know why this lingue redskin something having this effect but i did not come here for this and need it to stop before i wet down the people and them good good furnitures.

i slowly raise my eyes. i eh know why, i so scared for two of we two eye to make four because if that only happen…

it does. and what i read as current before come like a electric shock now, swear them sparks people be talking ‘bout in stories actually fly, straight out my head like cartoon bolts, straight outta my head like my every coherent thought deserting me all at once, leaving me alone+unattended, unprotected, with this caramel macchiato stranger.

and as i cyah think and can only feel what was warmth then heat now a slow burn spreading through my nethers and my mind the lingue redskin something approach. and he approaching and my everything on fire but he greyblue eye cyah cool me and my glass properly empty and all my saliva run backward to come from between my leg and all i know is i surely about to embarrass meself if i only try+open my mouth and the lingue redskin something say,

“thorry, eh, mith, but you look thooo familiar…i know you from thomewhere? i over there watching you and wondering and jutht couldn’t take it no more and had to athk…”

…yeah, not remotely my type.

walk good.