Perspective: A Writing Prompt Response

A womans viewpoint:

Sheniah spun once round, falling backwards over the arm of the couch.

Her heart was content.  Warm.  Filled blissfully with hope.

Allowing herself to remain in the moments of elation, she rested her arm on her brow, watching the ceiling fan spin round and round.  The clack clack of the motor and dancing of the pull cords drawing her imagination to replay her date over and over.

His broad smile drew his eyes into crescents as he laughed gaily at the joke she shared.

“Asks the magician what he did with the boat.”  Mitch recapped the punchline, “that’s too funny.”

Sheniah rubbed her arm, feeling the familiar tingle of too much sun warming her skin.  “We should start back.”

“Sure.  Do you know what else you’d like to do?”  Mitch asked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts.

She bit her lip, “I don’t know, I probably should head home.”  Not that she had anything to do at home, but she hated making decisions that might cause someone else to change previous plans.  In this way, she thought perhaps she was being considerate of Mitch.

“Are you sure?  We could go bowling, see a movie, rent a canoe…”

“Those sound like a great deal of fun, but neither of us are dressed to canoe, neither of us have socks, and I can’t think of anything I want to see.”

“A woman as eager as yourself to shoot down three marvelous ideas with such reasonable excuses, must have plans for the evening to be leaving a man, such as myself, utterly bored with naught but video games to entertain myself.”  He used hand motions as he spoke.

Sheniah smiled watching him.  She was in love with everything about him.  One day, hopefully he’d be just as in love with her.  Maybe.  They truly seemed made for each other.

Clearly having chosen to go home was the wrong decision. Laundry and a stack of bills greeted her as she entered her home from the garage.

Sheniah began lightly bouncing her foot in rhythm to the fan, “You silly woman.  Bowling or something.” she chided, eying the basket of laundry on her kitchen table.

And now she would be bored and lonely the rest of the afternoon.  At least her imagination could coax out things to pass the time before she went to work that night.

Sheniah smiled, happy to know he might be thinking of her too.
—————-
A mans viewpoint


Mitch loved the way she smiled.  Her smile made his heart skip.  Sheniah was funny, intelligent, sharp witted.  And her figure was pretty great too.  Nicely rounded hips, perfect for carrying children one day.  Almond shaped eyes that widened when she was paying absolute attention.  That one lock of brown hair that always fell forward, no matter how many times she gently brushed it behind her ear.

Whenever she was with him, he loved to hold her hand.  It was soft and delicate in his grasp.

She was gentle, with a full heart and extensive mind.  He loved how she was passionate when she spoke about things that excited her.

Mitch admitted he was disappointed she couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon with her.  Nevertheless, he had a campaign to run, and his gaming buddies would be starting their mission in less than an hour.  Perhaps they’d get to go bowling or canoeing another time.

Grabbing a snack, Mitch turned on the gaming consol and relaxed his hands around the controller, making sure his headset was plugged in and ready to go.

Silent Shadows

It’s cold, and dark.  The shadows are long and I know the demon is waiting.

He’s stalked for years, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Once, I sat in a restaurant at a table full of friends, surrounded by four off duty cops.  The safest place I ever could have been, and yet every willing man in the room stared with that horrifying desire.

The demon stood by the soda machine.  Tall, ominous, draped in shaggy layers of black.  He had no reason to hide from me, why should he?  He stood outside my bedroom window waiting.  Always waiting.

Unable to bear his presence any longer, I left the table full of friends, and the four police officers eating, to run away from him.  Them.  Their lusts loudly resounding in my head.

In that moment, I decided perhaps prostitution wasn’t what I wanted after all.  It had been a flattering idea which gave my abandoned flesh purpose. Serve, submit, succumb, and never have to remember the name.  There were too many names it hurt to remember already.  Ones that promised to care.  Ones that promised to help.  Ones that failed.

I was the problem.

Needy.  They said.  Emotional.  Too young.  Too much.  Too smart.  Dependent.  Depressed.  Trailer trash.  A product of loveless marriage.  A ghost of an existence that wished even God could love me.  What could I do?  Where would I go?  Who would ever love someone like me.

Nothing beats the terror of knowing a demon has decided your fate for you.  The sensation an ice cold chill.  Panic overtakes you as their intentions manifest in other human beings around you.

All one can do is run, hoping you run the right way.  Easy enough to leave a safe place and end up in the wrong place.

The spirit didn’t pursue.  My “friends” didn’t ask why I left.  Nobody would have believed if I’d told them anyway.  Not everyone sees what I see.  Not everyone knows what I know.  And the ones who don’t believe silence with condescension.

I know the spirit lingers, I feel it for the first time in a long time.  It’s a shadow stretching, reaching.  Calling.

The Unholy Harlot

She was a clever girl.  But lost and succumbed to the darkness inside her.

On the outside a shining smile, true Angelic being who lived to love.

Inside asking the mirror, “Am I beautiful?  Am I usuable?”

Undercover of darkness, she gave others the boost they needed to make it to the next day.  Dark silent deeds only Night could comprehend.

A toy.  A play thing.  Lovely enough to tarnish, ugly enough to hate.

Recklessly giving into the desires.  Recklessly bound to others, giving them what they wished as they wished it.

She was a broken, frustrated shard of glass.  Her sins innumerable to count.

Somehow undesired by all who would treat her right, twisted and broken – settling for less.  Always so much less.

The Perfect One never came.  He never rescued her from the tower.  The dragon was destroyed, but the castle remained in ruins.  Never to be lit up.

A perfect little church girl.  Mary’s twisted unholy little Lamb.  All the answers on the tip of her tongue.  The perfect Youth Pastor protege.

Eyes, sullen, dark, outlined in shame.  Afraid to cut, afraid to bleed.  Wishing the inside would finally die like her black soul.

It wasn’t that she was evil.  Tainted?  Indeed.  Abandoned to play in her own imagination.  Creating beautiful things outside the confines of Reality.

Playing night and day, learning how to grow up.  Inside wishing she could just die.  Death must be better than all this.  Jesus loved her even if the others didn’t, yes?

Selfish, all desiring the same thing.  Giving it away to them one by one.  But only to a point.  The perfect tease.  The perfect wish. Just a taste to keep them interested, until finally she was cast aside.

The Neglecting One

Shush shush my dear, it’s only just your hormones

These silly emotions mixed up inside of you aren’t real, I promise

You have no reason to cry

No reason to faint

No reason to believe anything is truly wrong

Oh my dear, clearly he loves you, you know this to be true!

Look, you’re taken care of.  Everything is alright.  It’s always been alright.

Tut, tut, my dear!  It’s only your hormones raging into the night.  Women often confuse the emotions with reality.  Your reality must be slipping away.

You feel too deeply, you rationalize too much.  You think too long into things.

You’re not enough.  See dearest?  You aren’t meeting his needs.  So obviously he can’t meet yours.

Everyone else knows the Right side.  They’ll all smile and tell you how proud they are.

You’re delusional.  You’re reading it too deeply.

You’re wrong.
But….. am I?

Frailty thy Name is Forgotten.

Mesmerizing in a way once forgotten

Walking in newness of a life once down trodden

Back when fantasies were dreams left untouchable

Wondering if this pursuit is just as corruptible

All the waking endless nights keep passing

Each one void of Love and laughing

Empty staring, lost in the universe of thought

Seeing these things inside you have brought

Each one waiting for a second bloom to burst into life

Until someone stalks it with a pairing knife

Without water, each dead sapling has been cut out

Bulbs torn from sockets and planted take roots

Bright ideas sit stagnant too dull to reuse

And what shall we do with the drunken Sailor?

The one who sobs confusing funnel for strainer?

Bleary-eyed waiting for someone to make it right

Blot away bloodstains to make it shine bright

Sweep the crumbs up to save for later

It is all a game, and I am the only player.