Red Writing Hood – The World Shifted
This week’s Red Dress Club prompt asked for a 600 word-count or less piece that was to begin with the words, “I could never have imagined” and end with “Then the whole world shifted.”
Enjoy my take on the prompt. Feel free to leave comments, criticism, or whatever else comes to mind!
I could never have imagined that it would happen to me. Then again, no one ever does. We stay blissfully ignorant in our own little worlds, oblivious to the happenings that affect people halfway across the world; hell, even next door.
So when I walked through the door to the cantina, I assumed it would be another regular night of mingling with my new friends. Drinking, singing, dancing, sex—this night should have played out like any other I’d experienced over the course of the six months since I arrived at this island paradise.
It was Saturday night. The weekend. I loved the weekends here. Everyday life was more relaxed than I ever thought possible, but the weekends were exquisite. As I slipped on my hand tailored, white linen pants and loose silk shirt, I reminisced of past weekend nights. Nights I had been engulfed in sensual aromas of coconut butter mixed with aphrodisiacal flowers. Nights that began with the tantalizing caress of soft hands and firm legs in the midst of close dancing. Nights that ended with a quite different caress of moist lips and glistened bodies in a much closer dance.
Juanita, the owner of the apartment, swept through the kitchen to the balcony, carrying plants to catch the last of the evening sun. Even she, a heavy, aging woman, easily in her late sixties, had a natural grace about her. The years had been kind to her, as it seemed to be to most of the locals. Her skin was still attractive and bronzed. Her eyes glittered vibrantly in the sunlight. I watched her float back and forth for a moment before interrupting her with a quick twirl toward the bar. She squealed and gently slapped my cheek, smiling widely.
She made us one of her famous juice concoctions—a homemade recipe that tasted almost like a peach margarita but packed the kick of a mule. We talked casually for a few minutes. She asked where I was going tonight and whether or not I was going to finally allow a woman to capture me and make me her husband. We laughed. As I made my way out into town, she stood at the doorway and watched me. She was so sweet—so protective.
Aura’s was always packed. It was no surprise; the bar was small, but it had and infectious spirit, a direct reflection of its owner. The cantina was wall to wall. Between the juice Juanita made me and Aura’s wonderfully tasty recipes, I was rocked in the first two hours. There had been a girl, of course; no more beautiful than the majority of women in this tropical Utopia, but intriguing nonetheless. We had been dancing for the better part of an hour when she told me that she was hot and wanted to go for a walk to cool down.
I couldn’t resist her eyes, her smile. We exited. As we rounded the back corner of the building, she shoved me against the wall. Almost jumping on my waist, she forced her mouth onto mine, sucking and tugging less than tenderly at my lips. She lowered herself back to her feet after the embrace. As I glanced up from her lustful gaze, I saw him. A young teen in blue Dickies and a stained white tank had walked up on us without making a sound. Before I could speak, the boy swung the bat he carried with major league force. Then the whole world shifted.