(***read this while listening to Os Mutantes - 'Le Premier Bonheur Du Jour')
Ana was standing in the cereal isle, the red reflection of the boxes illuminating her face. Her wavy brown hair held a natural brilliance, unscathed by the fluorescent lights of the supermarket. She was wearing tight jeans, an Ian Curtis t-shirt, and a slight slouch on her left side due to the full basket of blueberries and pasta sauce.
Richard watched as Ana decided carefully between the several boxes of cereal. He pretended to hold an interest in a carton of crackers, using his peripherals to watch as she gracefully reached up to pluck a single box from the shelf. From afar, Richard examined her—the frailty of her structure, the poise of her stature, the softness and beauty of her skin. Richard longed to be near her, to smell her, to touch her.
Richard collected all of his necessary items on the list in his journal. Afterward, he stood in the magazine isle for about 45 seconds, perusing through the latest issue of 'Rolling Stone'. After this, Richard walked to the check-out counters.
There were only two check-out isles open. Richard had noticed Ana in one lane, but felt shy and unattained and quickly ducked into the second open line. Richard waited behind three elderly women. Each of them, it seemed, accompanied a shopping cart topped to the brim with prune juice and carrots, with its underside overflowing with cat litter. Richard held his things in his basket and waited for the line to recede. Richard watched as Ana payed for her items and proceeded through the automatic doors.
Richard saw Ana from across the fruit isle at the supermarket. Ana was examining the various bruises on the gala apples in a bin. Richard noticed her hair and skin--they seemed radiant today, being perfectly presented in the natural light produced from the window to her right.
Richard pretended to be interested in a piece of kiwi fruit before mustering up enough courage to finally introduce himself to Ana.
Richard's palms were sweating, his neck was pulsating, which he could feel beneath his tightening collar. He made his way through the fruit isle and to Ana's side.
“That one looks bad.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh. Umm, I just said that one doesn't look too good.”
“Oh”
“How about this one?” Richard picks up an apple from the bin and presents it to Ana. Ana takes the apple from Richard and puts it into her fruit bag. Ana smiles at Richard
“Thank you.”
Richard smiles at Ana.
At dinner, Richard fiddles with his thumbs, twirling them around one another and pushing them together in various motions. Richard is nervous.
Richard admires Ana's neck from under her string of beads. He admires her shoulders under her black dress.
Richard and Ana sit in silence for about two minutes until the waiter arrives with their food.
Ana says something about the food looking good.
“So what is your favorite kind of music?” Richard stumbles with his words. “That was a very generic question, I am sorry. You don't have to answer.”
Ana giggles.
Richard smiles.
At Richards apartment, Ana sits quietly on his couch with her hands folded in her lap, observing the various figurines on the table in front of her and the books on the shelf to her right. Richard tends to the music selection on his turn-table.
Richard turns the volume low on some classic jazz, like John Coltrane or someone.
Richard sits down on the couch besides Ana. Ana's hand falls onto the couch between them. Richard carefully places his hand onto hers and they look into each other's eyes for what feels like a century.
Richard moves his head slowly towards Ana's until finally their lips meet. As he kisses Ana, Richard takes in her taste, her smell, her everything.
“I'll be right back.” Richard gets up from off of the couch and makes his way towards his bedroom.
Ana sits on the couch, patiently awaiting Richard's return. Ana is grinning. Ana is happy.
Ana smiles while she examines the book on the coffee table in front of her. She is trying to decipher the words on the page, but is far too preoccupied with the thought of what her and Richard have suddenly become. Ana thinks about all of the things they will do together; they might walk to the park, and swim in the ocean, and take baths together while listening to 'Simon & Garfunkel'.
Ana sits back into the couch. She is overwhelmed with the thought of breathing. Her eyes become red, fixated on the television in front of her. In the reflection of the dark, blank screen she can make out the shape of a human figure standing behind her, which she can only assume to be Richard for the time she is conscious. Her fingers struggle to loosen the cord around her neck.
Richard tightens his grip on the metal cord until Ana's body is still and lifeless.
Ana's arms dangle at her sides, falling onto the couch cushions like two rabbits given to the slaughter.
The fragrance of his carefully prepared dinner travels from the kitchen and throughout the entirety of his apartment. The apartment smells like Thanksgiving Thursday. Richard readjusts his posture at the dining room table. He remembers Ana—the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way her legs moved when she walked. Richard remembers Ana and carves himself the first piece of meat from the slab in the middle of the table.
Ana was standing in the cereal isle, the red reflection of the boxes illuminating her face. Her wavy brown hair held a natural brilliance, unscathed by the fluorescent lights of the supermarket. She was wearing tight jeans, an Ian Curtis t-shirt, and a slight slouch on her left side due to the full basket of blueberries and pasta sauce.
Richard watched as Ana decided carefully between the several boxes of cereal. He pretended to hold an interest in a carton of crackers, using his peripherals to watch as she gracefully reached up to pluck a single box from the shelf. From afar, Richard examined her—the frailty of her structure, the poise of her stature, the softness and beauty of her skin. Richard longed to be near her, to smell her, to touch her.
Richard collected all of his necessary items on the list in his journal. Afterward, he stood in the magazine isle for about 45 seconds, perusing through the latest issue of 'Rolling Stone'. After this, Richard walked to the check-out counters.
There were only two check-out isles open. Richard had noticed Ana in one lane, but felt shy and unattained and quickly ducked into the second open line. Richard waited behind three elderly women. Each of them, it seemed, accompanied a shopping cart topped to the brim with prune juice and carrots, with its underside overflowing with cat litter. Richard held his things in his basket and waited for the line to recede. Richard watched as Ana payed for her items and proceeded through the automatic doors.
***
Richard saw Ana from across the fruit isle at the supermarket. Ana was examining the various bruises on the gala apples in a bin. Richard noticed her hair and skin--they seemed radiant today, being perfectly presented in the natural light produced from the window to her right.
Richard pretended to be interested in a piece of kiwi fruit before mustering up enough courage to finally introduce himself to Ana.
Richard's palms were sweating, his neck was pulsating, which he could feel beneath his tightening collar. He made his way through the fruit isle and to Ana's side.
“That one looks bad.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh. Umm, I just said that one doesn't look too good.”
“Oh”
“How about this one?” Richard picks up an apple from the bin and presents it to Ana. Ana takes the apple from Richard and puts it into her fruit bag. Ana smiles at Richard
“Thank you.”
Richard smiles at Ana.
***
At dinner, Richard fiddles with his thumbs, twirling them around one another and pushing them together in various motions. Richard is nervous.
Richard admires Ana's neck from under her string of beads. He admires her shoulders under her black dress.
Richard and Ana sit in silence for about two minutes until the waiter arrives with their food.
Ana says something about the food looking good.
“So what is your favorite kind of music?” Richard stumbles with his words. “That was a very generic question, I am sorry. You don't have to answer.”
Ana giggles.
Richard smiles.
***
At Richards apartment, Ana sits quietly on his couch with her hands folded in her lap, observing the various figurines on the table in front of her and the books on the shelf to her right. Richard tends to the music selection on his turn-table.
Richard turns the volume low on some classic jazz, like John Coltrane or someone.
Richard sits down on the couch besides Ana. Ana's hand falls onto the couch between them. Richard carefully places his hand onto hers and they look into each other's eyes for what feels like a century.
Richard moves his head slowly towards Ana's until finally their lips meet. As he kisses Ana, Richard takes in her taste, her smell, her everything.
“I'll be right back.” Richard gets up from off of the couch and makes his way towards his bedroom.
Ana sits on the couch, patiently awaiting Richard's return. Ana is grinning. Ana is happy.
Ana smiles while she examines the book on the coffee table in front of her. She is trying to decipher the words on the page, but is far too preoccupied with the thought of what her and Richard have suddenly become. Ana thinks about all of the things they will do together; they might walk to the park, and swim in the ocean, and take baths together while listening to 'Simon & Garfunkel'.
Ana sits back into the couch. She is overwhelmed with the thought of breathing. Her eyes become red, fixated on the television in front of her. In the reflection of the dark, blank screen she can make out the shape of a human figure standing behind her, which she can only assume to be Richard for the time she is conscious. Her fingers struggle to loosen the cord around her neck.
Richard tightens his grip on the metal cord until Ana's body is still and lifeless.
Ana's arms dangle at her sides, falling onto the couch cushions like two rabbits given to the slaughter.
***
The fragrance of his carefully prepared dinner travels from the kitchen and throughout the entirety of his apartment. The apartment smells like Thanksgiving Thursday. Richard readjusts his posture at the dining room table. He remembers Ana—the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way her legs moved when she walked. Richard remembers Ana and carves himself the first piece of meat from the slab in the middle of the table.
hey this isn't about me hehe
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i like that song