As Abigail peered through the banisters at her older brother and his friends and listened to them discuss the latest technological breakthroughs in science and the most pressing current political dilemmas, she wondered why she hardly heard young ladies murmur words like those, but then she laid her eyes on one of her brother’s friends – standing there like Michaelangelo’s David, only broader, and with better posture, and muscles you could practically feel with your eyes and, speaking of eyes, his were constructed of cerulean velvet that matched the color of the sky just after the last sliver of sun has tucked itself under the horizon, leaving only the memory of daylight swirled around in a vast sea of everything that is mysterious about night. Abigail twirled a piece of hair around her finger, speculated as to whether or not this specimen of a man had seen her – noticed her – and then her heart took in a poisonous concoction of love, lust and adrenaline that sent her whirling with urgency back to her bedroom to divulge every last detail of the man she had just witnessed on her diary’s hungry, anticipating pages.
Beautiful Distraction,