Today is Fiction Friday over at Write Anything I’ve not taken part in a few weeks, however, I could not resist today’s prompt which is as follows:
Fiction] Friday Challenge #200 for April 8th, 2011
Use this phrase “Looks can be deceiving” as your prompt of theme.
Short but sweet, something inspired from my novel and one of my favourite images from the graphic novel The Crow that I saw today. Those on my Facebook page will know what I am referring to. May I say, roses also play a part in my own novel, and have had great meaning in my own life. It seems at times, my life is one strange surreal novel, but I digress…here’s the story, hope you enjoy it:
The Red Rose
Looks can be deceiving, I scribbled that on my notebook, frowned and put a line through it right away, it was a rubbish line. I put the notebook away and sipped my wine instead.
‘You’re right, looks can be deceiving…’ said a man sitting in a darkened corner of the pub, only the reddish glow of his cigarette was visible.
‘I beg your pardon?’ I said turning towards him.
‘You heard…’ his chair scraped the floor as he stood up.
‘No, I just…wondered how you…’ I watched him walk towards me, he wore black, head to toe. His Cuban heels clicked on the wooden floor. Who wears boots in summer?
‘Hello Agatha.’ he pulled up a chair, turned it around and sat down resting his elbows on the back of it. A playful smile on his lips.
‘How do you know my name?’
He reached inside his leather jacket and placed a small card on the table.
‘That’s my business card….how?’ I said, my hands trembling as I read my own name on it.
‘You left it for me, don’t you remember?’
‘When?’ I said staring at him, something about those blue eyes of his.
‘Something about my eyes?’
‘How…do you..do that…’
‘You’re dribbling…’ he said grabbing the wine glass from my hand and placing it on the table.
‘Oh…’ I said seeing several drops of red wine over my white summer dress. I could not help but think they looked like drops of blood…
‘Remember…’ he said, reaching out to grab hold of my head with both of his hands. I gasped, feeling a shock, like static electricity course through me. He stared at me through his tousled fringe, the blue of his eyes appearing to darken.
‘Good night Agatha, the headache will pass, and you’ll remember…’
I watched him walk away, cigarette smoke hung in front of him like a mist as he made his way towards the front door and then he was gone.
My head was thumping, I grabbed my handbag and stood up to go when I saw what he’d left for me. There, on the table was a single red rose…