The man with the striking green eyes.

This story was inspired by this prompt- http://theheartofwriting.wordpress.com/2014/07/18/photo-prompt-47/– from the Heart of Writing blog (which I recommend you check out ’cause it’s brilliant).

**This was a short piece that I wrote quickly because I felt inspired, it hasn’t been edited or the like, so excuse any errors. Hope you enjoy!**

The man with the striking green eyes.

Midnight. There was something about that time which evoked a magical almost dreamy state. The narrow street was silent but not eerie, and Tom walked with a purposeful stride, not fearing the shadows that stabbed out from the buildings.

A twinkling mass of stars were sparkling in the indigo night sky above, though they were lost to the illumination of the strings of lights that zig-zagged from the roof of one building to another all the way down the alleyway, lighting Tom’s path in an off-white glow.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring the feel of the few coins he had remaining; it wouldn’t get him far when called a cab at the main street. Still, he grinned, the night had been perfect and the money spent had been more than worth it.

Snapped from his thoughts, Tom flinched when a group of young men his age stumbled out of a nearby red-painted, plaster-crumbling building. They hushed their slurred words, though their voices still permeated down the once comfortingly quiet alleyway, and the corners of their discarded t-shirts were shoved into the belts of their jeans.

The gaggle of men swayed as they tried to navigate down the narrow street, their ankles threatening to buckle on the uneven cobblestone. Tom lowered his gaze to the ground and marched on, hoping they would pass him by without notice.

When the group parted around him, like a stream breaking around a rock, Tom dropped his hunched shoulders and let out a breath.

That was until one of the men gripped his arm and spun him round. Tom’s stomach lurched, unsure what was about to happen, the man’s sharp green eyes piercing down into his own.

Then the stranger planted his lips onto Tom’s.

The kiss tasted of alcohol, the remnants of the drink burning against Tom’s mouth and staining his tongue with a bitter tang. Tom’s eyes widened and he shoved the man away with a force that sent the stranger toppling backwards, only just able to regain his balance when he flailed his arms about.

“Dude, I’m not like that!” Tom yelled and then snapped his lips shut as a light in the building close by blinked on behind the shutters.

The drunken man shrugged, his toned torso flexing as he did so. “Shame,” he said and shuffled back to join his merry band of men, who hadn’t even stopped to wait for their friend.

Curling his lip in a grimace and shaking off the incident, Tom walked on, bowing his head against the accusing glare of the lights. After spending the night surrounded by bikini-clad women, being pounced on by some shirtless, male stranger was not what Tom needed.

Yet, as he made it into the main street, he couldn’t help biting his lip, savouring the tingle left by the kiss of the man with the striking green eyes.

 

 

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Unexpected Inspiration

Photo by Vizzzual- Flickr

Photo by Vizzzual- Flickr

Unexpected Inspiration- Inspired by a butterfly and, ‘Window with Raindrops’ by Vizzzual

It was dull and grey that morning, though it was only to be expected seeing as it was November. The previous night’s rain had soaked the garden, heavy droplets still slapping onto the patio. Emily tried to ignore the wet outside and even the chill that was creeping inside her room.

But it was hard.

Staring out of the square window was about all Emily could muster. Her energy was drained and her mind felt like a lead weight, no thoughts daring to emerge. She was about to give up on finding her new spark of creativity when something unexpected happened.

Through the small crack in the window Emily had opened, fluttered in a butterfly. It was large but still danced through the air lighter than a feather. Its dark wings flapped daintily, displaying splashes of red on top and an iridescent shimmer of purple beneath.

The butterfly hovered in the air in front of Emily for a moment, seeming to assess its situation. Emily was in awe of the creature. How was it even still around in November? It spun in the air and slipped back through the gap it had come from. Emily watched it go, the one flash of colour in an otherwise drab, grey scene.

Suddenly, Emily felt a flurry of inspiration.