19AD8 | A Short Story: Look
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A Short Story: Look

*This story is entirely a work of fiction*

I was looking sharp because I was on my way to take this girl out on a date. I got to her house and knocked on her door. There was no immediate answer so I rang the doorbell twice. I heard her yell from inside the house that she would be down in a minute and that she was just finishing getting ready.

I’m not really an impatient person, but I also try to make every moment as theatrical and memorable as possible, you know? A wise man once told me that the world is a stage.

So, I decided to knock on the door a little bit harder, so she could hear the thump and I said in a loud, obviously comical tone of voice, “Aye, Rapunzel let down your hair. How the fuck you expect me to climb up there, if you don’t let your hair down?”

I heard her giggling and she responded, “I told you I’ll be there in a minute!”

You know me; I had to continue the story so I said, “Bitch – let down your goddamn hair… how many times I got to tell you? The fuck I look like? I already had to swim across a moat and it’s hot out here and all these bugs is biting me and shit…”

After a few seconds she finally opened the door. She was looking really beautiful. She was just in her bra and her hair was down, she had a sincere smile on her face and said to me, “Aren’t you just the prince charming that I’ve been looking for?”

I looked at her in the eyes, real serious-like, then said, “I ain’t never been charming girl.” And then walked into her house with as much forced-swag as I could possibly muster.

She started laughing, closed the door and then said to me, “Oh yeah, you’ve never been charming? What about when we first met and you stopped me in the middle of the street and handwrote a poem for me? What do you call that?” Then she folded her arms with attitude and sass.

I was going to respond with some slick-talk but I was slightly mesmerized by the fact, on our first date, she was just standing there in her bra in front of me. I think she probably forgot she wasn’t even dressed. I remember thinking that I must be too damn smooth.

After some contemplation, I responded to her, “Ah… yeah, I don’t really remember that, or whatever. I just had some extra time and I don’t really like to say much, so…”

Then there was an awkward silence and she realized that she wasn’t dressed and got slightly embarrassed. So I continued to say, “So… are you going to let me take you out on this date, or what? Because I’ve got a few other digits I can call if not…”

She laughed, then put her hair up in a pony tail and said, “Oh… well aren’t you sweet, I’m glad to know that I’m first in line…. Yeah just give me a few minutes to finish getting ready…”

I took a seat on her couch and said, “I ain’t never been sweet… anyways, and since you look so nice maybe we should just stay here? I’m a chef you know… I chef real good.”

She smiled, walked over to her couch and took a seat next to me. She started nervously playing with her earrings and then said, “So what do you do anyways?”

For some reason I got a bit defensively fragile and said to her with an intense tone of voice, “I’m a writer. I’m the best writer alive, in fact I’m the only writer alive.”

She playfully pushed me and whispered in a sweet voice, “You’re a macho man I see.”

I’m not sure why, but for some reason I was still very defensive and said to her, “Look girl, I’ve got dreams… big dreams… you either want to be a part of those or not.”

She blushed. I guess I was striking the right chords within her, which slightly surprised me, but then she moved closer, gave me a kiss on my cheek then whispered in my ear, “Take me somewhere we can have a few drinks…”

I jumped off the couch and began to speak really fast, “I know exactly where to take you. You’re going to love it and if you don’t love it then you probably don’t or won’t love me. Know what I mean?”

“Okay, Okay, jeez that’s a lot of pressure.” She said and then got up and went to her room to finish getting ready.

In the meanwhile, I saw that she had a notepad on her living room table so I decided to write some poems on it her for her as I assumed she liked my writing.

After about thirty-five to forty-five minutes she walked out of the room and she looked completely stunning and was wearing what looked like an expensive gown. I realized that I had to change my plan up because I was just going to take her to a local bar, but with her dressed like that I didn’t want to be disrespectful, so I started thinking of some upscale, uptown places.

I nonchalantly looked in my wallet to make sure I had enough money (which I did have for once) and then I got up and said to her, “Okay, let’s go.” And I reached my hand out to her like a true gentleman would.

When I opened the door to lead us out of her house, there were 5 men holding pistols, aimed at us and they all said in unison, “Where do you think you’re going?”

She gasped and quickly hid behind me. I said a quick hymn underneath my breath and miraculously all 5 of the men backed up and began to walk away.

She looked at me slightly confused, slightly frightened, yet slightly amused then said to me, “Who are you anyways?”

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