Yeah, I’m way early again this month, but I can’t do anything else with this story so I might as well post it.
Sometimes I fear my mind goes to dark places. For that reason, I try to steer clear of dark themes, yet they always seem to find me. Most of my adult fiction has some sort of dark theme, outside of my romantic efforts. This theme, for some reason, really spoke to me. Don’t know why. The day I really paid attention to what the theme was, I wrote the story below.
Just in case: you’ll see the word “ingenue”, pronounced (an – zhuh – noo) <– real phonics OR (on – zjay – new) <– my phonics, lol ;).
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The Nameless Ingenue
The nameless ingenue and the revered champion met on the dance floor, searching each other out like constellations in the night. They’d made it; together at last. She in her pearly linens clinging to her timid flesh that radiated with hope and unrequited passion. He in his clanging metals and silken coat, spread taut across his muscled form, pulsating with unquenched desire.
Their bodies drawn into one another, melting into gliding and swaying limbs. Their toes barely graced the sheen of the dance floor before their shoulders dipped into an unending embrace. Their lips pressed together in a tender massage, as though one was resuscitating the other. Their hands reaching and groping as though there were no other lovers sharing the dance floor.
When their lips parted, and their eyes gazed into each other’s souls, the ingenue felt something tugging at her heart. There was a subtle ache as she tore her eyes away, darting her focus around the room. Her eyes landed on a glass of Champaign with her reflection waving at her mockingly. She understood then, this is not how it was supposed to happen.
The nameless ingenue and the revered champion met on the dance floor, hungry to hold each other tightly. They’d made it; together at last. She in her white lace wrapped around her supple flesh excited to face her first lover. He in his coat of jewels and metals, sparkling with strength and confidence as he prepared to claim his prize.
Eagerly, she reached for the champion, desperate to offer him her body. Like a king at court, the champion accepted the gift of her flesh and squeezed it tight, shocking the horrified onlookers. Gasping in terror, the ingenue pleaded with her eyes and clawed at the vice grip around her body. The champion swept the floor with her dangling feet, forcing her into a deadly waltz.
Sniggering with ominous elation, the champion twisted red rings around the ingénue’s neck. The pain of betrayal sent her eyes reeling with regret and searching for understanding. With her eyelids slipping towards oblivion, she glanced at her dying body, reflected in a glass of Champaign. She understood then, this is not how it was supposed to end.
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The nameless ingenue and the revered champion met on the dance floor, eager to claim each other’s hearts. They’d made it; together at last. She in her borrowed white gown, hugging the smooth flesh of her supple body. He in his silk coat and achievement ribbons; his chest puffed in adoration and pride.
Eyes fluttering, and hands pressed against her heart, the ingenue waited for her champion to embrace her. Boldly wrapping his arms around her waist, forgoing formalities, the champion pressed his lips against his prize. Together the lovers embraced and savored the sweetness of passion fulfilled.
When they’d drawn a sufficient crowd, the ingenue raised her hand to the champion’s neck and stabbed him with a blade that had been concealed beneath her laces. The champions body fell limp and tumbled to the floor; shock and heartbreak distorting his once handsome features. Dancing lovers parted the floor, fleeing the menace radiating in the ingenue’s eyes as the blade in her hand raised and lowered again and again.
Surrounded by horrified revelers, an ache shot through her heart and she fell to the floor searching for understanding. Hands clinching the fabric over her heart, she tossed and turned, trying to shield her eyes from the violence she rained down on her lover. She caught a glimpse at her reflection in a half-cracked glass of Champaign and she understood. The ingénue understood; this is how it was all supposed to end.
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Huddled under the elegant cloth of the banquet table, the sister’s eyes sparkled with glee. With flushed cheeks and heaving breaths, she clutched the handmade ragdolls as though her life depended on it. The dark doll had been torn down the back, its stuffing of cotton and hair spilling onto the floor. She tossed the white doll, now stained with red wine, to the end of the table’s length and sighed in relief. She had enjoyed her playtime and was satisfied with the result of her game.
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FCA- 701-words- The Nameless Ingenue 2018 Copyright © Toinette J. Thomas
Well. That’s that. Did it feel like déjà vu?
Did it make you think of Puppet Master? (I kind of had that in mind.)
Too creepy; not creepy enough?
Please, take some time to read other stories in this hop. All stories should be posted by October 17th, but early entries arrive daily. Look for any name or link with DL next to it to enjoy a short story. I guarantee you will laugh, cry, be terrified, and more.
Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords
