05 May Quarantine and Chill: Chapter Ten.
This is a Science-Fiction Story and a complete work of fiction, meant entirely for entertainment. I write these stories as writing practice.
The next morning:
I woke up and saw her lying naked in my bed next to me. I yawned as loud as I possibly could in hopes of waking her up. I am certain that I sounded like a caveman that hadn’t learned to speak any sort of language yet.
She got startled, sat up in my bed and groggily said, “What the fuck kind of yawn is that?”
I pretended to sigh with annoyance, “Aw shucks… it looks like I woke up next to my mistress, yet again.”
She started to get tempered, “You should feel lucky that you even got lucky with me.”
I eyed up her body, contortioned with sultry motives as she lied back down on my bed. I had to act like a champion so I said, “So why was I winning you then?”
She squinted her eyes at me while she tried not to smile, “Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t talk to me like I’m sort of possession or item that you can ‘win.’”
I continued on with my macho man antics, “So why were you getting flirty with me at 1:30 after I was done winning you then?”
She seemed to be dumbfounded by my sheer stupidity. She playfully slapped me in the face and said, “You’ve got to be the stupidest man that I have ever met.”
I got out of the bed, walked over to the shirt that I wore the night before, took my notecard out of the front pocket and added another tally mark.
She rolled her eyes as she seductively wrapped herself in the covers and innocently said, “I thought you said you were also a Chef? Where’s my breakfast in bed?”
I stretched my arms in front of her so she could clearly see my anterior deltoids flexing, “You be getting thottie when you saw that I’m most likely the real-life Hercules.”
She picked up one of her high heels from off of the floor and threw it at me, “Talk stupid to me one more time and see what happens to you.”
I pretended to be childishly vulnerable, “Why are you so quick to behave violently towards me?”
She jumped out of bed and started chasing me downstairs into the kitchen. Slightly out of breath I gave her a quick kiss on her lips and then said, “What do you feel like eating? I only know how to make cereal and toast.”
She laughed, “You don’t make cereal, you just put it in milk… I feel like you’re being cheapo-style with me.”
I replied real suave like, “I thought you said that you’re a cheap date?”
She cunningly responded, “First I’m only your mistress, now you suddenly want to start dating me, after only a single evening with me? I must be good.”
I looked her body up and down like I was weighing my options, “Eh, I’ve had better.”
She pointed at me like she was trying to direct momentum of sass into my direction as she said, “That’s a lie. After I was done with you, you slept like a baby.”
I found a piece of paper on the counter and I started to write a poem. I then walked over to her and placed it in her bra as I said, “Woman, my tip got you tipped over and tilted like you ain’t ever been treated before.”
She blushed, the type of warm blush where it’s rosy at the top of her cheek bones, “Don’t think that your syllables and word play are going to get me hot and bothered.”
She took the note out from her bra, read it and then softly spoke, “Finally a poem from you… I’m going to go upstairs and change, when I get back down here you better have breakfast made.”
She left the room and I ignored her request. I walked back into the living room and started to look through more of the leather-bound notebook.
I found myself paying the most attention to one particular sketched candle, as it was the only one that depicted the candle completely melted down. Thus, I was unable to read the message. Its presumably best to always start with the irregularities, the anomalies, when trying to decipher or find a recognizable pattern. Understanding the variables ultimately leads to the distillation of the source; the underlying fabric of foundation.
I started to think that maybe the sketches were in some sort of chronological order. That perhaps they were trying to tell some sort of story. Why would only one of the candles be melted down? I kept asking myself that and much to my unfortunate demise, I couldn’t immediately find an answer.
Then I started to think about why they were even candles to begin with. Why not use images as robust as Egyptian hieroglyphics? As I wondrously pondered, I began to hypothesize that the use of candles was most likely to offer a sense of symbolism.
Symbolism is not often correlated to storytelling, but sometimes correlated to understanding specific eras.
Each candle could potentially represent a concise moment in time. If a candle was used to represent a temporal time frame, then that must mean certain moments could be re-visited. I was starting to feel like I was getting somewhere with my observational diagnostics when all of a sudden I heard her yell for help from the upstairs bedroom.
*To Be Continued In Chapter Eleven.*