Children scampered around her legs, engaged in a game of tag that overruled the general laws of Etiquette. Their laughter was a tumble of shrieks and giggles, yelling names and the worst words they could think of.
Anna couldn’t find it within her to mind, her dress-skirt ruffling with the winds of youthful exhilaration. They donned masks of grueling monsters and witches galore, a tradition similar to Halloween, Anna was told. She had heard of the holiday before, having seen the candy marked at ridiculously low prices and the outrageously plump pumpkins popping up everywhere around her hometown, but her parents had never allowed Anna to participate. Something about it being too dangerously close to her condition? She was unsure, but felt it humorous the town would celebrate such a horrific death.
The drink in her hand was clutched more tightly as she wandered the pebbled roads, her cheeks on their own path to rosiness. There was no alcohol in her, a decision she was unsure of now, having seen the whole town in its stupor of excitement and excessive rowdiness. Yet, the night was bitterly cold with the reminder of those lost, and how the clutches of Death marks no man safe. A more adult drink would warm her up, she reckoned.
Slipping into the safe haven of a bar, she surveyed the selection carefully - embarrassingly aware of her sober state and her little knowledge regarding these types of spirits. In a last minute rush of fear, not entirely knowing herself in a tipsy universe, Anna gestured for the bartender’s attention and request a Long Island Iced Tea, planning to start off with something more known to her.
Tapping the person’s shoulder on the bar stool in front of her, Anna pointed at the empty seat next to them. It was a crowded bar already, bodies thrumming at their own tempo and combining together in a confused rush of sweat and glazed eyes, perhaps the person meant to save a seat for a friend.
The thunder rumbling outside matched the turbulent beating of your heart, eyes half lidded as you watched Michael in the kitchen. He had finally learned how to make a decent sandwich with your nagging and eventual guidance, a soft hum playing on his lips as he spread the peanut butter evenly. You breathed a lovestruck sigh as you gazed at your angel of a boyfriend: dark hair, day old stubble, large sweatshirt that showed off his perfect collarbones. The sudden urge to blotch that area came upon you, giving you the courage to put your arms around him tightly. He hums admiringly, the vibrations in his chest in sync with the present crack of thunder. “Something you need?” he asks. “You”, you sigh out unashamedly. The cool surface of the counter meets your thighs as you find yourself in contact with his lips, the kiss soft and smooth and warm. Hands wandering across pebbled skin, his fingers lifting your large shirt over your head. “I never want to leave you, never, ever, ever” is all he whispers before your lips connect once more, igniting a fire to warm the bleak afternoon.