Dear readers, this is the beginning of the first chapter of "Unexplained Phenomenon" I urge you to enjoy yourself fully while reading it.
Comments are welcome! I urge you share your opinion!
Unreserved chaos reigned throughout the entirety of my morbid existence with not a glimpse of relief. It was an occasion of immense affliction and anarchy in my years, when nothing except bitterness lay in my scarred core. Years of torment and month upon month of misery shaped my figure changing my demeanor into that of a spiteful woman, at least in regards where the miserable topic of relationships were concerned. Each relationship I allowed myself to fall quarry to produced desolation to my being. Destroying the exploration was something that seemed to bring relief to myself, but in the entire integrity…I defined the word loneliness.
The one thing that I desired most in this world was unconditional romance and affection, something that I did undeniably desperately lack. I lost faith in all men not permitting myself to connect romantically with any for trepidation of the obliteration of my spirit. My past was not truly for the faint hearted, for misery seemed to circulate even through my childhood, the reasoning behind the sadness was something I aspirated not to murmur.
My normalcy was not standard in the least, for my individuality and unique personality was something my friends were awe-inspired by. I yearned earnestly for completeness; a meaning for existence, but no matter how unbreakably I wished neither certainty nor answer was mumbled. Insults were common in my ordinary day, considering I was not the mass that most citizens crave. I was voluptuous with a curvy structure but yet most people in the modern society yearned for the anorexic standard of beauty. I was unwelcomed in the arms of the majority for my exquisiteness lay inside, and internal beauty was something that appeared to constantly plummet short of becoming sought-after. The irony remains that intelligence was the absolute heart of my soul and it undeniably finished last in the attractive characteristics food chain.
Truthfully something was missing in my being. Pieces of my spirit, my essence, my heart, did not in truth exist. A void overflowed those spaces, dragging me into constant circumstances of depression and longing for that largely vital section. The dilemma was frankly I had not the slightest suggestion as to what that quantity was. It utterly remained a mystery, a phenomenally that no mortal seized the reply too. It was an utter anonymity that nothing seemed to complete, and a bizarre abnormality about myself that none witnessed except me.
What could this inscrutability potentially be?
Daily living seemed to coast by at an unparalleled rate, the entirety of my days distorting into a collection of elapsed significance. I had not the response as to why the cavity packed my subsistence but it accomplished not the cease of my frantic investigation for any variety of inkling as to what it was. High School existed as more a source of authoritarianism or a concentration encampment rather than an educational foundation. Courses blended a concoction of hysteria and malice urging me into an agitation of ridiculously depraved emotions; ultimately I yearned for a sign of relief, with none arriving to my assistance.
It was eventually the commencement of January as the chronometer marked nearer to the date of my birth, and the chronological day of my attainment of maturity rapidly advanced. Not that it held any significance; it was now an additional year of my reality fleets me by and a further forward era of dullness and disaster birthing into my life.
It signified a nearing to bereavement (death)…in supplementary vocabulary.
I lie, parking myself on the back of the golden hued educational motor vehicle unaccompanied as usual with nothing but the soothing murmurs of my darling melodious composers and artists hinting their miraculous libretto into my eardrums, drawing me into a fantasizing state of relaxation. In further terminology my creativity soared to an ingenious echelon at that occurrence in point. Ballpoint and manuscript perched on my denim masked knees. I scrambled to harmonize the caresses of ink to the measure of artistic liquids and thoughts as they progressed throughout my vast complexity of an intellect.
“His palm cupped her cheek, measuring its softness, longing for its living warmth. A craving impaled its way inward, inside both his and her being, for how could they deny themselves the privilege and blessing of basking in the ambience of each other any longer? The answer is they simply could not. The creature within his breast yearned for her, her beauty, her essence, and her blood. Nothing could stop this destined union, nothing, not even the gods themselves. For their destinies were purely…each other”.
Perfect. I contemplated to myself, with a concluding strike of my writing implement. With a supple mumble of a sigh I situated my stature for a greatly desired stretch of throbbing unbending muscles. Being positioned in that identical bearing for an excess of an hour I am capable of certainly suffering a tendering of physique. Moseying a momentary glance in the vicinity of the composition of repositioning scenery I came transversely upon a saline and pepper hued Timber Wolf it appeared, monstrous in build, with the most magnificent cerulean irises I had ever observed, modeled on the boundary-line of forest, as the educational means of transportation immobilized for an undergraduate’s departure. The creature’s posture was in that of a watchful predator, his torso pressed up divulging the hoary underside of him.
Wait aren’t wolves uncommon for this part of Kentucky? I demanded to myself, staring into the depths of his radiant pupils, peculiarly. Something outlandishly generated a familiarity in that mammal. Dracula…? I agitated my cranium aggressively striving to continue being nailed with reality, shutting my emerald, always changing, eyes sternly depositing heaviness following the energy. No…he’s not real…he can’t exist…remember that…? My expression curved staggered as I unhurriedly hoisted my bursting eyelashes, the majestic Timber Wolf vanished!
There was no indication, no suggestion of the being’s presence, and even as I scanned the cosmic enormity of the forest’s interior, not a signal stimulated of the creature.There goes your over active imagination again. Get a grip girl…! I bellowed at myself within the interior of my mammoth intelligence, as the means of transport’s engine roared to activity once more. I promptly returned my attention on that of the voices of angelic musicians still ringing with brilliance and originality in my ears, singing along with them in harmony with their intensity, even though I resolved to disclose the timbre was minutely off. I flicked, my waist length, dark auburn, banana coiled tresses, above my shoulder to budge it from floating beyond my heart wrought countenance.
Moments passed with nothing worth mentioning progressing, until in the midst of a magnificent chorus, my homey trailer house drew nearer into vision. It existed as a two-toned tan and ivory painted trailer house, surrounded by woods on two sides, enclosed by a six achier field on a solitary side, and in the core of rustic motherland. Finally…! It signaled a weekend of recreation, relaxation and exceeding all else monstrous creativity. My various narrative fabrications and literature works permitted me to escape the limitations of a morbidly dreary reality. Getting a foothold I pulled myself to a standing position, and balanced my ebony-ruby checkered book bag on my ebony sleeve sheltered shoulders, after concealing my handwritten draft of my newest innovation and I commenced sauntering toward the entrance of the educational vehicle, moments previous to its cessation.
Hank, the driver of the means of transportation, glanced upwards into the glass mirror of the motor vehicle and calculated my facial expression as I gazed at the forefront in the direction of the asphalt. His glass framed eyes, utterly earnest with a curious intent. The posture of him remained that of a healthy mannered gentleman and his cobalt ball-cap jacketed salt and pepper hued mane gave his lean stature an additional sophisticated demeanor.
“What you doing this weekend, Hun?” He asked with the utmost curiosity. “Writing the entire time again?”
I slithered a solitary of the earphones out from my ears to comprehend exactly his vocal phrase. I was quite certain I heeded the phrase specifically, and my bursting lips curled upward into a beam of petite happiness. He was a benevolent personage and appreciated individuals who respected him, and I in turn respected that.
“Yes, that’s what I’m prepared to do…as usual. You are acquainted with me too well Hank.” I replied with enthusiasm, immediately as the motor vehicle froze in the frontage of my house, precisely in overlook of the two doppelganger lion statuettes, which had been freshly decorated.
The automatic entrance to the motor bus burst open queuing my departure. I situated myself in the walkway of the vehicle, and started down the miniature staircase. Turning to gesture softly goodbye to Hank, I observed a gloomy hue to the sky, developing at a ruthless momentum. I froze immediately gaping at the ominous appearing clouds, and the diverse lightning collisions upon the earth; it was unconditionally bizarre for I was undeniably convinced that even billows could not travel at such a hurried velocity. Hank conceived the drastic transformation and gazed into the greenness of my irises.
“You’d better hurry, honey. It’s gonna storm, and as long as I’ve lived I’ve never seen such a furious storm. Hurry…!” He demanded, shoeing me off the bus with concern in his eyes.
My eyes broadened with the objective of trepidation, for I, myself, on no account had observed such a violent tempest, well, at least in authenticity. I focused my attention on defeating the precipitation in the background of the furious clouds, and with a hurried swiftness I scuttled in the direction of the protection of my trailer house terrace. Please don’t let it harm my family… I prayed, desperately. Strangely as I commenced to become frightened of the mind-blowing storm and frantically scurried en route for the veranda the billows of clouds phenomenally progressed, cracking into disconnected subdivisions tolerating the sun to polish downward at my stature and my dwelling, but nothing in addition.
Why’d that happen…? I murmured to myself, instantly as my footing reached the terrace.
“Something’s strange about these clouds.” I concluded out loud, turning with an ultimate glimpse at the unusually abnormal weather.
“You are absolutely correct, young miss.” An unfamiliarly English accented alto musical voice echoed from the lighting of the opened door to my residence. “Something is undeniably abnormall about those peculiar clouds. I must ponder who this culprit is…?”
Stunned at the presence I turned my stance toward the entrance to my dwelling, to witness a debonair gentleman standing in the midst of the doorway. His matured youthful physique was decorated in an ebony English gentleman’s business tuxedo. The lengthiness of his suite jacket trailed behind his stature, and his ashen palms clasped together resting on the hollow of his backside. His neatly arranged tresses were the utmost shadowy brunette tinge in appearance. The tie of his costume was a shady crimson red, and the undershirt lain underneath was a solitary shade of untainted ivory.
The countenance of him was rather attractive in quality, holding an ashen-tan hue, and a strong jaw and chin. A slender brunette colored goatee lay upon his chin. His eyes were a very mystical hue of pure sapphire, strangely favoring the Timber Wolf’s irises. How bizarre...but so familiar…? I stared into the depths of his eyes, mesmerized by their toxicity, and his sophisticated.
“Umm…who are you?” I murmured, nervously, because his presence was flabbergasting my demeanor.
His plump lips curved upwards into a beam of amusement. “Forgive my rudeness, I’m quite absent minded at this moment. I’m Raphael Monty Lunãr, and I just moved into the vacant house down the way. I’m simply thanking your lovely grandmother for pointing me in the right direction previously this morning. You can call me Raph.” He introduced himself, compassionately with a strange unearned respect.
“You’re not from the U.S are you?” I concluded.
He nodded his countenance his shaggy chin length tresses dangling in the midst of the air agreeing. “I’ve originated from London, England, yet my rooting lie in the Eastern part of Europe. I’m a new American citizen, and I’ve just moved to this marvelous country state, for it reminds me of my homeland. I’m asking for the privilege of knowing your name, miss?” He murmured politely.
I smiled delicately at his debonair nature. “My name’s Amber Danielle Lear. I’m originally from here actually…I’m sort of a home body I suppose. It’s nice to meet you Raph. You can call me Amber or Danielle, whichever you want. I’ll answer to anything except, chick, and wench.” I teased.
“The vulgarity of both those phrases is quite ludicrous and offensive to a young lady I must say. I’ll call you Amber or at times Danielle, if you don’t mind. Your grandmamma told me that you’re an exceptional creative writer. I’m a dedicated literature cynosure and I’m interested in your creations, if you’ve a little spare time on your hands? I’m well aware of our first time meeting yet I assure you, I’ve no malevolent intention in regards to you. If you’re not comfortable with sharing your talents with me it’s quite fine. I’m simply intrigued by your grandmother’s comments.” He confessed, supplely.
I contemplated the murmurs studying the debonair and sophistication of his speech. Generally I possessed an uncanny ability that if someone were to indicate malice or malevolency my stomach would knot with apprehension, and oddly there was warmth in the pit of my abdomen. I believed his vocalizations without a hesitation within, and the outlandish familiarity of his presence made me trust him with pristine earnestness.
“I don’t think you mean me harm, Raph.” I explained. “If you’ve said you spoken to my mamaw and you’re still at the house then that’s got to mean she trusts you, so why shouldn’t I?” I asked rhetorically. “Can I ask how old you are?”
A humble smile lay upon his superior features, and the strangest factor was the murmur of my question seemed to amuse him greatly. “I’m twenty since December 28th of this passing year, but I’ve been told that I have quite the maturity level. My colonist officer Gregory Hues told me I act like an old gentleman from the eighteen hundreds. I simply laugh at him, for unless he’s speaking of my soul. There’s no logical way I can be that ancient. I guess I was suppose to be born at that time period except my view in regarding the view of feminism is very different from the chauvinist men of that era. Although, I do believe women should be protected by there lover, treasured above all else, and romanced immensely. Your grandmamma tells me you’re quite the feminist, is that true?” He asked curiously, but glanced worriedly at the recurring squall and unlocked the divider door just as a monsoon of rain teemed downward, creating a thunderous musical production on the tin covering. “Answer that in a moment, this storm is quite uncontrollable. I’m sure your grandmother would want you safe in house, before any further discussion.”
He exercised an incredibly genteel and suave tactic, and unfastened the entrance for me precisely favoring an accurate gentleman. “Ladies first…” He winked an majestic eyelid his elongated eyelashes fanning his tan-pallor cheek, as I slowly bypassed him, and inhaling when I was adjacent to him I detected a moderately exquisite masculine fragrance, favoring Ed Hardy or something extremely expensive and with an excellent aroma.
“Thank you.” I murmured, maneuvering my backpack to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder, and he nodded in appreciation of the comment.
“You’re very welcome.” He responded.
I entered the comfortable living room of my abode to unearth a relatively divine bouquet of fried chicken loading the atmosphere, and I curved in the course of the kitchen to discover my matured grandmother functioning effectively preparing dinner. Her salt and pepper locks secured in position with heaps of hairspray, and an apron throughout her lean figure. She was stirring a concoction of an assortment of edible delights. The hazel eyes of her were engrossed on the variety of goodies arranged on the counter. Raphael maneuvered in following me as I commenced to stride a modest quantity further on and I observed a minor grin on her facial appearance as the angle of her glass surrounded eyes glimpsed both Raphael and me over.
“Hello, Mama…” I murmured, softly, gliding toward the couch to put my heavy book bag down to relieve the stress on my shoulder.
“Hey honey, I see you’ve met our neighbor, Mr. Lunãr. Raphael I’m sure you want to read those novels of hers?” She hinted toward him. “Amber, he’s a true gentleman it seems. Tell him a little about your novels.” My grandma ordered, hinting for a conversation starter.
“Okay, mother…” I murmured, turning in the direction of the elegant figure of Raphael. “You want to start reading them now or after dinner, Raph?” I asked, as inquisitiveness coursed throughout the aggregate of my essence.
“Whichever you prefer,” he whispered softly. “I’d bare abhorrence to become a burden toward you, Amber.” He admitted.
The irony of that statement was in truth in most instances I assumed that I existed as the correct perpetrator of burden in any circumstance. I had verbalized that identical phrase on countless occurrences, because I did in all honesty deduce that I was a nuisance to be in close proximity to and to identify that slogan as it departed the mouth of such an stylish and magnificent mortal, permitted me to ponder accurately how he might ever consider that notion?
Mamaw Charlene laughed instantly at the dialogue he uttered. “He sounds like you with that sentence…” My grandmother turned her stance in the direction of Raphael. “She’s always going on about how she’s a burden to everyone. She thinks she’s a horrible person; she does not believe me, but she can be a grouch at times. Other than that she’s a great person, who’s been hurt really bad in relationships, in every single one of them actually. That’s why she’s always got that depressed nature to her face, because she don’t trust guys. Look at it a little and you’ll see what I mean, Raphael.” She preached, with a surprisingly country pronunciation to her dialect.
I shook my head at the audacity of my grandmamma, because she always acquired an opportunity to contradict my atrocious declarations about myself. “You forgot to mention I think I’m hideous in appearance too, mother!” I hissed the statement at her since her antics appeared to enclose a technique of concluding inconsiderately. “Everyone else does!”
I perceived a human snarl of aggravation from following me, and revolving revealed two cerulean eyes peering downward toward my locality. It seemed peculiarly that Raphael did not value the utterance of that particular slur, but the inquiry was why? Did he not deliberate with the same superficial average that most contemporary men did? In the hands of numerous others I was measured repugnant in body and facial appearance because of my voluptuous and curvy structure rather than the anorexic norm most beautiful people were held to.
“You’re defiantly not hideous, or even the least bit ugly.” He snarled with the uttering at the last murmur. “I believe without a shadow of a doubt that you’re rather exquisite and stunning, awe-inspiring even. I’ve been around the world and your beauty can’t be matched, for it is naturally God granted, and you’re humble for you’re blind to the extent of your beauty, and you’ve been gifted with a marvelous personality. I don’t know what modern men are thinking with their beanpole favoring women with no curve, not a single attractive quality in their anorexic stick of a body. Beauty is not judged by how little a size you can squeeze into. It should be about the quality curviness, divine personality, voluptuous integrity, graceful demeanor, elegant facial features, the plastic facial features is not natural or beautiful, but the natural beauty, and above all else beautiful spirit and attitude. That’s true beauty and trust me little miss you’ve got it!” He nodded agreeing with himself.
I ogled into the intensity of his irises staggered at the abnormal characteristics of his vocalizations. “You’re not serious are you?” I demanded, thirsting for a quantity of evidence as to why such a personality thought that way about a typical wretch like me. There was not a realistic whisper concerning that dialogue might there be? I produced a fabrication of my imagination regarding this had I not?
He narrowed his eyebrows in a phony anger ploy. “You’re not naming me a liar, charming lass, are you?” He rumbled humanly with false anger. “Because in my twenty years I’ve never been identified as a liar, you’d be the first to name me that, and that’s just heartbreaking.” Placing his pallor-tan hand steadily touching the core of his torso where his heart was situated. “Yes, it’s defiantly broken…you cruel miss. You’ve damaged me, eternally.” He teased, in a solid English accent, making a counterfeit weeping noise.
“You’re such a tease!” I shook my head in disbelief. “And they call you old fashioned…” I chuckled, joking in return, choking up with laughter.
It was surprisingly how much of an attachment developed in the minority of moments. An extraordinarily peculiar special welcoming aura came from the presence of him, and it was tremendously eccentric that this newfound gentleman was inhumanly friendly. He was an astonishing organism to contain a connection with, and the oddest phenomenon is that those mystically imperial azure eyes held an outlandish familiarity to their splendor. I might have avowed that I recognized him from someplace, but I could perhaps not contemplate anywhere. There existed instantaneous liberation since in certainty the murmurs he articulated about my value of attractiveness were so firm and persuasive it was problematical to refute the formation of his judgment about prettiness. Nevertheless it did not transform the manner I considered myself, for I could not tolerate the way I appeared. That factual evidence almost certainly would never modify.
“I am old fashioned…” He disagreed. “I’m just a bit playful…there’s not a thing wrong with that. You, little lass, are just wishing I’d come sooner, so you’d not be so bored…isn’t that right?” He traveled nearer to my countenance investigating the assorted sensations that commenced to transverse my features.
“You’re a strange man…” I giggled, shaking my head in disbelief. “I’m not admitting anything…you’re…” I trailed off, moving closer to his features, not intimidated by him, but for an anomalous explanation I sensed a homey easiness with him, his familiarity grew immeasurably at that conscientious second, and touched the center of his tie, exactly at the location that it vanished underneath his coat jacket because of his colossal elevation. “...you mister aren’t my boss…” I reminded him.
He gazed downward at my finger balanced on his torso, and then looked back upwards in my direction, into the depths of my eyes, and began to continued that particular feat repeatedly as a smirk stretched across his features. Mamaw laughed from in the kitchen, and drew attention to her. “Amber, stop flirting with him, golly!” My grandmamma ordered, in a teasing achievement. “He just got to America about two months ago, behave!”
I dropped my hand automatically and rotated approximately not to stand facing him, because my visage converted to the most awkward shade of crimson red. I do not consider that I have ever been that mortified in my complete life. The genuineness was I cherished conversing with and being around Raphael, he was a relaxed person to be amongst. The difficult thing was I would not tolerate myself to fall prey to another means of heartbreak, not matter how remarkably gorgeous and gentleman like he seemed to be. I still had a frozen declaration that each and every one of the human male population were perverted and malevolent in there own individual way. Feeling the watching eye activity of Raphael compress on the back of my head, I hunkered down demanding to enclose the embarrassment.
“I wasn’t flirting mother…” I mumbled, and tried to gape around at him without him witnessing me but failed epically. “…I can feel that glare…stop staring at me Raph!” I demanded, smirking slightly on the corner of my mouth.
He maneuvered his countenance around the blockade of my presence to gaze into my eyes. “If you weren’t flirting with little ole’ me then why were you so embarrassed when your grandmamma murmured you were? If you weren’t shouldn’t you have just denied it instantly without that adorable reaction you’re having at the moment? Hmm…?” He demanded.
Damn it! His logical reasoning and intuition was phenomenal, to have contemplated the true reasoning behind my reaction. I pressed my lips together in a firm line, wiring my mouth shut, and tilted my head toward the ground because my cheeks flushed an even redder hue. I could have confirmed I had a high temperature of two hundred degrees at that moment. Not saying anything at that moment in time was the logical thing to do because I supposed I would ultimately tunnel the ditch of humiliation even deeper.
I hope you enjoyed it, and there is much more to come, my dears.
Comments are welcome! I urge you share your opinion!
Unreserved chaos reigned throughout the entirety of my morbid existence with not a glimpse of relief. It was an occasion of immense affliction and anarchy in my years, when nothing except bitterness lay in my scarred core. Years of torment and month upon month of misery shaped my figure changing my demeanor into that of a spiteful woman, at least in regards where the miserable topic of relationships were concerned. Each relationship I allowed myself to fall quarry to produced desolation to my being. Destroying the exploration was something that seemed to bring relief to myself, but in the entire integrity…I defined the word loneliness.
The one thing that I desired most in this world was unconditional romance and affection, something that I did undeniably desperately lack. I lost faith in all men not permitting myself to connect romantically with any for trepidation of the obliteration of my spirit. My past was not truly for the faint hearted, for misery seemed to circulate even through my childhood, the reasoning behind the sadness was something I aspirated not to murmur.
My normalcy was not standard in the least, for my individuality and unique personality was something my friends were awe-inspired by. I yearned earnestly for completeness; a meaning for existence, but no matter how unbreakably I wished neither certainty nor answer was mumbled. Insults were common in my ordinary day, considering I was not the mass that most citizens crave. I was voluptuous with a curvy structure but yet most people in the modern society yearned for the anorexic standard of beauty. I was unwelcomed in the arms of the majority for my exquisiteness lay inside, and internal beauty was something that appeared to constantly plummet short of becoming sought-after. The irony remains that intelligence was the absolute heart of my soul and it undeniably finished last in the attractive characteristics food chain.
Truthfully something was missing in my being. Pieces of my spirit, my essence, my heart, did not in truth exist. A void overflowed those spaces, dragging me into constant circumstances of depression and longing for that largely vital section. The dilemma was frankly I had not the slightest suggestion as to what that quantity was. It utterly remained a mystery, a phenomenally that no mortal seized the reply too. It was an utter anonymity that nothing seemed to complete, and a bizarre abnormality about myself that none witnessed except me.
What could this inscrutability potentially be?
Daily living seemed to coast by at an unparalleled rate, the entirety of my days distorting into a collection of elapsed significance. I had not the response as to why the cavity packed my subsistence but it accomplished not the cease of my frantic investigation for any variety of inkling as to what it was. High School existed as more a source of authoritarianism or a concentration encampment rather than an educational foundation. Courses blended a concoction of hysteria and malice urging me into an agitation of ridiculously depraved emotions; ultimately I yearned for a sign of relief, with none arriving to my assistance.
It was eventually the commencement of January as the chronometer marked nearer to the date of my birth, and the chronological day of my attainment of maturity rapidly advanced. Not that it held any significance; it was now an additional year of my reality fleets me by and a further forward era of dullness and disaster birthing into my life.
It signified a nearing to bereavement (death)…in supplementary vocabulary.
I lie, parking myself on the back of the golden hued educational motor vehicle unaccompanied as usual with nothing but the soothing murmurs of my darling melodious composers and artists hinting their miraculous libretto into my eardrums, drawing me into a fantasizing state of relaxation. In further terminology my creativity soared to an ingenious echelon at that occurrence in point. Ballpoint and manuscript perched on my denim masked knees. I scrambled to harmonize the caresses of ink to the measure of artistic liquids and thoughts as they progressed throughout my vast complexity of an intellect.
“His palm cupped her cheek, measuring its softness, longing for its living warmth. A craving impaled its way inward, inside both his and her being, for how could they deny themselves the privilege and blessing of basking in the ambience of each other any longer? The answer is they simply could not. The creature within his breast yearned for her, her beauty, her essence, and her blood. Nothing could stop this destined union, nothing, not even the gods themselves. For their destinies were purely…each other”.
Perfect. I contemplated to myself, with a concluding strike of my writing implement. With a supple mumble of a sigh I situated my stature for a greatly desired stretch of throbbing unbending muscles. Being positioned in that identical bearing for an excess of an hour I am capable of certainly suffering a tendering of physique. Moseying a momentary glance in the vicinity of the composition of repositioning scenery I came transversely upon a saline and pepper hued Timber Wolf it appeared, monstrous in build, with the most magnificent cerulean irises I had ever observed, modeled on the boundary-line of forest, as the educational means of transportation immobilized for an undergraduate’s departure. The creature’s posture was in that of a watchful predator, his torso pressed up divulging the hoary underside of him.
Wait aren’t wolves uncommon for this part of Kentucky? I demanded to myself, staring into the depths of his radiant pupils, peculiarly. Something outlandishly generated a familiarity in that mammal. Dracula…? I agitated my cranium aggressively striving to continue being nailed with reality, shutting my emerald, always changing, eyes sternly depositing heaviness following the energy. No…he’s not real…he can’t exist…remember that…? My expression curved staggered as I unhurriedly hoisted my bursting eyelashes, the majestic Timber Wolf vanished!
There was no indication, no suggestion of the being’s presence, and even as I scanned the cosmic enormity of the forest’s interior, not a signal stimulated of the creature.There goes your over active imagination again. Get a grip girl…! I bellowed at myself within the interior of my mammoth intelligence, as the means of transport’s engine roared to activity once more. I promptly returned my attention on that of the voices of angelic musicians still ringing with brilliance and originality in my ears, singing along with them in harmony with their intensity, even though I resolved to disclose the timbre was minutely off. I flicked, my waist length, dark auburn, banana coiled tresses, above my shoulder to budge it from floating beyond my heart wrought countenance.
Moments passed with nothing worth mentioning progressing, until in the midst of a magnificent chorus, my homey trailer house drew nearer into vision. It existed as a two-toned tan and ivory painted trailer house, surrounded by woods on two sides, enclosed by a six achier field on a solitary side, and in the core of rustic motherland. Finally…! It signaled a weekend of recreation, relaxation and exceeding all else monstrous creativity. My various narrative fabrications and literature works permitted me to escape the limitations of a morbidly dreary reality. Getting a foothold I pulled myself to a standing position, and balanced my ebony-ruby checkered book bag on my ebony sleeve sheltered shoulders, after concealing my handwritten draft of my newest innovation and I commenced sauntering toward the entrance of the educational vehicle, moments previous to its cessation.
Hank, the driver of the means of transportation, glanced upwards into the glass mirror of the motor vehicle and calculated my facial expression as I gazed at the forefront in the direction of the asphalt. His glass framed eyes, utterly earnest with a curious intent. The posture of him remained that of a healthy mannered gentleman and his cobalt ball-cap jacketed salt and pepper hued mane gave his lean stature an additional sophisticated demeanor.
“What you doing this weekend, Hun?” He asked with the utmost curiosity. “Writing the entire time again?”
I slithered a solitary of the earphones out from my ears to comprehend exactly his vocal phrase. I was quite certain I heeded the phrase specifically, and my bursting lips curled upward into a beam of petite happiness. He was a benevolent personage and appreciated individuals who respected him, and I in turn respected that.
“Yes, that’s what I’m prepared to do…as usual. You are acquainted with me too well Hank.” I replied with enthusiasm, immediately as the motor vehicle froze in the frontage of my house, precisely in overlook of the two doppelganger lion statuettes, which had been freshly decorated.
The automatic entrance to the motor bus burst open queuing my departure. I situated myself in the walkway of the vehicle, and started down the miniature staircase. Turning to gesture softly goodbye to Hank, I observed a gloomy hue to the sky, developing at a ruthless momentum. I froze immediately gaping at the ominous appearing clouds, and the diverse lightning collisions upon the earth; it was unconditionally bizarre for I was undeniably convinced that even billows could not travel at such a hurried velocity. Hank conceived the drastic transformation and gazed into the greenness of my irises.
“You’d better hurry, honey. It’s gonna storm, and as long as I’ve lived I’ve never seen such a furious storm. Hurry…!” He demanded, shoeing me off the bus with concern in his eyes.
My eyes broadened with the objective of trepidation, for I, myself, on no account had observed such a violent tempest, well, at least in authenticity. I focused my attention on defeating the precipitation in the background of the furious clouds, and with a hurried swiftness I scuttled in the direction of the protection of my trailer house terrace. Please don’t let it harm my family… I prayed, desperately. Strangely as I commenced to become frightened of the mind-blowing storm and frantically scurried en route for the veranda the billows of clouds phenomenally progressed, cracking into disconnected subdivisions tolerating the sun to polish downward at my stature and my dwelling, but nothing in addition.
Why’d that happen…? I murmured to myself, instantly as my footing reached the terrace.
“Something’s strange about these clouds.” I concluded out loud, turning with an ultimate glimpse at the unusually abnormal weather.
“You are absolutely correct, young miss.” An unfamiliarly English accented alto musical voice echoed from the lighting of the opened door to my residence. “Something is undeniably abnormall about those peculiar clouds. I must ponder who this culprit is…?”
Stunned at the presence I turned my stance toward the entrance to my dwelling, to witness a debonair gentleman standing in the midst of the doorway. His matured youthful physique was decorated in an ebony English gentleman’s business tuxedo. The lengthiness of his suite jacket trailed behind his stature, and his ashen palms clasped together resting on the hollow of his backside. His neatly arranged tresses were the utmost shadowy brunette tinge in appearance. The tie of his costume was a shady crimson red, and the undershirt lain underneath was a solitary shade of untainted ivory.
The countenance of him was rather attractive in quality, holding an ashen-tan hue, and a strong jaw and chin. A slender brunette colored goatee lay upon his chin. His eyes were a very mystical hue of pure sapphire, strangely favoring the Timber Wolf’s irises. How bizarre...but so familiar…? I stared into the depths of his eyes, mesmerized by their toxicity, and his sophisticated.
“Umm…who are you?” I murmured, nervously, because his presence was flabbergasting my demeanor.
His plump lips curved upwards into a beam of amusement. “Forgive my rudeness, I’m quite absent minded at this moment. I’m Raphael Monty Lunãr, and I just moved into the vacant house down the way. I’m simply thanking your lovely grandmother for pointing me in the right direction previously this morning. You can call me Raph.” He introduced himself, compassionately with a strange unearned respect.
“You’re not from the U.S are you?” I concluded.
He nodded his countenance his shaggy chin length tresses dangling in the midst of the air agreeing. “I’ve originated from London, England, yet my rooting lie in the Eastern part of Europe. I’m a new American citizen, and I’ve just moved to this marvelous country state, for it reminds me of my homeland. I’m asking for the privilege of knowing your name, miss?” He murmured politely.
I smiled delicately at his debonair nature. “My name’s Amber Danielle Lear. I’m originally from here actually…I’m sort of a home body I suppose. It’s nice to meet you Raph. You can call me Amber or Danielle, whichever you want. I’ll answer to anything except, chick, and wench.” I teased.
“The vulgarity of both those phrases is quite ludicrous and offensive to a young lady I must say. I’ll call you Amber or at times Danielle, if you don’t mind. Your grandmamma told me that you’re an exceptional creative writer. I’m a dedicated literature cynosure and I’m interested in your creations, if you’ve a little spare time on your hands? I’m well aware of our first time meeting yet I assure you, I’ve no malevolent intention in regards to you. If you’re not comfortable with sharing your talents with me it’s quite fine. I’m simply intrigued by your grandmother’s comments.” He confessed, supplely.
I contemplated the murmurs studying the debonair and sophistication of his speech. Generally I possessed an uncanny ability that if someone were to indicate malice or malevolency my stomach would knot with apprehension, and oddly there was warmth in the pit of my abdomen. I believed his vocalizations without a hesitation within, and the outlandish familiarity of his presence made me trust him with pristine earnestness.
“I don’t think you mean me harm, Raph.” I explained. “If you’ve said you spoken to my mamaw and you’re still at the house then that’s got to mean she trusts you, so why shouldn’t I?” I asked rhetorically. “Can I ask how old you are?”
A humble smile lay upon his superior features, and the strangest factor was the murmur of my question seemed to amuse him greatly. “I’m twenty since December 28th of this passing year, but I’ve been told that I have quite the maturity level. My colonist officer Gregory Hues told me I act like an old gentleman from the eighteen hundreds. I simply laugh at him, for unless he’s speaking of my soul. There’s no logical way I can be that ancient. I guess I was suppose to be born at that time period except my view in regarding the view of feminism is very different from the chauvinist men of that era. Although, I do believe women should be protected by there lover, treasured above all else, and romanced immensely. Your grandmamma tells me you’re quite the feminist, is that true?” He asked curiously, but glanced worriedly at the recurring squall and unlocked the divider door just as a monsoon of rain teemed downward, creating a thunderous musical production on the tin covering. “Answer that in a moment, this storm is quite uncontrollable. I’m sure your grandmother would want you safe in house, before any further discussion.”
He exercised an incredibly genteel and suave tactic, and unfastened the entrance for me precisely favoring an accurate gentleman. “Ladies first…” He winked an majestic eyelid his elongated eyelashes fanning his tan-pallor cheek, as I slowly bypassed him, and inhaling when I was adjacent to him I detected a moderately exquisite masculine fragrance, favoring Ed Hardy or something extremely expensive and with an excellent aroma.
“Thank you.” I murmured, maneuvering my backpack to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder, and he nodded in appreciation of the comment.
“You’re very welcome.” He responded.
I entered the comfortable living room of my abode to unearth a relatively divine bouquet of fried chicken loading the atmosphere, and I curved in the course of the kitchen to discover my matured grandmother functioning effectively preparing dinner. Her salt and pepper locks secured in position with heaps of hairspray, and an apron throughout her lean figure. She was stirring a concoction of an assortment of edible delights. The hazel eyes of her were engrossed on the variety of goodies arranged on the counter. Raphael maneuvered in following me as I commenced to stride a modest quantity further on and I observed a minor grin on her facial appearance as the angle of her glass surrounded eyes glimpsed both Raphael and me over.
“Hello, Mama…” I murmured, softly, gliding toward the couch to put my heavy book bag down to relieve the stress on my shoulder.
“Hey honey, I see you’ve met our neighbor, Mr. Lunãr. Raphael I’m sure you want to read those novels of hers?” She hinted toward him. “Amber, he’s a true gentleman it seems. Tell him a little about your novels.” My grandma ordered, hinting for a conversation starter.
“Okay, mother…” I murmured, turning in the direction of the elegant figure of Raphael. “You want to start reading them now or after dinner, Raph?” I asked, as inquisitiveness coursed throughout the aggregate of my essence.
“Whichever you prefer,” he whispered softly. “I’d bare abhorrence to become a burden toward you, Amber.” He admitted.
The irony of that statement was in truth in most instances I assumed that I existed as the correct perpetrator of burden in any circumstance. I had verbalized that identical phrase on countless occurrences, because I did in all honesty deduce that I was a nuisance to be in close proximity to and to identify that slogan as it departed the mouth of such an stylish and magnificent mortal, permitted me to ponder accurately how he might ever consider that notion?
Mamaw Charlene laughed instantly at the dialogue he uttered. “He sounds like you with that sentence…” My grandmother turned her stance in the direction of Raphael. “She’s always going on about how she’s a burden to everyone. She thinks she’s a horrible person; she does not believe me, but she can be a grouch at times. Other than that she’s a great person, who’s been hurt really bad in relationships, in every single one of them actually. That’s why she’s always got that depressed nature to her face, because she don’t trust guys. Look at it a little and you’ll see what I mean, Raphael.” She preached, with a surprisingly country pronunciation to her dialect.
I shook my head at the audacity of my grandmamma, because she always acquired an opportunity to contradict my atrocious declarations about myself. “You forgot to mention I think I’m hideous in appearance too, mother!” I hissed the statement at her since her antics appeared to enclose a technique of concluding inconsiderately. “Everyone else does!”
I perceived a human snarl of aggravation from following me, and revolving revealed two cerulean eyes peering downward toward my locality. It seemed peculiarly that Raphael did not value the utterance of that particular slur, but the inquiry was why? Did he not deliberate with the same superficial average that most contemporary men did? In the hands of numerous others I was measured repugnant in body and facial appearance because of my voluptuous and curvy structure rather than the anorexic norm most beautiful people were held to.
“You’re defiantly not hideous, or even the least bit ugly.” He snarled with the uttering at the last murmur. “I believe without a shadow of a doubt that you’re rather exquisite and stunning, awe-inspiring even. I’ve been around the world and your beauty can’t be matched, for it is naturally God granted, and you’re humble for you’re blind to the extent of your beauty, and you’ve been gifted with a marvelous personality. I don’t know what modern men are thinking with their beanpole favoring women with no curve, not a single attractive quality in their anorexic stick of a body. Beauty is not judged by how little a size you can squeeze into. It should be about the quality curviness, divine personality, voluptuous integrity, graceful demeanor, elegant facial features, the plastic facial features is not natural or beautiful, but the natural beauty, and above all else beautiful spirit and attitude. That’s true beauty and trust me little miss you’ve got it!” He nodded agreeing with himself.
I ogled into the intensity of his irises staggered at the abnormal characteristics of his vocalizations. “You’re not serious are you?” I demanded, thirsting for a quantity of evidence as to why such a personality thought that way about a typical wretch like me. There was not a realistic whisper concerning that dialogue might there be? I produced a fabrication of my imagination regarding this had I not?
He narrowed his eyebrows in a phony anger ploy. “You’re not naming me a liar, charming lass, are you?” He rumbled humanly with false anger. “Because in my twenty years I’ve never been identified as a liar, you’d be the first to name me that, and that’s just heartbreaking.” Placing his pallor-tan hand steadily touching the core of his torso where his heart was situated. “Yes, it’s defiantly broken…you cruel miss. You’ve damaged me, eternally.” He teased, in a solid English accent, making a counterfeit weeping noise.
“You’re such a tease!” I shook my head in disbelief. “And they call you old fashioned…” I chuckled, joking in return, choking up with laughter.
It was surprisingly how much of an attachment developed in the minority of moments. An extraordinarily peculiar special welcoming aura came from the presence of him, and it was tremendously eccentric that this newfound gentleman was inhumanly friendly. He was an astonishing organism to contain a connection with, and the oddest phenomenon is that those mystically imperial azure eyes held an outlandish familiarity to their splendor. I might have avowed that I recognized him from someplace, but I could perhaps not contemplate anywhere. There existed instantaneous liberation since in certainty the murmurs he articulated about my value of attractiveness were so firm and persuasive it was problematical to refute the formation of his judgment about prettiness. Nevertheless it did not transform the manner I considered myself, for I could not tolerate the way I appeared. That factual evidence almost certainly would never modify.
“I am old fashioned…” He disagreed. “I’m just a bit playful…there’s not a thing wrong with that. You, little lass, are just wishing I’d come sooner, so you’d not be so bored…isn’t that right?” He traveled nearer to my countenance investigating the assorted sensations that commenced to transverse my features.
“You’re a strange man…” I giggled, shaking my head in disbelief. “I’m not admitting anything…you’re…” I trailed off, moving closer to his features, not intimidated by him, but for an anomalous explanation I sensed a homey easiness with him, his familiarity grew immeasurably at that conscientious second, and touched the center of his tie, exactly at the location that it vanished underneath his coat jacket because of his colossal elevation. “...you mister aren’t my boss…” I reminded him.
He gazed downward at my finger balanced on his torso, and then looked back upwards in my direction, into the depths of my eyes, and began to continued that particular feat repeatedly as a smirk stretched across his features. Mamaw laughed from in the kitchen, and drew attention to her. “Amber, stop flirting with him, golly!” My grandmamma ordered, in a teasing achievement. “He just got to America about two months ago, behave!”
I dropped my hand automatically and rotated approximately not to stand facing him, because my visage converted to the most awkward shade of crimson red. I do not consider that I have ever been that mortified in my complete life. The genuineness was I cherished conversing with and being around Raphael, he was a relaxed person to be amongst. The difficult thing was I would not tolerate myself to fall prey to another means of heartbreak, not matter how remarkably gorgeous and gentleman like he seemed to be. I still had a frozen declaration that each and every one of the human male population were perverted and malevolent in there own individual way. Feeling the watching eye activity of Raphael compress on the back of my head, I hunkered down demanding to enclose the embarrassment.
“I wasn’t flirting mother…” I mumbled, and tried to gape around at him without him witnessing me but failed epically. “…I can feel that glare…stop staring at me Raph!” I demanded, smirking slightly on the corner of my mouth.
He maneuvered his countenance around the blockade of my presence to gaze into my eyes. “If you weren’t flirting with little ole’ me then why were you so embarrassed when your grandmamma murmured you were? If you weren’t shouldn’t you have just denied it instantly without that adorable reaction you’re having at the moment? Hmm…?” He demanded.
Damn it! His logical reasoning and intuition was phenomenal, to have contemplated the true reasoning behind my reaction. I pressed my lips together in a firm line, wiring my mouth shut, and tilted my head toward the ground because my cheeks flushed an even redder hue. I could have confirmed I had a high temperature of two hundred degrees at that moment. Not saying anything at that moment in time was the logical thing to do because I supposed I would ultimately tunnel the ditch of humiliation even deeper.
I hope you enjoyed it, and there is much more to come, my dears.
