Wings of a Raven, chapter 5. “charcoal eyes”.
Chapter five from book one in my near future sci-fi book universe, 2028AD.
Outside the sun was sparkling brightly as the rays of light bounced around the world on the frosty surface of crunchy leaves and grass that was still too cold to leave the night fully behind.
And up in the towering trees above our heads, branches lived that had turned to popsicle like art and sculptured living in the brisk daylight on the barren trees that guarded the solemn sleepy streets.
In peaceful cold sleep before they slowly warmed, forming a long, straight line of ancient forest that together stood guard along the sidewalk with their crown of leaves reaching up wet and newly showered as to say hello and good morning to the warming sun and bluish skies.
It was a grand moment the quiet way the world said good morning each and every day as day replaced the night.
Indoors the waitress looked outside the tall windows as she reached without thinking for the biggest cup of coffee they had to offer, like a trained robot her delicate, feminine fingers with french manicure and rounded tips put the cap on top and clicked it in place with a smile as she handed one giant cup of black coffee over to the waiting customer in front of her.
The door opened to the outside world with the familiar but silent digital beep that only the countertop display and interior sensors kept track of as the customer nodded and turned towards his table or in some cases, went straight back out the door.
And through the momentarily open doors the tunes of street music waited eagerly, primed and locked, ready to launch its assault of pleasant rhythm and disorderly life, very much like a hymn of madness and pulsating organic messiness and today, those doors and the sky-high windows provided her with the subtle genius of “Machine Head” whom caught her bright mind as they kept churning away the almost nine minutes long “Sail into the black” and for a moment her spirit abruptly lifted and a sense of elated joy took hold of her mind and heart, dancing and moving as her beautiful head kept bobbing with the wild chugging of music as she handed the next customer their cup of coffee.
She was a mosh pit fan in disguise and a real metalhead through and through her beautiful girly chic presence.
[ a girly chic mosh pit fan in disguise.]
“Customer number 47 for the day” she thought to herself unless, of course, she had lost the count, which was a very real possibility and with a chuckle her mind took a detour as she thought of the never ending line of coffee being handed out as a string of pearls and swine’s romping around the globe, never ending, and always growing her imaginary metal loving pigs kept on head banging to Scandinavian death metal.
The line of pearls and anonymous swine’s danced through life in her mind, waiting their turn to worship at the altar of coffee and metal.
cup of coffee
and a smile
Her mad thought burst out of her sensual lips in a spontaneous laughter, almost making her spill the warm coffee all over her feminine hands and sculpted nails.
A voice pulled her back to the room, and there he was the wordsmith that had spoken out loud as he jolted her back to reality “One black cup of coffee and a smile sweet girl”,
She smiled a real smile this time, from her toes all the way to the beautiful caramel chocolate colored eyes.
“Coming right up boy”.
They had known each other a little more than six years by now.
And it had been an instant and magnetic attraction on all levels, sexual, intellectual, emotionally perfected, fulfillingly daring and free, and so much more that words just could not properly describe, at least not in the way it deserved to be experienced.
What they shared was open, free, completely uncomplicated and so utterly wonderful.
Something about him always made every fiber of her being come alive. And not just in that familiar sexually loaded way, but she felt at ease.
Alive and burning bright, happy, thrilled, turned on, calm, at home and wild, tamed and set free, all at the same time, like she was accepted and entirely enjoyed exactly as is and always would be, no matter where she was in life and personal development.
No matter what they talked about, no matter what they did or how her day had unfolded otherwise, his presence was ever there, in spirit, mind, body, and soul, even when he wasn’t physically around.
Ah, it is pure madness she thought as she laughed in the private space of her own mind, but it could be as mad as it wished to be because this was so right and so wonderful and unlike anything she had ever experienced before.
Most remarkably of it all was that she knew that it was entirely mutual.
She had always known that long before the first kiss ever happened.
In fact, inside her at times tumultuous mind she thought that as impossible as it was, he might even enjoy and love all that she was even more than she enjoyed him.
As he took the cup of coffee their fingers touched and a jolt of pure happiness and raw, unadulterated passion surged through them both.
With eyes all sparkly from the smile he felt inside he let his fingers trail hers for a brief moment as he silently ushered the words, “tonight?”.
Just as she was about to nod with anticipation, the radio buzzed to life all by itself and a scratchy old sounding recording full of static and noise screeched out into the waiting world.
The old radio
[ distorted borders. ]
“A canvas tent, close flapped and secure was erected and inside the tent ….. The smoke was thick enough to strangle an elephant, but Mason lingered around in the suffocating atmosphere for a full twenty minutes. He came out of the tent ‘as good as new’”.
They simultaneously laughed, as their eyes still held each other’s gaze, and the customer right behind her boy, looked just as surprised, as he spoke
- “That was odd?, I have been buying my morning joe from you for years and I’ve never heard even a beep from that radio before? Did you fix it”?
No, she replied to the customer and she agreed, that was truly odd, odd but fun, in a strange, strange way.
“I thought that old relic was dead and buried since long, forever long kind of.”
“A well, I guess, everyone and everything has a final hurrah in them. Even an old vintage radio like that one”.
The man nodded back, “I think you are damn right about that, we all have a final hurrah, you know, inside it hides in us all, yes indeed”.
And as abruptly as the broadcast had started, the radio went back to its dead silent radio tomb with a final eruption of white noise reaching out of its vintage internals, and with the sound abruptly imploding upon itself, the electrical light that had jolted back, illuminating its dials once again, like in yesteryears, faded out to black as well. And as it did, outside of mind and eye, like a stray thought, gone in a second, the coating and texture on the windows, changed ever so slightly, as if it decided to move just a tiny little atom for no particular reason at all.
Leaving the room reeling on wobbly legs, as if a ghost of electricity had turned around in its deep slumbering sleep, awoken for a brief few seconds before the mythical ghost of Sandman once again had pulled the blanket over its slumbering inaudible face.
Buy and own my book ‘wings of a raven’, or wait for chapter sixto show up here on ‘Beyond2c’.