From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 10 Sep 2006 06:41:08 -0000
Subject: A Patch of Red (1/1) by ELLETHOM
Source: direct

Reply To: too_spooky_4u@yahoo.com


AYTHOR: ELLETHOM
TITLE: A Patch of Red
DISCLAIMER: Duely noted.
SUMMERY: A small piece 
of something.
FEEDBACK: Always 
welcome good and Bad
EMAIL: 
too_spooky_4u@yahoo.com

      He knows it is the middle of the night, not from the darkness 
that encompasses the room, nor the fading twilight knowledge that 
ruminates in his brain.  He knows it is the middle of the night 
because he always awakens here, awakens her.
	Not really an a wakefulness, nor an acknowledgement either.  
He rubs his eyes, more so for mere affect.  The dream left faint 
traces of her, dotted everywhere around his senses like a college kid 
gone mad with a highlighter in his psychology book.  He sees nothing 
in the room really, nor does he smell any unusual traces of anything 
foreign.  And yet, he smells her, her scent is everywhere, he can 
sense the crinkly red hair that he reaches for and longs to catch into 
his too long emptied hands--too long emptied of her.
	Fingers reach out, out reaching for his salvation, for a 
physical manifestation of the last scurried remnants of the dream.  
She was here, she is here.  She IS here.  Fingers stop halfway; a 
wayward strand of moon has found its way through the almost covered 
window.  The hair he reaches for is not red, nor crinkly in its 
existence.  The brunette sports a smooth coiffed of perfectly maned-- 
tamed hair.  She is control this who shares his bed, she is all that 
is of logic and quotient and perfectly proportioned persuasions.
	No wild theories here, no sanguine voiced dalliances into the 
wild and unfettered.  The brunette reserved the feral for the cats in 
the yard.  He wanted to let them in and see what happened.  She would 
have had each and every one for dinner, having filled one bowl of milk 
and clapped at their ravenous deportment.  It would have been a great 
time for all.
	Sometimes he took her out on purpose, shaking off the dust of 
his memories he would let her run free around the house for a few 
spare moments: a smile here, a tither there.  Even the moans and 
shudders of pre orgasmic delectations were allowed to roam the expanse 
for brief stretches, as if to take them out for a stretch to keep them 
fresh and new.  In truth part of him wanted to forget; to allow those 
memorizes of her to wither away and die like the prickly needles of 
that last Christmas tree that they had shared together.
	She tries not to invade his dreams too often, he keeps her 
locked away in a small box, tucked under somewhere between last years 
bank statements and the to-do list of yard work for the weekend.  She 
stays put mostly, being better behaved here in his mind then she was 
ever capable once set free.  He sighs here as he lets his fingers 
return to his side, careful not to wake the hopeful body next to him, 
the one that helps to keep the body buried under housework and career 
goals.  He turns to place his arm around her, this good vision, this 
perfect match to his wild pair.
	  He will sleep now, and place the red head back where she 
belongs, for now