Word of the Day – Emphatically

It was late in the afternoon and we lay together on a blanket spread out by the bank of the river. A young mother stood to our left with her son, both of them pointing excitedly at a family of ducks that had ventured out in fleet-like formation from the protective hideaway of the reeds. We could hear the little voice of the child as he carefully counted each duckling.

Other than that we were alone. A gentle breeze brought with it the first of the evening chill pressing light clothing against her skin. The sun, in the mood for seduction, made its way through the cotton of her dress and purposefully traced the lines of her body. Time, for a moment, stood still.

She smiled as I poured the last of the champagne into her glass and I could feel her eyes as she looked carefully towards me as if scrutinising my face for flaws.

“Brutus,” she whispered at last, “do you love me?”

It was a pivotal moment and one to be respected. It was a question to which the answer would remain forever etched into personal history. And so I paused momentarily and attempted to convey a look of romantic intoxication whilst I dug deep into my emotional stocks for a worthy reply.

“Absolutely emphatically,” I told told her with tenderness.

She sat up suddenly and pulled away from me. These were not, evidently, the kind of words she had been fishing for. I wondered, for a moment, if there may have been something wrong with my pronunciation. Something important that had gone missing in translation.

“What did you say?”

“Emphatically,” I repeated, “absolutely.”

I recognised my mistake in the shape of her eyes. She had been looking for something more spontaneous, more instinctual, more animalistic.

Not only her eyes, but her whole body had turned against me with contempt.

“What are you,” she hissed, “A fucking librarian?”

I jotted down these few words in response to Lizardin who, I must say, sounds about as cheerful as I do. But it is (I hope obviously) not directed at her and I’m not even sure if this is what she is talking about. So I post it on its own.

****

I didn’t drop by for a chat

For platitudes of this and that

*

I didn’t need to hear you cry

Or reminisce of days gone by

Or hear you speak of matters trite

Or tell of dreams you had last night

*

I didn’t need to touch your skin

Or what it is you hide within

I didn’t need to hear your call

I’ve never needed you at all

*

Don’t think that I am judging you

Not that I’m bothered if you do

For that is why I am not there

The fact is that I just don’t care

*

So kindly do not think me rude

If I prefer my solitude

It was only a sketch. Unfinished. To which he had intended a return with the aim of providing detail and a sense of perspective. But now it remained a rudimentary representation of her face and the rebellious strands of blonde hair that seemed always to have found a way of partially covering her eyes.

Somehow, though, a few lazy pencil strokes had conspired together to reveal in those eyes a sense of regret that he had always suspected but had previously chosen not to recognise.

Now that she was gone he realised that some things must remain forever incomplete. 

June 28, 2018,  Carrot Ranch prompt:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that is a sketch or about a sketch. It can be “A Sketch of a Romance”  Go where the prompt leads you to scribble

The Three things challenge took on an Oz theme this week with the words ‘mozzie’ ‘garbo’ and ‘bogan’. I chose to add a few more.

Many of you may have no idea of what I am talking about.

I hope not, anyway.

**********************

I’m living somewhere

Back of Bourke

Pissed as a fart

I’m out of work

Nowhere to go

Nothing to do

Outnumbered by

The kangaroo

Where crocs and spiders

Hunt in packs

Where mozzies bite through

Underdacks

No Nancy-boys

No poofters here

Just long hot days

And ice cold beer

I love me dog

I love me ute

I’d love a jillaroo

To root

But since she’s gone

On walkabout

I think it’s me

That’s missing out

For though that shiela’s gone

I’m sure

She’s banging like

A dunny door

A tragedy

Of bogan life

The garbo ran off

With me wife