Death at Dinner
Here they sat in remanded silence where she loved him a little more and he hated her a little less. Her lips weren’t wriggling like earthworms in the rain anymore. It was now that her mouth was open and her words no longer seemed to vaporize penetrating his every pore. Those vacuous spaces between words and teeth would not surpass his anticipations. At last the wonder and awe uprooting whistles of her enunciating ess after ESS had ceased.
He remarked on her perfect nose and she just sat there taking the compliment like a champ. Her smile, denoting approval, was the accessory garnishing this all too perfect structure. He wanted to have children with her to see what kind of creatures the two of them would make. Genes like hers were the pristine foundations of fashion models, dictators, and serial killers. His didn’t have much to offer aside from a family history of being imaginative, cruel, and emotionally distant.
Her eyes were like the sun, moon, and stars shining dominance over paradise. The valleys beyond cheekbones invited tender kisses and evenings of blushing until they bruise. Her crown was adorned with perfect ears to perfection as the cooling night to desert heat. Her wisps of auburn hair entwined knots in his intestines and a produced premonitions of the voracious rapations she had for all that he was.
“I bet she fucks like a gazelle on meth” mentioned one of the wait staff out of earshot. His co-worker was filled with a mental image of blood spattered torsos, of upturned bushels of leaves, of nothing relatively near what his eloquent associate meant. “Yeah” he managed to spurt out of revulsious confusion.
“So?” she started the conversation again after a brief venture into her glass in search of ice. This betrayed her inherent sexual frustration and interest in getting him to do something other than smile awkwardly from across the table.
After that brief reprise he decided that he quite liked her talking. He no longer minded the thought of drowning in the inundation of inanity she expelled. He preferred to drown over suffering through the weight of her beauty now bearing on his soul. Bright stabbing sparkles of wishful thinking and starting over were now filling his head. This was followed by an all encompassing dread that their meeting was about to end.
“So?” she said again with perfect lips and perfect ess whistling clarity.
His monocle of perception converted his whole field of vision into a brighter hue. Everything was warm and fuzzy. The background now muted and the earlier evening a distant memory. All that presented before him was this perfect pitch beauty. His eyes began to sink like dead weights in an ocean of tears which was held back by his eyelids frantically trying to tread water. The strain of her infectious beauty bearing in on him was too great and he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Are you O.K.?” she asked him while raising her hands to her mouth as if to grasp at those utterances; never allowing them to escape to the light of day.
He was now trembling before her like a gazelle the day after a meth fueled sex rampage. He was sitting in a field of upturned leaves feeling like a prison rape victim with no recourse. Her gaze was inescapable and warmth of it was like suffocating while having his heart crushed.
His eyes rolled back as he collapsed from his chair. Blood poured from his torso and his lips shivered like worms in the rain. His final sight was the sun, moon, and stars quizzically horrified at the dinner knife he used to escape them.
She called the wait staff for help.