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his pet 18+
He first saw her three weeks ago from across the street.
Sitting on a high stool in an ice cream shop, a band of sunlight crosses her bare brown forearm, being served an elaborate ice-cream concoction topped with synthetic syrup.
It was erected and brought to her by a pimply brute of a boy in a greasy bow-tie who eyed her — as she wore a simple white shirt with mechanical grease stains, shorts and red converse crossed at the ankles — with carnal deliberation.
She did not seem to pay heed to the boy's lingering form.
Malachi was enchanted at first glance.
He did not see her again for three weeks.
Their second distant interaction happened to occur as he walked past a mechanic garage. He saw her yet again.
"Olive!" A boy was yelling over the hood of an open car and his gaze followed the line of vision.
She rolled out from beneath a car, reaching for a cloth to wipe her grease stained hands.
Olive.
The boy was talking but Malachi did not hear him, all he saw was the girl.
Olive.
She wears a blood red shirt tucked into shorts, the front is stained with grease. She was short, perhaps a good five foot five, and of normal density.
For a second to him, her face was less pretty than the mental imprint he had cherished for more than three weeks; hollow cheeks, slight lentigo on her rosy rustic features.
A mane of thick dark hair tied at the crown of her head in what was meant to be a bun, but the end result seemed less of it.
She was all rose and honey. Desultory walk up to the boy, huff of cheeks as she blows a stray curl off her forehead. Her arms and legs were of a deep nut brown, with scratches like tiny dotted lines of coagulated rubies.
She was wan looking but sun-colored all the same.
Malachi watched her talk to the boy, the curve of her mouth, stray hand that rises to scratch the back of her ear.
A nervous tick, he supposed, and it was cute.
Olive laughed at something the boy said, head thrown back, arms crossing over her chest in shyness. It was amazing how much he knew of her actions with only two meetings; how predictable she was. Possibly...
Sitting on a high stool in an ice cream shop, a band of sunlight crosses her bare brown forearm, being served an elaborate ice-cream concoction topped with synthetic syrup.
It was erected and brought to her by a pimply brute of a boy in a greasy bow-tie who eyed her — as she wore a simple white shirt with mechanical grease stains, shorts and red converse crossed at the ankles — with carnal deliberation.
She did not seem to pay heed to the boy's lingering form.
Malachi was enchanted at first glance.
He did not see her again for three weeks.
Their second distant interaction happened to occur as he walked past a mechanic garage. He saw her yet again.
"Olive!" A boy was yelling over the hood of an open car and his gaze followed the line of vision.
She rolled out from beneath a car, reaching for a cloth to wipe her grease stained hands.
Olive.
The boy was talking but Malachi did not hear him, all he saw was the girl.
Olive.
She wears a blood red shirt tucked into shorts, the front is stained with grease. She was short, perhaps a good five foot five, and of normal density.
For a second to him, her face was less pretty than the mental imprint he had cherished for more than three weeks; hollow cheeks, slight lentigo on her rosy rustic features.
A mane of thick dark hair tied at the crown of her head in what was meant to be a bun, but the end result seemed less of it.
She was all rose and honey. Desultory walk up to the boy, huff of cheeks as she blows a stray curl off her forehead. Her arms and legs were of a deep nut brown, with scratches like tiny dotted lines of coagulated rubies.
She was wan looking but sun-colored all the same.
Malachi watched her talk to the boy, the curve of her mouth, stray hand that rises to scratch the back of her ear.
A nervous tick, he supposed, and it was cute.
Olive laughed at something the boy said, head thrown back, arms crossing over her chest in shyness. It was amazing how much he knew of her actions with only two meetings; how predictable she was. Possibly...
