.:. WitNit .:.: Fictional Fridays

August 20, 2005

Fictional Fridays

ilk has been ~~smart~~ ~~silly~~ kind enough to invite me to participate in this week's Fictional Fridays.

The rules are simple: use one or all of the images below and write a story of no more than 1000 words.

Here is my humble Femme Noir offering. Enjoy!

SIN CITY

She stood on the balcony of her Paris penthouse hotel room, wearing a sleeveless, black silk Louis Vuitton that stopped just above the inside of her knees. Her calves curved all the way down. I would have liked to have run my hands along those calves.

A black grand piano sat on a riser above the sunken sitting area. A bottle of Dom Perignon Magnum champagne, 1990 vintage, lay half empty on a glass table set on an oval base of solid green jade. A tall, fluted champagne glass lay on its side next to the bottle. A dozen yellow roses in a tall, intricately blown Crystal d'Arques vase framed the back of the bottle. A small card lay open beside it.

The room was lit by two candles on the table, flickering, almost burnt out. The ceilings were high, the walls elegantly wainscoted. Impressionist paintings hung cheerlessly above in shadows. A small fire burned in a classic Louis XV Versailles fireplace. It competed with the slight cold breeze oozing in low through the French doors opening to the balcony.

"I missed you in Egypt," I whispered.

She didn't tense in surprise. She didn't turn around. She couldn't have been older than 32. No taller than five foot four inches. Not thin. Slightly voluptuous, with dark hair pulled back, tightly woven in a donut braid. She stood slightly turned to the right so I could see the flawless curve of the silk directly holding her rounded breast. The nipple, feeling the cold air, pushed hard against the silk.

Her voice was deeper than I expected, earthy, rich, well-traveled.

"The Sphinx is in need of a makeover," she said. "And those pyramids? Just hollowed-out tombs. I don't appreciate life offering such an obvious mirror. I left three days early."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness. Just a hint of the weary traveler.

I loosened the buttons on my three-button jacket. I preferred Italian, wearing a black Armani suit, with a black Jersey rayon t-shirt and black Ferragamo Comodore slip-ons. I stepped closer. The Aubusson carpet was thick and soft, masking my approach.

"Paris makes for a much better rendezvous," I said. "A city of sin, a city of art, a city of romance and extremes."

Her ribs expanded with each breath. She wore a necklace of large white pearls. I could see a large brown mole on her right shoulder.

"Paris is ugly," she said. "The smog, the smug people, the dog shit on the sidewalks, the Eiffel Tower looking down like some pretentious hydraulic crane. I don't know why I come back here."

I removed a couple of Gitanes from a case in my lapel, lit both with a mother-of-pearl lighter, and drew in the thick tobacco smoke. I came closer and reached around handing her one of the cigarettes. She took it and placed it between her blood-red lips. She sucked in the smoke and slowly, casually blew it out over the city.

I placed one hand lightly on her shoulder. "I see you received my roses."

"They were lovely." She said it sincerely. I can always tell when they're sincere.

We smoked in silence. She stopped when hers burned halfway, dropping it on the balcony and stepping on it with her black strapless pumps. One of the two candles had finally burned out.

"There's always a place for a little more beauty in this ugly world," I said, flicking my cigarette out over the balcony, letting it drop to the empty street below.

I ran my hand down her arm, stopping at the elbow. "I can take you away from all this," I said. "There's no reason anymore to try to hide in the crowds. No need to wear any masks. No need to be anything they want you to be. Not anymore."

She turned toward me and I let my hand slip from her elbow, trace the curve of her back and rest on her other arm. She looked up at me and I smiled. We took in the look of each other's eyes for the first time.

"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, like it was the last kiss you were ever going to give a woman."

I cradled her head with my left hand and leaned over, bringing my lips to hers. She opened her mouth and lightly touched my lips. Hers were warm and soft and luscious. I pressed her body towards mine and kissed her deeply, smelling her champagne fragrance, giving her everything she wanted, giving her the last ounce of dying passion a man could give to a woman. A final scene of passion, tension, and romance.

The final candle burned out.

POP! A flash of light�

The bullet entered professionally just under the ribcage. But it missed the heart. She still had her hand placed in the small of my back. She was stronger than I expected.

She let me down gently, laying me back on the thick, soft Aubusson carpet. I could feel the warm blood flowing through the hole in my jacket. I let go of the suppressor-fitted H&K Mark 23 handgun that I held in my right hand. Only then did I see the small, snub-nosed revolver in hers. It looked like a Charter Arms 38 Special 5-shot. A nice woman's gun.

As my legs grew cold, I noted that she held the gun steady. I closed my eyes.

"I'm sorry, love," I heard her whisper into my ear, and I didn't doubt her. "I changed my mind. You haven't already cashed my check yet, have you?"

FINI

For other stories using the same pictures, check out:

Phoenix at Villains Vanquished.

Heather at Show Angel's Heaven.

TeaFizz.

silk at Ink Blot.

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Posted by witnit at August 20, 2005 12:00 AM