The money was low, life was fast, and everywhere around us, the world screamed for change. We didn't know who we were or what we wanted, we were just living for the minute, too afraid of not letting go to even stop and hope for the best. Our parents condemned us, authority tried to stifle us, and God was probably laughing at us, but when the sun was on our faces and the music was playing, it was all alright. There was no stopping us. Life was golden, and we were going to ride the shockwaves of the new-age movement as far as their love would take us.
I remember the first time I saw her. The bands were playing in central park, nickel and dime’ing their way to a hot meal, and the girls, they’d all gather around and move their bodies like water over hot sand to the cordial embrace of the music. They didn’t wear a lot--none of us did--only the sweetest of flowers, and beads that glittered as bright as diamonds in the light of the August sun. I loved the way she wasn’t afraid to touch the other women as they swayed like gypsies to the sound of old guitars on the summer air. There was nothing frigid about her; no unrealistic barriers between her and the world. She was open to the love that we as the children of Mother Earth were ready to give, and there was nothing stopping her from embracing every last soul in that park as if they were the most intimate of her lovers.
I didn’t know what to call it then. I knew it was the summer of love, but I wasn’t entirely sure just what that word meant; only that it burned like fire when her cerulean eyes flickered my direction, driving the temperature sky high in my little world like the exhaust of a rocketship on a winter‘s morning. She was exquisite; colorful. Like a wildflower growing in a concrete jungle. Before I even knew her name, I knew that I had to have her.
She beckoned me up into the dance circle, but I was afraid. I was not as free of my own self-doubt as one would have expected a child of the flower movement to be, and the thought of moving so publicly, especially in the shadow of her halo, scared me intensely. Fortunately, she was not the type to accept my awkward expression, because before I could so much as take a breath of the sweet, smoky season air, I felt her hands on my wrists, and I was pulled into a mesh of bodies as the girls dance around me, carefree as a bird on the wind. They were beautiful, every one of them; a true likeness of nature’s beauty herself, and it was both exhilarating, and painful. I wanted to do them justice, I wanted to do myself justice, but more than anything, I wanted to do her justice.
Those left watching as the other women and myself danced had begun clapping, urging us on to bare our beautiful souls, but I could hardly hear them, too enraptured in my own experience. She swiveled her hips and turned her head, but her gaze never left me, and it made me feel special, truly special. I wanted to reach out and touch her again; take her hand like she had taken mine, but my body wouldn’t let me, so I simply watched her with all my energy, focusing on every dip of her body beneath the layers of beads that covered her, like a robe of pearls, cascading across pale skin. She reminded me of the ocean, I realized, with her sea-spray eyes and her warm, sandy skin, and lips that were full and pale and perfectly shaped, like delicate conch shells. For just that moment, I couldn’t have wanted anything more than to have her dance beside me. I felt like I was living on a fault line, and she was the trigger. All it took was those soft, pale lips turning up to smile at me, and it was then the ground shifted beneath me.
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Author's Comments
A contest entry for Roliana's Summer Prose contest. The stipulation was that I had to use the words 'temperature', 'wave', 'shell', and 'golden' at least once, and had to end with the exact phrase 'and it was the the earth shifted beneath me.'
AND I had to keep it between 500 & 700 words. So, that's the explanation if it isn't quite my usual feel of writing. I wish I had been around for the hippie movement. EDIT: THIS DEVIATION WON THE COMPETITION IT WAS ENTERED IN. GO ME! Comments
 i really like it, very sexy.
if i had someone like that in front of me i would of melted as well. -- Bones: I'm a doctor, NOT an engineer. Scotty: NOW you're an engineer. McCoy: How does that Vulcan salute go? McCoy: That hurts worse than the uniform. Bones: I'm trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin! McCoy: You're out of your Vulcan mind!  Very well done! Beautiful descriptions! <3
I do wish I was around for the 60s. -- I prefer to stare into the night sky But I can't stand the cold Hold me close Or I may become frozen And lost as a star into the night sky  zomg so hawt.
(Advanced enough for ya?) NO. D<
But it was hot, wasn't it? -- I'm a neutrois; I am not an androgyne. Please respect the difference. I prefer Ey (he/she), Em (him/her), Eir (his/her), Eirs (his/hers), and Emself (himself/herself). Indeed.
 Holy shit. D: Your imagery is so beautiful and I love that last line and the words you were required to use were used well and aaaurgh. So pretty.
I wish I was a hippie. :c  That was really well done, the description flowed nicely, it didn;t disturb the rhythm of the story at all. You captured the feeling of the era very well.
 I like this style; it's very flowing and you do it very well. You captured the hesitation of the narrator perfectly.
-- Run, neon tiger, there's a lot on your mind Thank you. X3 I tried my best, and I'm really pretty proud of it.
-- I'm a neutrois; I am not an androgyne. Please respect the difference. I prefer Ey (he/she), Em (him/her), Eir (his/her), Eirs (his/hers), and Emself (himself/herself). |
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