Peach_follows

"You can't smoke in here" The woman behind the counter blurted as I walked in. And, although there was an annoyed tone to it, it had to have been the most beautiful voice I've heard. In at least the last six hours. The tall, slender brunette, who works at the convenient store, was glaring at me through her smoky lined eyes. She slid an ash tray across the counter. My hand bushed up against hers as I reached for it. We would’ve made eye contact , if I could just get my attention off of what was lying beneath that low cut tank top. Still staring at her cleavage, I smiled and asked “Got a name, hon?“. “Loraine” she replied, and I got the feeling she was eyeballing me as well. I vaguely heard her say something else… But, I was lost in the smoke twisting into the atmosphere as I put out my Kamel Red.

So often as a kid, I would stare at my mothers smoke trail. So many different trails, from so many different things. I used to watch all her hopes and dreams go up in that smoke. But, maybe there were none there to begin with. Maybe every time she took a hit of something, or a swig off a bottle, it was so she could forget. Forget that I was her bastard son, the product of all her pain. Her rape. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe she wanted to remember. Remember who she was in Vietnam, before her innocents was taken from her. Before she was raped, by a chocolate skinned American soldier.

Why she came to America is beyond me. Was it to escape scrutiny by her family? Maybe she came to confront the demons that infiltrated her body, just like my fathers seeds. The ones that made me. I know she could never find my father. She only -thinks- she knows his name. And, if he is who we think he is. He killed himself shortly after the war. A victim of his own self loathing. A loathing that turned a young woman… into a victim of rape, addiction, and now a cancer she will likely not survive. A loathing that created me, a man without a sense of purpose. I am in essence, a spawn of a demon. I suppose the only thing I’m good for is making more victims of that very self loathing that fueled my existence. But hey, we’re all victims of something.

“So are you going to answer me, or what?”, Loraine’s soft and sexy voice was growing annoyed again. “Sorry” I said, as I pointed to the carton of Kamel Reds behind the counter. “I just got a little distracted by your beautiful……. Eyes”. She smiled, and for the first time since I’ve been standing there, I did finally notice that her eyes had a certain sparkle. She glared at me again. “Its okay if you don’t want to tell me your name, I kind of like a mysterious man”. She licked her cherry red lips. I leaned in close to her, and in a joking whisper I said “I’d never keep anything from you”. I reached over the counter and gave her a little spank. To my surprise she did not smack my hand away. That’s when I knew this is where I’d be buying my carton of smokes from now on. As I slid the money across the counter, I gave her a wink. “The name’s Gia”.

Leaving the store, I headed back down to the Candy Shoppe, a not so clever name for the Sex Store where I work. The place where I made my money, and where I spent most of it too. Back to the smell of the peep show booths. Back to the beckoning of the young prostitutes standing outside the door. Back to the buy 5 get one free sale on pornography. I wished I could be the type who came home to a woman like Loraine. But, she’d never find her prince charming lurking around all of this adult content.

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bratling

Heee. I like it. The style of writing is really interesting, reminded me of...cowboy bebop for some odd reason. Maybe a little film nior or something?

That and I really like porn shops. LOL.

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She's always trying not to cry.
But I can see the demons in her eyes.
She's always trying not to yell.
But you see to her, she's trapped in hell.

Peach_follows

Well thanks for looking Chan.... you make me feel a little better about writing here. If its not a poem, its foreign to me. So I'm a tad apprehensive about stepping out of the box.

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bratling

Well to me this proves you can do much more then poetry. Sounds like the start to a really interesting book. Or at least slightly longer, short story. Or series of stories or what have you. But it is fantastic anyways.

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She's always trying not to cry.
But I can see the demons in her eyes.
She's always trying not to yell.
But you see to her, she's trapped in hell.