Beyond the Pink Door con’t
Get comfy-here we go into part 2 of the Pink Door. If you missed part one click here first.
The feel of weathered metal, the anticipation of the unknown and the sound of her breath hot and damp filled the space between her ears. Her hand began to tremble as the creaking door inched it’s way to an open stance. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. The smells were faint but somewhat familiar. A scratchy voice beckoned her to a back corner, softly bathed in a crystal glow.
One foot in front of the other, slowly making her way to a soft velvet chair. She looked into the face of deep character and darkened eyes. The gesture of a hand and the mumer in voice caused this woman to lend her palm for further examination. Words fell to a whisper as her eyes became fixated on the pale pink lips that had lost their supple shape. Her ears burned as the passionate tales of an old soul and her lover swirled round and round until her mind was full and half a day was spent. The essence of vanilla bean and dark cocoa lingered as insightful words trailed off and the light of day pierced her eyes. She squinted and took a deep breath of smug city air with a sigh of relief. This act of poor judgement and indulgence of curiosities had not caused her demise, in fact it was a pleasant way to pass the time. But now the light of day was falling and it was time for her daily transformation to commence. Just as she began to remove the pointy red shoes it happened. Her exit from the city was blocked. An unfortunate accident had closed off the freeway and forced her to detour from route.
With eyes like saucers and a heart beat that threatened to leap from her chest she noticed the similarities to the tales that were spun all afternoon. The afternoon’s images, so intricately described, began to unfold right before her. She passed the lemon tree which sat on a corner just past a white picket fence that contained a small child in blue cotton dress, chasing her tiger striped kitten. Just past the lemon tree was a familar old man walking his dog, the very same black and white dog described to her earlier that day. He was pointing to a drive just a few feet ahead. This drive led to a diner with a Moroccan blue door just like the shack that the mysterious old soul had described as the place where she met her “true love”.
The car swirved off the road and parked right up front. She entered the diner and took a seat on a stool at the counter. While enjoying her second cup of turkish coffee she noticed the essemce of vanilla and the bitter taste of dark chocolate lingering on her tongue. A chill rolled down her spine as the burn of a stare on the back of her neck quickly stole the moment. Slowly, very slowly, she turned to engage the eyes that remained so intently focused on her shape. Her chest tightened as her throat let out a tiny gasp. The dainty cup filled with her delightful brew fell to the floor and shattered the silence. Those eyes, those hauntingly beautiful eyes, that hair, that dark wavy hair…
Don’t miss the conclusion of this tasty little tale coming very soon. I think I’ll go grab myself a dainty cup of coffee. Cheers…
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