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Nickname: Avvy Age: 24 See My Complete Profile Technomancer and troubleshooter by trade. Programmer by choice. Creator of Deviant Paradigm, somewhat by accident. The Last Ten Flash is Still From Hell ------------ Merry Christmas to All ------------ Deviant Paradigm: State of the Comic ------------ Pants of Note ------------ Back Home for the Holidays ------------ State of the Comic ------------ In the Style Of ------------ Too Much to Ask For ------------ Always With the New Games ------------ Always With the New Editions ------------ Archives November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 July 2009 Favorites The Big Gay Post Natures Random Halloween Party: Images 2005 Deviant Paradigm Deviant Paradigm: Beware of Catgirl Semper Nox Noctis Semper Nox Noctis: Memoirs of the OverAlpha 1 Links --My Webcomic-- Blogroll -- Sapph's Blog -- Events Concerning... -- Jonathan and Luke's Blog -- Fear No Darkness... -- Jamie's Blog -- Little Green Footballs -- My source for political news !!Conservative Site Alert!! -- Random Webcomic
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Saturday, December 31, 2005
But I've Got This Feeling
That I Was Put Here For You I can just make her out through the haze of the bar. Her hair grabs my eyes and refuses to let them continue on their bored path around the room. Her hair's a bit dramatic, blond tipped with black, or brunette striped with red or orange or gold, but it seizes my attention. I can't help but examine her face. Her features are fine, hard lines balanced with soft curves, high cheekbones but not gaunt. Her eyes are unusual, a cat's vivid green, following every movement around her, or the gray of overcast clouds, which pick up every hint of violet in the room. Full lips draw back in a smile to reveal teeth carefully polished white. Something about them suggests that she might have just finished fighting away an addiction to nicotine, but they now sparkle in the light. Her mouth moves quickly, she's saying something, probably low and sharp, judging by the way all of her friends start to laugh. The sound of her laughter can be picked out among them, the melody to beautiful music. You can tell she is dominant, the way that she sits back but always has something to say, how everything is said to her, how her friends always listen to every word she whispers. She is an alpha among equals, leading when she chooses or when it falls to her. She's drinking something dark. Something bitter. It looks an awful lot like what I'm drinking now. Good beer. With a body like hers, the kind that gets described as "great." She's just a hair shorter than I, slender, the kind of girl I've always imagined holding on my lap. Her proportions aren't what many guys would go for, but my preferences aren't theirs. A new song comes on the jukebox. I know this one, I like it. Her ears seem to perk up at its cords. Does she know it too? Her eyes catch mine, and she smiles. Could she be smiling at me? I grin in return, hoping that she is actually looking. I can see the fire in her eyes. She burns. Perhaps that fire is tired of kindling. Perhaps the hunger in her soul is sick of appetizers. Perhaps I could be the main course. Perhaps I could burn with her. I can hear the Wolf whispering to me. Telling me that now is the time I should move, that I need to act immediately. That I should take what I want, what she's offering. And, for once, I want to listen. I agree. I want to act. My body seems made of lead as I struggle against it, trying to get up to talk to her. I don't even know what I might possibly try to say. Just as I stand, some guy walks up to their table. Tall, athletic, a blond mop tops his head. The kind of guy who has never felt loneliness, who has never even had to try to find a date. The kind of guy that I have never been and can not compete with. He speaks, she listens. They smile. I flag the waitress and sit back down. The night is still young and I have a lot of drinking left to do. You can't turn off that you're dead. ****************************** There, that guy, near the bar. The one with the brown hair shining gold in the light, playing with it like a puppy with a bone. I can just pick out his green eyes from here. But they're not just green. There's something else about them, something different. They shine brightly with intelligence and humor. And somewhere beneath them, you can see it. A fire burning. The kind that can burn and consume, but seeks to be banked by another fire. A fire looking for something just like it. I know what that sort of fire burns like. I know exactly. He's smiling again, and I can almost make his voice out against the din of the bar. He laughs. That smile and laugh were what first caught my attention. But the rest of him is holding it now. His bright white teeth are framed by a goatee, trimmed short with care. You can just make out the cleft in his chin through it when you look closely. His nose is a tad crooked, attesting that he hasn't spent his whole life avoiding conflict. His face is expressive and he gestures widely with his hands, every word a joke, every action deliberate. And his friends hang on his every word and deed. They defer to him, tell him everything. He's just there now, but you can tell, he could own the room if it came to him. The only reason he's not in charge now is because he doesn't feel like it. He's a leader. There's that certain feel about him. He's not dressed like everyone else. His style is smooth and tight. Black leather and blue sateen. Not everybody can do leather pants, but this guy looks natural in them. I wish I could pull off leather half as well. He's not a body builder by any means, but his clothes make it obvious that he isn't carrying around a spare tire either. He's drinking some dark beer, a man who knows what he likes and can appreciate darker tastes. His whole body moves with a scarcely contained energy. The jukebox starts playing a different song. This is one of my favorites. As I listen I notice him mouthing the words. Does he like this song too? He's looking over this way. Our eyes lock. My heart beats faster. I nervously smile at him. He smiles back, the light sparkling over his teeth. Was it enough? Will he come over and introduce himself? He's standing up. That's the cue for my sister's boyfriend to show up. And of course he notices me, has to talk to me. Dammit. Does God really hate me? I look around him. I can see the fire go out in the eyes of the guy at the bar. Dammit. You can't turn off that you're dead. Italicized lyrics from "I Have Been Right All Along by Armor For Sleep.
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