Theft

I watched you today.

I watched a smile grow from your lying mouth and spread across your lying face. It never touched your eyes but he didn't notice. He was too busy with your breasts - hoping that if you leaned forward a little more he would glimpse more than the soft cleavage that was already on offer. His eyes glued to the young flesh that had been denied him for so long.

Did you know he loved me? I doubt it even crossed your mind. No one in the park would have known either, only seeing love spread out on a blanket along with champagne and my favourite chocolates. He never had much imagination.

As I sat watching you I saw your trick. A clever trick of youth that I can never compete with. I have long since worn the invisible cloak of fortyhood - lost to all in a kind of sexless fog. He felt the touch of that fog too and went looking for you.

Your theft has gifted me dark glasses and a park bench, and denied me a security that was mine by rights. I watched your lying eyes and know clearly now that you never intended to involve your heart.

In a few weeks, months, you will grow tired of your prize, discarding him for the piercings and tattoos that are age appropriate. He will look back then, realising that the bulge in his trousers has let him down badly and he will come for me. And there I will be. In the farthest corner of the darkness night he will find me waiting for him, ready to spit in his eye.

***

Also published here The Pygmy Giant

Once upon a time there was a small girl who grew up on a diet of fairy tales and fables. It was a happy childhood full of imaginative poisoners, granny gobbling wolves, and stupid princesses who got too close to spinning, pricking things.
As the small girl got older she searched in vain for the pea under the mattress and realised miserably that there was no such thing as gingerbread houses and no point in continuing to
kiss frogs
The small girl grew into a minx and longed for the days when knights in tights saved girls with impossibly long hair who had been locked up in towers by deliciously evil relatives.

So please, end my misery before the season of the red, fat man and ...

WRITE ME A FAIRY TALE

..and restore my belief that there are trolls under the bridge, there are such things as seven little men all living in one house, and that the temptress, Goldiwotsit, was nothing more than a small, blonde, chair-breaking thief!

Contributions of prose (up to 900 words) and poetry, will be gratefully received and will receive a prize of great value (Baba Yaga cut my tongue out for such lies).

You may find me in my turret at - innerminx at googlemail dot com